Chapter 28
“What is going on between you and that fine man out there?” Dot demands, peering out of the office door at Jakob and Walt.
She’s just dropped by for a minute to check on the renovations during a late-afternoon lull in customers at her shop.
It’s almost a week after my dancing date with Henry, and in the aftermath of our incendiary late-night kitchen make out session, I’ve avoided Jakob like the plague.
I’ve buried myself in my work, spending hours in the kitchen perfecting my three chocolate competition entries.
I took the salmonberries Jakob foraged for me and turned them into a gelée that, when combined with crystallized ginger, made a unique and delectable filling for a bonbon.
I’m hoarding the precious stuff like a dragon guarding treasure.
I have just enough to make one final batch for the competition.
All week I’ve talked only to Walt, spent time with Gus at home as much as possible, taken a couple of walks and had coffee with Henry, and managed not to interact with Jakob at all.
Unfortunately, avoiding him is having no impact on my feelings for him.
I’m miserable and annoyed and worried I’m messing up my life.
Damn that magnificent man who smells like pastries and can kiss like a demigod. I blow a breath out in frustration.
“Jakob’s been as touchy as a bear with a sore paw all week,” Dot continues with a frown. “And you’re no picnic either, girlie. Did something happen between the two of you?”
“What? Why?” I say defensively, looking up from my computer where I’m trying to finalize a decision about light fixtures. Are frosted globes timeless, or are they going to look dated in a few years? I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me the answer.
“Just wondering,” Dot says, holding her hands up as though to ward off my ire.
“Sorry, just feeling jumpy about the competition and worried about money with the county upgrades looming,” I tell her. Which is not a lie but is not the whole truth either. I’m also struggling hard against my attraction to Jakob, and I’m afraid I’m falling for the wrong man.
“You’re gonna knock those judges’ socks off,” Dot assures me. “You’re a shoo-in to win, and then you’ll have all the money you need.”
I’m touched by her faith in me, but the knot of worry in my stomach does not loosen.
“I hope you’re right. If I don’t win, I don’t know how we are going to get that money,” I tell her with a sigh.
The estimates from two more contractors have come in, and the news continues to be grim.
They all gave similar bids. We’re still looking at around thirty-five to forty thousand dollars for our building to be upgraded.
That’s at least ten thousand dollars apiece for which we all need to budget just for what the county is requiring us to do. “It feels impossible,” I say aloud.
Dot shrugs. “You can always find a way forward,” she says.
“You just gotta knock on every door and have faith that one of them will open in time. We’ll figure something out.
I’m noodling on ideas too. We all are. I know sometimes you think you’re the only one who can save things around here, but no one has to do it alone, Emmie girl.
We’re all in this together, the whole community.
” She gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“By the way, that list of contractors you sent out has been really helpful. The whole business owners group is going to meet next week again to compare notes and see what anyone’s come up with. Now I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
A minute after Dot leaves, I hear the front door bell jingle, and Mom’s voice calls out, “Gus, honey, slow down. Stay with me. This is a construction site.” Mom walked Gus back from his jujitsu lesson so I could finish deciding on light fixtures.
Gus runs into the office and throws himself into my arms, giving me a crushing hug.
Mr. Butters waddles in behind him, wagging his tail.
Today he is wearing a tiny top hat attached to his head with an elastic band under his chin.
“Hi, baby. How was class?” I hug Gus, holding tight. These snuggles are not forever, I realize. One day he won’t want to throw himself on my lap. I’m determined to savor every day he does.
“Good. Can I have a snack?” he asks. “And can I help Jakob? He says he has a job for me.” He puffs his chest out importantly.
He’s been helping Jakob and Walt every day after school.
I don’t know that he’s actually being helpful.
I suspect he might actually be slowing down the entire process, but he feels included, and he’s learning some basic construction skills, which are both big pluses in my book.
I may be avoiding Jakob, but Gus is with him every chance he gets.
“Sure, sweetie.” I ruffle his hair and he squirms off my lap, eager to get on with his day. I guess cuddle time is over. I can hear Mom chatting with Jakob in the front room.
“I have a snack in here somewhere.” I rifle through my purse and find a bag with a handful of sprinkle sugar cookies I’d forgotten about. “Share those cookies with Walt and Jakob if they want one too, okay?”
“Okay!” Gus grabs the snacks, yells “Thanks” over his shoulder, and runs out the office door.
Mr. Butters follows him, top hat slightly askew.
A minute later I hear Jakob showing Gus how to use a measuring tape, patiently instructing him to measure twice and cut once.
In the past week he’s shown Gus how to do a bunch of small tasks, like use a handsaw, drive a straight nail, and read a level.
It brings a lump to my throat to hear his kindness with my son.
I think this time with Jakob might be good for Gus’s heart.
He seems lighter, not so anxious and sad, and he’s even returned his book on space to the library and checked out a book about construction projects.
Unfortunately Gus’s time with Jakob is having the opposite effect on me.
I am trying very hard to pretend Jakob Kristensen doesn’t exist, a feat that is almost impossible when I find the two of them adorably tackling a project together every time I poke my head out of the office or kitchen.
It’s good for Gus but terrible for me. Nothing screams “sexy” to a single mom like a man who gives off great dad vibes.
Ugh. It’s utterly annoying. My ovaries cannot handle this.
I stand and stretch, then go to the office door to check on Gus.
Yep, he’s eating sprinkle cookies and helping Jakob sort screws by size.
Walt is on the phone arguing with someone about materials.
The renovation is coming along slowly, but progress is being made.
The wood flooring is installed and looks beautiful.
The space is starting to really take shape.
They’re painting tomorrow and then installing the display cases and fixtures.
I’ve been picking out fixtures and even started looking for a faux tree on Etsy.
I’m still trying to finalize a door color too.
I’m wavering between dark blue and goldenrod.
And I really need to order the sign, but the problem is that I still have no name for the shop.
I’m definitely not going with the Happy Viking.
I want a name that really means something, but so far I’m drawing a blank.
I need inspiration to strike me, and soon. I can’t open a nameless store.
“Emmie, honey? Everything okay?” I glance up to find Mom has slipped into the office.
She has a foil-lined plastic container in her hands.
Mr. Butters comes in too and settles in his favorite spot by the desk with a heavy sigh.
He looks at me dolefully. He really hates the top hat. It’s his least favorite.
“What’s in there?” I ask curiously, eyeing the container she’s holding. There’s a delicious smell wafting from it—sugar and blueberries.
“Oh, nothing much.” For some reason Mom blushes. “Just some blueberry muffins for Walt. A little thank-you.”
“Thank you for what?” Other than stopping her from falling into the construction hole, I’m not aware of anything Walt has done for Mom. And there is certainly no love lost between them, at least from Mom’s side.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you in all the busyness with the renovation.” She waves a hand dismissively.
“The night you were in Seattle with Henry, Dot’s car wouldn’t start when we went to take Gus home.
Walt came out to take a look at it. He gave it a jump with his truck and then insisted on replacing the battery the next time he was in the shop.
Did it free of charge too, just to be nice. ”
“Really?” I sneak a glance at Walt, who is busy in the front room, and then look more closely at my mom. Her cheeks are pink. This is interesting. And she’s put her good lipstick on, the one I haven’t seen her wear in a couple of years, at least since Dad died…
Does this mean she’s softening toward Walt? That would be a surprise twist.
“Did you know he likes puzzles?” Mom asks, looking intrigued.
“Walt likes puzzles? He doesn’t strike me as a puzzler.”
Mom throws me a rueful smile. “There are a lot of things about Walt that might surprise you,” she says.
“When he dropped off those paint samples at the house last week for you, he saw the puzzle I’m working on, the French café one with the cats?
He told me he does a puzzle a week, the one-thousand-piece ones. ” She sounds impressed.
“Huh, really?” I try to reconcile this image of Walt as a consummate puzzler with the scruffy, blunt troublemaker I know. “That’s…unexpected.”
“I invited Walt to puzzle club,” Mom announces. This does astonish me. Mom’s puzzle club is composed of five ladies who meet every Thursday to gossip, drink cocktails (or seltzer in Mom’s case), and do a puzzle together. It’s the highlight of her social calendar. She never misses a meeting.
“I hope he likes gossip and gin and tonics,” I comment.
Mom raises her eyebrows. “He told me he’s been sober for twelve years. He’s a sponsor in AA.”
This conversation is getting more and more astounding. “But what about all the beer he drinks down at the Four Corners?” I ask skeptically.
“Apparently it’s nonalcoholic. At least that’s what he said.
” She lifts her hands in a gesture of surprise.
I peer around the doorway at Walt again.
So that means all the times he’s gotten into mischief or arguments, he’s been stone-cold sober?
I don’t know whether to be alarmed by that or impressed.
I look from Walt back to Mom speculatively.
I haven’t seen Mom this engaged in anything in a while.
The years of caregiving for my dad, then the grief of his passing and her declining health, have all taken a toll.
Her world has shrunk to the size of this store and puzzle club and buying doggy costumes on the internet.
What if her world could expand again? What if Walt had a hand in that? It’s too early to say, but I do wonder…
“Mom.” I decide to change the subject. “Can I ask you a…personal question?”
“Of course, honey. Ask me anything.”
I glance around to make sure neither Jakob nor Walt is nearby, then shut the door just in case. Mom looks mildly alarmed. “Emmie, is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I mean, maybe. It’s about the visions. I need to know something.” I take a deep breath and ask the question I’ve been wrestling with all week. “Are you sure our visions always come true?”
Mom nods emphatically. “Always, yes. Why?”
I fidget with a trinket on my necklace and ask in a small voice, “What if what you see in your vision isn’t really what you want? What then?”
“What do you mean?” Mom peers at me cautiously.
“I mean, what if I saw some part of the vision but maybe I’m starting to suspect it’s not actually what I want? If I choose something else, will it mess everything up? Will I not get to fulfill my true purpose in life?” I glance at her anxiously.
Mom considers for a moment. “I don’t know, honey.
I’ve never had to answer that question before,” she says.
“I suppose I’d say it this way. The vision is an invitation, not a decree.
You are in charge of your own life. The vision is supposed to help us see our purpose; it gives us a glimpse of the life that will give us the most joy and satisfaction.
But we have free will. No one can force you to do something you don’t want to do.
” She looks at me with concern. “I’d say you should follow your heart and then trust that the vision will come true in its own way. Maybe it will surprise you.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, feeling both relieved and doubtful. The vision seems so clear, but my heart seems to be tugging me in another direction. I’m thoroughly confused.
Mom reaches out and pulls me into a hug. She smells faintly of baby powder and a dab of White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor, her favorite perfume. “Listen to what your heart is telling you, Emmie,” she murmurs in my ear. “Follow your heart and trust that everything will work out as it should.”