2. Eli
ELI
“No,” I sigh into my cell phone, propping the device against my shoulder to free up my hands. “You asked for the wrong lumber when we started the project. I have to reorder it before I can continue working on that bookshelf?—”
“You promised you’d have the job done by Christmas, Eli!
” my client snaps in my ear as I reach for the door of Batter and Bliss Bakery, my eyes cast downward to keep from slipping on any random ice patches.
I don’t need to worry, though. The walkway has been properly salted.
“I have people coming! This is unprofessional!”
I clench my jaw, keeping my temper in check. This is not my mistake. She changed her mind about what she wanted.
“We can use the lumber you originally approved, and I can get the bookshelf built right away,” I tell her. “We can also use the cherry oak wood that you decided you wanted instead. Regardless, it will only take me half a day to build the bookshelf. It will be done before Christmas.”
I collide with a woman exiting the bakery as I enter, my head popping back up in shock.
Her order flies out of her hand along with my cell phone, both items landing in a nearby snowbank as we gawk at one another. Instantly, I recognize Lucy Lane’s granddaughter as she stares at me with her mouth slacked open. For half a second, we’re paralyzed, but I’m the first to recover.
“Oh, boy,” I mutter, reaching down to grab the half-emptied bag and my phone from the snow pile. Her holly-shaped cookies are a pile of crumbs.
My client yells through the speaker of my phone. “Hello? Eli? I can hear you!”
Propping the phone back against my ear, I amble back toward the dazed blonde woman.
“I’ll call you back,” I tell my customer. Hanging up, I hand the broken bits to Lucy’s granddaughter, who accepts them as the door to Batter and Bliss closes behind her. “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “Let me get you another order of whatever that was.”
Her hazel eyes widen more, this time in recognition. “You… you were at my grandmother’s!”
“Eli Barton.” I extend a gloved hand toward her, my free hand hastily brushing the snow off my phone before tucking it into the pocket of my oversized coat. Our collective breaths escape in plumes of white against the frosty Montana air.
“Melody… Lane,” she introduces herself. I reach for the door again and usher her across the threshold into the warmth of the sweet-smelling bakery. “You really don’t have to worry about the cookies,” she starts to protest. “It was probably a sign that I need to watch my sugar intake.”
“Oh, no,” I insist. “It’s practically blasphemy to avoid Daphne’s holly cookies.”
She doesn’t argue beyond that, and Daphne smiles at me from behind the counter, casting the blonde a confused look.
“Back so soon?” she jokes lightly. “I like to think I’m good, but I didn’t know I was that good.”
“I bumped into her outside, and she dropped her order." My face twists in embarrassment. "She's going to need a do-over."
"Oh, no!" Daphne gives us a sympathetic look and gets to work. She collects another three of her popular holiday-styled cookies from within the display case as Melody shifts her weight uncomfortably by the counter, avoiding my curious stare.
After a moment of awkward silence, I fill in the quiet over the lilting Christmas music piping out from the speakers.
“You don’t live in Holly Ridge, do you?” I ask her bluntly, speaking the question on my mind.
Her head jerks up, and she shakes her head but then stops. “Actually, I?—”
The door to the bakery opens again, cutting her off as she steps aside to make way for more customers. Daphne hands the order to Melody and turns her warm, brown stare on me. “What can I get you, Eli?”
“You know what? Now I’m in the mood for holly cookies, too,” I say.
Daphne snickers. “You’re just making me work extra hard today, aren’t you?”
“Just making sure that display case is working well,” I give my friend a wink.
Daphne laughs again, pulling out another paper bag. “You know full well that your work is always stellar. That’s why everyone on Main Street uses you.”
I grin at the compliment, and now it’s Melody giving me a strange look as I pull out my wallet to pay. Daphne doesn’t charge me for three of the cookies.
“Accidents happen,” she chirps with a twinkle in her eyes, as if she’s speaking from experience. “You don’t need to be punished for it.”
Thanking her, we step away from the counter and head back outside, Melody still casting me a sidelong look.
“What did she mean?” she asks when we’re back in the frosty Montana morning.
“About what?”
“That everyone on Main Street uses you?”
“Oh.” I reach back into my pocket for my wallet, removing a business card with a clumsy pull of my gloved fingers. “I’m a handyman. I take care of home repairs and projects for the businesses and residents around here.”
Her face brightens, but before she can speak, I see a police vehicle pull up next to my work truck across the road. My stomach drops as I realize I haven’t parked properly, and the cop is checking out my truck.
“I have to go!” I apologize hastily. “I think I’m about to get a ticket. It was nice seeing you again.” I jog across the road and turn around, nodding toward the card in her hand. “Call me if you need anything. My number’s on the card.”
I turn back before she can reject the idea, scurrying toward the vehicle, wondering where that brazen offer came from. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll never see Melody Lane again. She clearly only came into town for her grandmother’s funeral.
That’s a shame. She’s gorgeous. I would have rather taken her out for dinner than cookies, but there’s no sense in starting something when she doesn’t even live here. Not that I’m ready for anything beyond cookies on the street, anyway.
By the time I finish my jobs for the day and return home, I’m exhausted.
I retrieve the mail from the house-shaped mailbox I built myself and walk up the salted driveway, thankful that I don't need to shovel it again.
The snow held off today. We already have a decent amount for the upcoming Christmas festival in two weeks.
The ice rink will be frozen, and the hills will be covered enough for sledding.
The residents of Holly Ridge will be pleased.
One of my neighbors waves at me from two houses over, and I wave back, the pair of us retreating indoors simultaneously. Except he’ll return home to his wife and young son. I’m going home to yesterday’s pasta and a hockey game.
And whose fault is that? You don’t have to spend Christmas alone. Someone would be over the moon if you picked up the phone and sent her a text, I bet.
I push away the unwelcome thought. Jill and I were never right for each other, despite my efforts.
I could never face another strained holiday watching her expressions, trying to decipher my mistakes.
The emotional toll isn’t worth it. Solitude with my takeout and television are definitely the better option.
Stomping the remaining snow off my steel-toed boots, I enter the cramped foyer of my house and toss the mail on the entranceway table, shrugging out of my jacket. Amongst the takeout flyers and bills, a handwritten letter pokes out, slipping to the floor. Frowning, I lean down to scoop it up.
The return address surprises me as much as the pretty, feminine scrawl on the front with my name.
Melody Lane’s beautiful face pops into my head, but I know she has nothing to do with this letter. An eerie feeling overcomes me as I slowly open the correspondence from her grandmother.
She must have sent this before she died. How weird. Why didn’t she just call me if she needed something?
I did odd jobs for Lucy Lane. The woman had my phone number.
Slightly unsettled, I amble into the living room and perch in my favorite chair, unfolding the lined paper. A check falls out of the folds onto the red and black area rug, but I leave it, my curiosity overtaking the need to see the amount listed.
She doesn’t owe me any money…
Blinking, I begin to read.
Dear Eli,
If you’re reading this letter, it means I’ve gone to a better place. Please tell Edna I don’t fault her for finding another euchre partner for our Friday night games. Maybe she’ll have a better chance at winning now.
Sadness fills me as I hear the older woman’s light, silly tone in my ears.
As you well know, my house needs a lot of work.
I’m not sure what will become of it, but one way or another, it will need to be fixed.
We’ve discussed the roof and porch in the past, as well as some of the interior issues.
I’ve enclosed a check for you to attend to those matters immediately, so the place can be dealt with accordingly.
I tried to keep up with it, but the idea of having so much work done at my age was a bit much.
I never cared much for the idea of constant noise as I tried to enjoy my morning tea.
I’ve enclosed a check. Do what you can with what I’ve sent, but please try to get it done quickly. I would not want the house to be a burden on anyone.
Thank you for all your help.
Sincerely,
Lucy Lane
Baffled by the strange request, I reach down to the floor and gawk at the amount on the check. There is more than enough to fix the roof and the half dozen other projects that I remember her discussing with me.
I realize she was trying to prepare the house for sale, and it saddens me more. Her husband built that place for her, “a labor of love,” she called it. It would be sad to see it go.
I rise to my feet and slide the letter back into the envelope, surprised to discover a house key inside.
Studying the golden key, I purse my lips.
Lucy planned for everything, and once again, my thoughts turn to her granddaughter.
There's no mention of Melody in the letter.
Is she aware of her grandmother's intentions?
It’s none of my business, and I have no right to ask.
“All right, Lucy,” I agree aloud. “I’ll fix your house for you.”
I hope someone wonderful moves in. It’s what Lucy’s memory deserves. But the plans will have to wait a few days. I have to move some things around. All the same, I vow to honor Lucy’s wishes. She was a sweet lady, and it’s the least I can do for her.