Chapter Seven #2
Avery felt her cheeks, neck, and hands burning. She needed to get Wes out of here before her whole face morphed into a tomato.
“Thank you, Wes,” Avery said over his laughter. “Sorry to make you come all this way.”
“Again, that’s what she said.” Wes wiped a laughing tear from his eye.
Crimson-cheeked Miles patted Wes on the back. “See you later, Wes.”
Wes stopped laughing and opened his toolbox.
“While I’m here, I figured I’d turn on the water. Prime the pump after the long winter. You know, make sure the pipes are flowing.” He was the only one laughing at his own innuendo. Wes wiped his eyes again, pulled a wrench out of his toolbox, and headed to the bathroom. “You two are no fun.”
Avery had an overwhelming desire to melt into the floor.
Of all their interactions since her return, Wes’s off-color ribbing might have been the most cringeworthy.
Miles put both hands over his eyes and slid them down his cheeks, assuming the exact pose of Edvard Munch’s famous painting, The Scream.
Wes returned a minute later, leaving the tub running. “Just need a couple minutes to flush the line.”
The three of them froze, eyes anywhere but on one another.
Avery needed to move past the embarrassment, so she focused on her reason for being in the Boathouse.
She walked to the bed, unfolded the new duvet, and tossed it open.
It settled on the plastic-covered mattress, setting free a wave of dust. Wes sneezed.
At each corner, she pulled the duvet into place.
The bed was a queen. She’d bought a king size. A bigger bed would fit in this room.
“I have an idea.” She snapped her fingers.
“I can create a month’s worth of social media posts using different vignettes of one beautiful cabin.
The exterior of the Boathouse screams getaway.
To make people imagine themselves in here, it needs to be dreamy.
But, we’re gonna need more than new curtains and bedding. ”
Miles and Wes scanned the room as if trying to imagine her vision. Avery ran a thumb along the post of the worn bed frame, her nail making a new chip in the crusty, old varnish. When she rocked the frame, it creaked.
“This bed needs to go,” she said. “It should be a king, and not squeaky.”
At that, Wes nudged a stone-faced Miles.
“Help me out here, Wes.” Avery snapped her fingers again to divert his attention from Miles, who stood frozen in place. “Do you have a king bed frame in storage?”
“Not anything ‘spectacular’ or ‘dreamy.’” Wes shook the bedpost, which rocked the entire frame back and forth toward the wall. “Ayuh, this one’s a wall-banger. Whatcha thinking besides sturdy?”
“Woodsy and relaxing. Like Montressa. Maybe made of tree trunks or branches.”
Wes stopped shaking the bed, took the tape measure off his belt, and measured from the ceiling to the floor. He gave Avery a crisp nod.
“We had to cut a couple of birches last spring,” he said. “They’re in the room behind the laundry. Wood cures well back there. We save them ’cause you never know when they’ll be useful. Sometimes I make mirrors or cut them for table legs. Never tried a bed, but I think I could do it.”
Avery’s entire face lit up, excited Wes was on board.
“OMG!” Avery bounced on her toes. “I’ve seen plans for tree beds on Pinterest.”
“No Pinterest.” Wes put up a hand to stop her. “My girlfriend Jeanette loves Pinterest. Those damn DIY instructions might as well’ve been written by a raccoon under the light of a new moon. Tell me your idea, and I’ll figure it out.”
“Understood.” Avery smiled. She appreciated his hesitation. Pinterest fails were the worst.
Miles remained glued to the floor, deep in thought. Avery wondered if he was still ruminating on whatever he’d tried to say before Wes arrived.
“I’m giving Home Depot half my paycheck,” Wes said, “and I never get reimbursed. You know what she gives me for Christmas and my birthday? Home Depot gift cards. It’s like she’s buying me gifts for herself. You ever heard of toilet paper math? I call this girlfriend math.”
Avery laughed, but part of her attention remained on Miles. They made eye contact, and her smile seemed to bring him out of his trance.
“Oh Wes, you’d do anything for Jeanette,” Miles said, rubbing his hands through his hair, mussing it enough to look like he had just climbed out of bed.
That bed. Rumpled morning Miles used to paste gentle kisses across her bare shoulders and show up late for his early morning running workouts.
These days, she awoke to kisses from Casper.
And there was no lazing around. The dog needed to go out.
“Ayuh. And there’s benefits to dating the girl who owns the Lakeside Diner.” Wes patted his stomach as he walked to the bathroom to turn off the tub.
“She’s lucky to have you,” Avery said as he left the bathroom.
Wes grabbed his tools and stopped on his way out the door.
“New countertops in the bathroom would help.” He pointed at her. “Just don’t ask Miles to pick them. He takes forever.”
Miles grimaced, picked up a curtain, and unfolded it.
“You pick paint colors. I’ll do a rough drawing of the new bed and check Uncle Henry’s for leftover countertops,” Wes said.
“Miles, I can’t wait for the canoe trip for Nate’s bachelor party.
Jeanette’ll be out of town at her cousin’s wedding, and I’m so happy to miss that. Her family’s a piece of work.”
Lily had mentioned the guys still needed one more to fill out all six canoes for Nate’s trip. Hayes had texted he could come a couple days ago. Nate needed to find a twelfth man who liked being on the river.
“Jeanette says you haven’t stopped by the diner for breakfast in a while.” Wes elbowed Miles and gave him an exaggerated wink. “You’re everyone’s favorite customer.”
“I’ve had a lot going on.” Miles shrugged. “Tell her I’ll stop by soon.”
“What day? I want to make sure I’m there,” Wes said.
“Why?” Miles leveled him with a dark stare.
“I just thought we could grab a bite to eat together,” he said. “I’ll even buy your breakfast for once.”
“Aw, Wes, that’s so sweet,” Avery said. “Isn’t it, Miles?”
Miles nodded with a grunt.
“Carry on, you two.” Wes stepped outside and closed the door.
Avery handed Miles the curtain to hold up in front of the French doors facing the lake. As she considered it, he smiled at her as if remembering something. She felt her heart skip, half wanting him to finish what he had tried to say earlier.
“I forgot how a project energizes you.” He wiggled the curtain. “What do you think?”
“I love them, and with that birch tree bed”—she blew a chef’s kiss into the air—“I’m envisioning perfection.”
He swung the bottom of the curtain in her direction, and together they folded it. He made sure to keep the original creases, and she wondered if he remembered that mattered to her.
“Everything okay?” she asked as she set the folded curtain on the desk. “You got a little quiet earlier.”
“I was wondering if you still paint watercolors. Or did you get tired of it after creating design after design for the Peppered Page? Some people stop enjoying something once it becomes work.”
“I got lucky. The painting part of my job never felt like work. I still love it, but I’ve had a lot going on lately.” She gathered her car keys and the empty bags. “I brought my paints.”
“Your work has a breeziness to it that fits with the dreamy vibe you described. Your stationery had that.”
Sometime in the last few years, Miles must’ve wondered about her enough to search out her stationery.
“For the website, what about watercolors mixed in with actual photos?” he asked.
Painting Montressa had been one of her favorite activities that summer. The lake had moods, and she loved capturing them. She couldn’t wait to dig out her brushes and tubes of watercolors.
“That’s a great idea.” The doorknob spun in Avery’s hand. She spun it again and pulled. Twice. “Hmm. It won’t open.”
Miles reached in and twisted it one way and then back the other. It opened.
“I hate you did it in one try.” She smirked as she switched off the light and stepped outside.
“I got lucky,” he said.
When their eyes met, she could have sworn he was referring to something else. The amber glow of the setting sun had turned his eyes the color of maple syrup. A tingle let loose somewhere deep inside her.
“I’ll put the doorknob on Wes’s fix-it list.” She swept a stray hair behind her ear.
Miles placed a hand on Avery’s shoulder and circled his thumb under her clavicle. Fireflies. They had never called this buzzing sensation in her stomach butterflies. After the day a lightning bug landed on him, they’d felt fireflies. It had been a long time since she’d felt them.
“We’re making progress now that we’re in cahoots,” he said, lifting his hand.
“Cahoots? We are not in cahoots.”
“Oh, we are in cahoots. We’re opening a resort, remodeling dusty cabins, and collaborating on a website.” He counted on his fingers. “That’s cahoots.”
Avery giggled. “No one, except maybe Lorelai Gilmore, says cahoots anymore.”
“I’m bringing it back,” he said as he followed her up the path.
They might not be in cahoots, but if they got the website and social media accounts up before Bright and Early filmed, the resort might fill for the summer.
“Us being in cahoots only happened because I want to finish what I started. For our friends.”
“Ayuh, so do I.” He pivoted toward the path that led off Montressa’s property, past Loon Cove, and out to the point.
To the Red House. His broad shoulders, those jeans that hung just right over his hips.
Avery was glad she’d be around until mid-August. Maybe he would finally tell her whatever he’d started to say back there in the Boathouse.
Wondering about it sent a firefly thrum through her middle as heat rose in her chest. She needed to tamp those thoughts down. This guy ghosted her for ten years.
The more time Avery spent with Miles, the more it felt like he held a lit match, the flame flickering while he decided which of two firecrackers to light. One would make her glow, the other would burn her whole world down. Again.