5. Melody
MELODY
Ipretend not to pay any attention to Eli working outside as I sit by the living room window in front of my laptop, waiting for the words to flow from my mind onto the keyboard.
His brush-off on Saturday bothered me more than I let on, but I keep telling myself it’s for the best. I’m clearly too distracted already, and the more he hangs around, the less work I’ll get done. I didn’t come to Holly Ridge to date. I came to finish this book and settle in.
It’s better this way for everyone.
All the same, I can’t stop myself from watching him work on the deck, the job almost done in what I consider record time—not that I have much of a sense for these things.
It’s hard not to take notice as he moves effortlessly, stopping every once in a while to wipe beads of sweat from under his knit hat.
Despite the freezing temperatures outside, he’s still working up a sweat.
His head pops up at the window, startling me, and I draw back as he grins at me, pointing toward the door. I nod, rising from my spot to let him inside.
“You can come in without me letting you in,” I remind him, opening the door.
He lingers at the doorway, making no move to enter further. “I know, but I don’t want to disturb you.”
I expect that he’ll use the washroom, but he remains on the rubber mat, staring at me. “I’m almost finished with the deck.”
I nod approvingly. “You’re fast, and it looks great, from what I’ve seen. Gran would be impressed.”
He appears pleased by the compliment. “It’s put together, but it will need to be stained in the spring. There’s no sense in doing it now. It will just need to be redone, anyway.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “At least I know I’m not going to fall through one of the steps anymore.”
He chuckles. “Definitely not. I’m going to start on the roof next week.”
I shiver slightly. “It’s so cold. Are you sure you don’t want to hold off on that until spring, too? There are some things that can be done inside in the meantime. The bedroom floor or the painting?”
“No, the roof is important. One bad blizzard could leave you in a terrible place, not to mention make things way worse than they need to be. I want to get it done.”
I eye him in appreciation.
“But I’ll probably bring in a couple of helpers for that,” he adds. “I just wanted to give you a heads up. Maybe close your curtains.”
I smile. “Noted.”
Eli lingers in the entranceway, and my eyes dart toward the coffee pot.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” I offer nervously.
He's only come inside briefly to use the restroom a couple of times since he blew me off on the weekend.
I miss our back-and-forth banter. Frankly, I could use the distraction.
Staring at my blank computer screen isn't producing anything worthwhile anyway.
We don't need to socialize outside of work.
But there's no harm in being friendly here, is there?
He hesitates before nodding, to my relief. Kicking off his boots, he follows me into the kitchen, and I fix us both a cup of coffee.
He sinks onto one of the antique kitchen chairs and peers at me speculatively. “I feel like things have been awkward between us since the weekend.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise over my shoulder. He’s blunt about his feelings, and I appreciate it, but I’m not used to him bringing up anything that isn’t small talk, and I wasn’t about to bring up the slight discomfort between us.
“Are they?” I ask. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Calling off our… outing. It wasn’t about you, Melody. I think you’re amazing, actually.”
His confession brings a blush to my cheeks. I turn my head back toward the coffee, busying myself with the cups.
“It’s fine—” I start to say.
“It’s not fine. I… I’d like a do-over this weekend, if you’re still interested in joining me for a Christmas event. There’s a craft show at the art gallery on Saturday and Sunday.”
Frowning, I turn to set the coffee in front of him.
Really? Is he asking me out again?
“Before you say no, you should know that I have a booth there myself, so it won’t be a…” He trails off.
I arch an eyebrow, a soft smile touching my lips. “A what?” I tease. “A date?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, picking up his cup to press it to his lips.
“I’m just saying it’s no pressure. I’ll be working my booth.
But it would be great to have you there with me, and you’ll get to see all the local artisans.
There are some great gift ideas if you have people on your list to buy for. ”
I take a seat in front of him. “What will you be doing there?”
Almost shyly, he looks up from his cup and shrugs. “I make wooden toys. Out of my wood shop.”
Interest sparks inside me. “Toys? Woodshop? You’re like one of Santa’s elves.”
He chuckles. “Except I try to turn a bit of a profit from them.”
“I suppose if you don’t have any kids to give them to, that’s the next best thing.”
“I make some things for my nephew.”
I sit up straighter, curiosity piqued. “Oh, I didn’t realize you have siblings. Do they live here in Holly Ridge?”
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Maybe we can talk about it more at the craft fair?” He abruptly stands up.
My forehead creases with confusion at his sudden change in attitude. One second, he’s open to deeper discussions, the next, he’s shutting down.
“Again, no pressure. Like I said, I’m going to be there, anyway.”
Okay, does he want me there, or doesn’t he? I can’t entirely tell, but I also don’t want to make this any more complicated than it needs to be. He’s a friend, inviting me out to a public show. What’s the big deal?
“Okay,” I agree. “Should we try for Saturday?”
Relief crosses his face, and Eli bobs his head. “I can pick you up, but it will be earlier because I have to set up my booth. Or you could meet me there.”
I wonder which one he’d prefer, but I don’t ask him.
“Why don’t I meet you there?” I say. “That way, you won’t feel responsible for dropping me off after a long day.”
Is that disappointment on his face? He’s so hard to read, and I feel slightly frustrated with not knowing.
Maybe I’ll get to know him a bit better this weekend, I reason. Get his walls down a bit.
“Sounds good. I should get back to work. The deck isn’t going to finish itself.”
He picks up his coffee and heads back toward the entranceway to put his boots back on, and I find myself studying him curiously.
What’s your deal, Eli Barton? Why are you like this?
Truthfully, I have no idea what to wear for a small-town craft fair.
Any time my grandmother took me to the ones in the summer, they were all part of some outdoor festival, part of a carnival-like attraction.
A show in an art gallery that is partially a date seems like a fancier occasion, and I look through all my clothes.
In the end, I opt for a black cashmere sweater adorned with a delicate embroidered snowflake, paired with wide-legged wool trousers that drape over my leather boots that hit just below the calf.
I know the gallery is right downtown, on Main Street, so I won’t be trekking through the snow. Leaving my blonde ringlets loose, I apply a dab of pink lipstick and a hint of mascara before locking up the cabin and heading out to meet Eli.
Main Street is alive with patrons, weaving in and out of the brightly decorated storefronts, and the mayor greets people at the front door of the Holly Ridge Art Gallery with his attractive wife.
“Welcome!” They usher me in with the customary broad smiles I’m learning that most people in Holly Ridge carry on demand.
But the more time I spend here, the more I understand why. There’s a lot to smile about here.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“There’s apple cider and prosecco floating around,” the mayor’s wife informs me. “Help yourself and make sure you visit all the artisans. There’s something here for everyone, I guarantee it.” She raises her expensive camera and snaps a photo of me. “Enjoy!”
I promise I will and take a pamphlet from her hands, scanning the wide gallery for a sign of Eli.
There are a fair number of people already among the stalls, poring over the paintings and crafts, the homemade knitted items, and the clay sculptures.
I wonder if Gran ever had a booth set up here for her own crocheted items, and I wish she were here with me.
In a small way, I can feel her in the house sometimes, catching a whiff of her floral perfume, or hearing her hearty laughter.
It comforts me to know she’s around somehow.
A familiar face appears on my left—a woman holding a small puppy in her arms. My heart jumps as I recognize Edna Monroe.
I owe that woman an apology after the way I snapped at her during my grandmother's reception. And although I’m embarrassed, I don’t want the opportunity to slip me by.
Sucking in a proud breath, I march toward her, reminding myself I was in the wrong and deserve any response I get from her.
“Mrs. Monroe?” I tap her gently on the shoulder, and the dog yaps at me in protest. I immediately withdraw as she turns to eye me suspiciously. Her face relaxes when she sees me, but her crystalline eyes remain guarded.
“Hello,” she offers crisply. “I didn’t realize you were still in Holly Ridge.”
I draw in a deep breath and hang my head. “I’m living in Gran’s house now. She left it to me.”
A look of surprise passes over Edna's remarkably smooth face. If I had to guess, I would put her in her late sixties, but she carries herself with the air of someone much younger.
"I'm glad to hear it's not being sold. Lucy loved that house." She glances to her left, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.
I've clearly made her uncomfortable after our encounter at the house, and my stomach twists with guilt. I need to set things right between us, and quickly.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Monroe,” I blurt out. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way at the reception. I know you and my grandmother were good friends. I wasn’t handling the day very well, and I think I inadvertently took it out on you. You didn’t deserve it. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”