CHAPTER 24
BLANCHETTE
Taking a sip from my coffee, I peered over the chipped mug’s rim at Jonathan, sitting behind his ornate desk.
Like in my own cabin, a landline phone was perched near the edge of the dark wood.
If not for the sleek desktop computer on the other end and the glow from the screen illuminating Jonathan’s face, he would’ve appeared to belong in a different century entirely.
His full lips were pinched down into a frown, the tiny space between his brows furrowed as he sorted through his paperwork.
Stacks were becoming higher, but the surface of his desk was neatening.
Every now and again, he’d lift his phone to his ear after punching in a number, and I listened to him speak to whichever bureaucrat or desk worker that he had the misfortune of contacting.
After each call, he’d give a sharp sigh, pulled from his very soul, rub at his temples, and sneak a look over at me. Scrubbing at the scruff of his jaw, he would regard me with an apologetic look, something restless in the line of his shoulders.
“By the way,” I said casually, peering at him over the rim of my mug, “you growl in your sleep.”
His brow lifted. “I do?”
“Mm-hmm,” I replied, trying—and failing—to hide a smile. “Woke me up in the middle of the night. I thought something outside the cabin was about to eat me.”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “If I’d woken up, I might’ve.”
He leaned back in his squeaky desk chair, studying the way I was curled up in the leather armchair across the room, my legs tucked beneath me, a thriller book I’d pulled from his shelf perched on the side of my knee, my fingers curled around a navy blue mug that read Everwick’s 32nd Annual Moonlight Run.
I was in another of his flannel shirts after our shower this morning, my legs bare.
The front door was open to let in a gentle breeze.
It was a dark, cloudy summer day, the air humid and fragrant.
Any moment I expected to hear the crack of thunder rolling through the woods, like the roaring of waves crashing into a cliff.
Any moment I expected to hear the down pouring of rain.
I tapped my fingernail against the mug. “You do the moonlight run?”
“No,” he answered, stretching his neck to the side. “But May is always grumbling that I should be more ‘community oriented.’ I donated last year. The organizers sent a gift basket.”
Fighting a smile, I teased, “How generous of you.”
Every year, Everwick hosted the event to raise money for their cause of the year.
Once it had been the Blood Bank Aid Network, which connected low-income vampires with ethically sourced donors.
Another year it had been the Singing in Harmony Choir, an interspecies music program that would travel to children’s hospitals.
Two years ago, I remembered my grandmother telling me it was a charity that transformed neglected graveyards into community gardens—a highly controversial choice apparently. Only after the community was assured that the gardens would have raised beds was it voted on to pass.
“You ever do the run?” he asked, nodding at the mug.
“Oh, a lot,” I answered before I placed my coffee back down on the end table next to the chair. “It was fun—I liked it.”
“Your grandmother always passed out water and baked cookies for the finish line,” he remembered.
I smiled. She’d be baking up a storm all day leading up to sunset, her arms covered in flour, the house warm from the oven and smelling of vanilla. She sweetened the cookies with dates, never sugar. I had always helped roll out the dough.
And suddenly, I realized that thinking about her didn’t bring a solid punch to the gut as it usually did. Jonathan had weaved her into this moment so effortlessly, so simply, and I realized it should be like that. I’d always been so afraid to remember her because of the aching grief.
Shamefully, I’d locked her memory away.
But Jonathan—meeting him, being back in Everwick, talking about her…it had helped turn the key in that rusty lock. It felt good. It felt like making peace.
I thought that maybe instead of avoiding the things she used to love, maybe I should embrace them.
Maybe I should volunteer for the next moonlight run, I thought to myself. No matter where I am. Maybe I should bake cookies and cheer on the runners like she used to.
That would make me…happy.
I smiled at Jonathan, shifting, the book nearly sliding off my knee. I’d only gotten a chapter in before I was more interested in studying the man across the room.
“I think she would’ve liked what you’ve done to Juniper Hollow,” I said finally. “Did she ever get to see it?”
His small smile slowly died, but his expression wasn’t sad, only pensive. “She had planned to. I’d invited her over plenty of times, but by then, she hadn’t felt up for it. I just wish I could’ve opened sooner before…”
I nodded in understanding. I didn’t know if I could ever tell Jonathan how much his friendship with my grandmother meant to me. Nothing I said would ever touch on the gratefulness I felt.
I felt a little lump in my throat, so I turned my head to look out the front door. From here, I could see the lake and the cabins across the way. The water looked like obsidian, dark from the stormy day, an eerie calm stretching over the land.
“It’s quiet today,” I asked, changing the subject from my grandmother. Baby steps, I told myself. Looking back at him, I asked, “Am I the only one here this weekend?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s been slow.”
I realized that no cars had been in the lot except mine and Jonathan’s. No one had checked in since I’d arrived, as far as I knew.
My lips pursed. I remembered the small sign on the edge of the highway, the only marker that Juniper Hollow was even back here. Curiously, I asked, “How many cabins do you have available?”
“Right now…five. Almost six—just waiting on some furniture to be delivered.”
“And how do people usually find you? Online?”
That was how Megan had found this place, after all. On some booking website.
“Yeah. Only online. Or word of mouth.”
“So, you don’t advertise in Everwick?” I asked, frowning.
“Folks in town know this place exists,” he casually replied.
“That may be so, but if it’s not in front of them, people don’t think about it. Advertising reminds them,” I countered. “A little visibility goes a long way.”
He shrugged. “Promo isn’t really one of my strengths. I figured folks there already had places to stay anyway, or they just come to town for the day.”
“But people always come back to Everwick. That’s who you target,” I said. I straightened in the armchair. “And…imagine if they picked up a flyer—no, a cute little postcard in one of the boutiques along Main Street, featuring these quaint lakeside cottages in the woods.”
“Postcards,” Jonathan repeated, his tone unconvinced.
It was all so clear. I felt a spark of excitement, the ideas suddenly flowing.
“Listen…you have a picture of your best cabin on the lake on the front. Cabin number five, maybe? Make sure to filter it with all these warm, really saturated tones. All it says is Juniper Hollow, and have Bed and Breakfast in a smaller font right underneath,” I said, sweeping my hand in front of me, envisioning how it would be placed.
“You need a really good brand font. Hmm…something whimsical but rooted. I know plenty of good designers—I’ll get you one.
And on the back, you keep it sweet and simple.
A few pictures of the property so people can see how beautiful it is.
A small bulleted list of amenities, but you really want to play up the fairytale, ‘cozy cottage in the woods’ vibes.
That’ll sell, especially to weekenders from Graymore. ”
“Fairytale vibes? Totally on brand with my style,” he joked, his brows raising again in disbelief. Hearing the word—vibes—from his lips was almost comical.
I could already see the buzz words.
Your woodland escape…wrapped in nature, rooted in comfort.
Where forest paths lead you to serenity.
Just minutes from Everwick—worlds away from stress.
Cozy cottage feel, modern B&B service.
“Gods, they practically write themselves,” I muttered under my breath.
“Blanche,” Jonathan said, a sliver of amusement quirking his lips. “I think I made the coffee too strong.”
I threw him a look of mock exasperation. “This is what I do,” I told him. “Or…at least what I want to do. What I thought I’d do.”
I sighed.
The promotion that Skoll Corp had dangled over my head for years was the director position in the marketing department.
It was what I’d gone to school for. I’d always been fascinated by the psychology of advertising.
And I’d seen firsthand, here in Everwick even, what great marketing could build you.
Something in his eyes flickered in understanding. “I get it. You like this stuff and you’re good at it…and I appreciate that. I really do. It’s a talent. But do you really want to take on more work when you’re not at work?”
“I don’t mind,” I told him softly. “When I was in middle school, I made up this entire business plan for my grandmother. She’d always wanted to have her own bakery, right in Everwick, but could never afford to rent out a place.
And she was always daunted by the permits, the management, the hiring.
But I told her that under the cottage food laws, she could sell baked goods from her own kitchen, so I had everything printed out and ready to be signed.
I made her a website, social media accounts, marketing material designs.
I figured out an online ordering system.
And she was so excited about it all. We worked on setting everything up together. ”
“What happened?”
A small sigh drifted from me. “She, uh, got sick again. For the second time.”
Jonathan didn’t reply, but he understood, perhaps better than anyone. He kept his attention on me and continued to listen.