Chapter 9
No words came from my open mouth.
James was staying in Autumn Ridge.
Or was he asking me if he could stay?
I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or put you in a tough position,” he said, “but I need to be here for my mom.” He looked away, blinking so quickly, I wasn’t sure if the sheen I’d seen had been a trick of the light or not. “I know my mom wants to be helpful to you, but she’s…”
“She’s tired,” I offered, pressing the ice to my head.
“Yeah.”
I stared at the ground for a few seconds.
This did complicate things for me. Working for May Carver was already a big deal. Working with James?
Ryan would absolutely hate that. He didn’t even know James was here.
But what was the alternative?
Tell James I couldn’t work with him?
That would mean one of two things: him leaving his mom again or me reneging on my promise to help May.
I’d been judging James for leaving in the first place. I should be happy he was here, taking responsibility, right? Or was I one of those people who would condemn a person for doing something, then refuse to support them changing?
As for the option to renege…I needed this project. I needed it financially, but I also needed it creatively.
“I promise to stay out of your way as much as possible,” he said when my silence continued. “I’d just ask that, if you have something you need to ask my mom about or if you need help with something, you come to me first. Mama’s not very good at admitting when she can’t do something.”
I chuckled softly, and James gave a responsive smile—an acknowledgment that we agreed on that point.
“Right now, I think her body needs rest,” he said.
“I agree.”
His eyes searched my face. “Is it okay with you, then?”
I forced a laugh. “You don’t need my permission to stay with your mom, James.”
“Of course not,” he said. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
I knew that. I was buying time because what he wanted was for me to…absolve him. To sign a peace treaty on behalf of my brother.
“Your staying doesn’t change much,” I said. “I made an arrangement with your mom, and I’m going to see it through. I wasn’t planning to have her do much at all—obviously, I didn’t tell her that because…well, you get it.”
A warm, laughing light came into his eyes. “She wouldn’t stand for it.”
I smiled. “I love your mom. She’s the best.”
His gaze on me sharpened, then he looked down. “She is. She’s a pretty big fan of yours too.”
I let out a big breath, my mind returning to the real topic at hand.
“Look, James, your mom needs you here. She’s so happy with you around, and I’d never want to get in the way of that.
As for the stuff between you and Ryan? That’s your business.
I can’t fix it, but I’m also not going to let it keep me from what I set out to do. ”
Relief settled over James’s face. “Thank you.”
I turned and started walking again. “Maybe hold off on thanking me until we make some money. It could turn out that you’d be better off pouring your surplus of maple down the drain.”
We spent the last few minutes of the walk discussing a few of the businesses it might be worth talking to about carrying farm products.
We came up with the candle shop, the inn, and the pumpkin patch when it opened.
We figured the dental office probably wouldn’t be thrilled about selling sugary products.
“I can take that,” I said, nodding at my duffel bag when we reached the sugar shack.
It was perfectly placed to accentuate his strong chest—a mental image I didn’t particularly want emblazoned on my memory for the rest of eternity.
He looped it over his head, his gaze fixing on my forehead. “Are you really okay? Maybe you should be seen. Head injuries are serious.”
I reached for the duffel, but he slipped it over my head, careful to avoid my injury as he rested it on my shoulder.
I gave him a grateful smile. “I remember my humiliation in vivid detail, unfortunately, so I’m fine.”
He surveyed me, then nodded. “I’m going to check on Mama.” He moved, then hesitated.
“What?”
“Maybe you should take my number down,” he said. “Just in case you need anything or…get locked in any closets.”
Oh. My. Gosh. Was that a twinkle in James Carver’s eye? I didn’t even know those dark wells of brooding were capable of such a thing anymore.
“Har har, James,” I said, but I took out my phone anyway.
As he repeated his number to me and I tapped the digits into my phone, I felt a bit like a double agent, exchanging numbers with the enemy.
It was business, I reminded myself. James was the equivalent of May’s secretary. A go-between, nothing more.
Ryan was in finance. Surely, he worked with people he’d prefer not to. He’d understand my situation. He would because I’d explain it to him. Eventually. I didn’t like keeping uncomfortable secrets from the people I loved.
You know what else I didn’t like? Watching my non-existent savings dwindle as my future at Keller’s hung in the balance.
I saved James’s number under Maple Farm.
A few hours later, I had my first prototype of the next Carver Maple Farm product: maple brown butter cookies.
Keller’s Bakehouse didn’t sell cookies. Apparently, they didn’t require enough skill to be worthy of the Keller brand.
I’d incorporated maple syrup—opting for the dark syrup—into the dough.
I tasted the cookies, of course, but that was just a formality to make sure they didn’t induce sudden vomiting.
They didn’t—a real win—but I had no idea how they tasted.
For me, baking was like staring at a word for too long.
After a while, it just looked wrong. Were these worthy of The Great British Bake-Off? Only fit for toddler palates?
I needed an unbiased judge.
I pulled up the brand new Maple Farm contact in my phone and stared at it for a few seconds. James would tell me if these were an affront to maple trees everywhere.
Me
Hey, it’s Sadie. I just made something, and it might be disgusting. Will you try it?
I stared at the screen, waiting for a response.
The minutes ticked by, and I began to regret my attempt at being funny. I typed out I was kidding just as a text rolled onto the top of my screen.
James
You sold me. Be there right away
I smiled and deleted my follow-up text.
He could do humor. I’d known that, though. I wouldn’t soon forget those twinkling eyes. Their usual darkness made it all the more memorable, like stars in the night sky.
I worked on cleaning up, and a couple of minutes later, the door to the kitchen opened.
I glanced at James over my shoulder. “Regretting your decision to stick around yet?”
“Ask me in two minutes,” he said, coming up to the counter.
Look at that! Another little joke.
I dried my hands on a towel and joined him at the cooling rack, leaning my hip against the counter. “I’m not even going to tell you what they are. I want you going in blind.”
He looked at the cookies. “I’m looking at them right now.”
“Metaphorically blind, James.”
“Yeah, but they’re cookies. And I’m going to go out on a limb and guess they’re maple?”
I grabbed one and shoved it toward him. “Just eat the maple cookie, James.”
With the ghost of a smile, he bit into it.
And I watched. Every micro-expression, every feather of the powerful muscles in his jaw.
The man gave nothing away, though. It was no wonder I’d been bewitched by him for years, waiting and hoping for a peek behind the curtain.
He chewed for an eternity. My jaws would’ve been exhausted. His were made of something altogether different.
“Any…reaction?” I prompted.
He swallowed. Finally. “It’s really good.”
I stared at him. “But?”
“But nothing. It’s really good.”
“And yet?”
A breathy laugh escaped him. “There’s no and yet, Sadie.”
I pressed my lips together. There was something he wasn’t saying, and I needed him to say it. “You’re fired.”
His brows went up. “What?”
“Yep.” I turned back to my dishes. “Fired.”
There was a pause. “Because I told you the cookies are really good?”
“Because you left out the rest.”
“You assume,” he replied.
I turned back toward him. “Is it an assumption? Look at you, standing over there with your”—my hand waved toward him generically—“broodiness and your mysterious mystique-iness.”
His brows furrowed. “My what?”
“You heard me. What percentage of your thoughts do you actually voice aloud? One? If we round up? I need feedback. Honest, liberal feedback.”
“Fine,” he said. “It’s boring.”
I blinked. “Boring.”
“The cookie. It’s delicious, but…safe.”
I took a second to digest that. “Don’t you want safe products? We want people to buy them.”
“Of course. But they can get a maple cookie at any deli in New England. It won’t be half as good as yours, but it’ll be less than half as expensive.”
The man had a point.
“Go on,” I said.
“I just think we can afford a little more risk. Make maple cookies, sure. But make them stand out a little. Put your own spin on them.”
Holding his gaze, I chewed the inside of my lip. I wasn’t used to putting spin on anything. Mrs. Keller was staunchly anti-spin. One time, I’d noticed we were running low on vanilla, so I’d picked some up at the store.
She about lost it when she saw the unfamiliar bottle in the bakery.
Apparently, she’d rubbed off on me more than I’d thought.
“Spin can be dangerous,” I said. “How much spin are we talking? Maple-pickle-cookie spin?”
He shrugged. “If you think that’d be good.”
“I don’t.”
The twinkle came back. “Then don’t do it. You’re the baker. I trust you.”
I swallowed. James trusted me. He said it so simply, like it was a given.
Did I trust myself? Trust myself to spin? Spinning made me dizzy.
“And you’ll tell me if I make something that’s awful?” I asked.
His gaze was clear. “I’ll always tell you the truth.”
I sucked in a breath, letting the words calm the anxiety that had started bubbling up. “Okay, well, I can start…spinning tomorrow. It’s getting late.”
My home pantry—aka small cupboard—was looking sad after the schedule I’d kept this week, and the busyness wouldn’t let up until after the mayor’s party.
Speaking of which…I still hadn’t found an outfit for that.
It was a black-tie affair, where my usual clothing fell under the whatever dough and horse snot washes out of most easily category. There was very little overlap there.
“I’ll drive you home,” James said.
I opened my mouth to say I had my own car, but…I didn’t. I’d left it at Horseshoe Holler like an idiot.
My resulting choices weren’t great:
1. Walk through the woods in the dark—alone—to the stables.
2. Let James drive me home and find a way back to my car tomorrow so I didn’t have to admit my car was at Horseshoe Holler.
3. Swallow my pride and have James drive me to my car.
“Would you actually be able to drive me back to the stables?” I asked.
A beat of confusion flashed through his eyes. “Sure.”
I probably should’ve answered his unasked question, but he was too polite to ask, and I was too happy not to admit why I was making the request to offer the answer.
He helped me finish up the last bits of cleaning, then I insisted he take half of the cookies to his mom. The rest I’d pawn off on Wade. Or Ryan’s family.
The thought of Ryan made my stomach flip uncomfortably, but I ignored it. A girl had to get home.
The Carvers had a couple of older trucks and one less-old truck. James took the cookies inside and grabbed the keys to the newer one.
In the confined space of the truck cab, James’s cologne took center stage.
I spent my days inhaling warm bakery smells, so I wasn’t exactly hurting for pleasant aromas in my life. Or so I’d thought.
Suffocating in the key of James, I rolled down my window and let my arm sit over it. “So, how are you able to stay in Autumn Ridge so long? What about your job?” I didn’t even know what his job was. He could be a nomad, for all I knew.
“I’ve got a lot of time-off saved up,” he said. “And this is a season when it’s a lot of desk work anyway.”
“What do you do?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Forestry services,” he said. “Reforestation and consulting stuff.”
I frowned. “I have no idea what that means. I mean, I kind of know what reforestation is, but…what do you do?”
“Spend a lot of time with trees.”
I laughed a bit, letting my hand ride on the chill wind. “Some things never change. So, what, you plant trees?”
“For part of the year, yeah.”
I shot him a flat look.
It took him a second to glance over at me to notice it. “What?”
“You’re doing it again. Try for 2 or 3% out loud this time.”
He gave a laugh. “I’m out doing forest surveys a lot—measuring trees, sampling soil, recording data. It’s a lot of camp stoves and GPS.”
I let that sink in for a minute. It sounded half-magical, half-lonely.
“You can just drop me here,” I said as we pulled into the long drive leading to the stables.
James shot me a funny look and kept driving.
Soon, the truck headlights illuminated my car on the side of the stables.
James pressed the brakes, his brow furrowed. “Your car’s here?”
“Yep,” I said brightly as I pulled on the handle.
“Why’d you walk to the farm if you had a car?”
He had me there. I had no good response, and trying to come up with one was bound to end badly.
“Now who’s holding back?”
I grimaced, but he was right. I’d asked for his honesty, but I wasn’t offering him the same. “I just…find it difficult to navigate things with you.” My heart thumped at my own words.
James nodded. “Does Ryan know you’re working at the farm?”
“He does.”
Even in the dark, I could see the surprise in his gaze. Not just surprise, though. Hope.
“He doesn’t know about you yet.”
The hope went out like a dead lightbulb. “Right.”
It was quiet for a few seconds.
“I’ll be back at the sugar shack tomorrow to work on the boring cookies,” I said.
James’s eyes narrowed. “You asked for honesty and now you’re punishing me with it.”
“It’s not punishing,” I said as I got out of the car and faced him. “It’s teasing. Tomorrow’s cookies are going to knock your socks off, James Carver.”
He smiled. A genuine, unrestrained smile. No teeth, but still…it was more than I’d seen in…well, years. “Maple pickle cookies it is.”
I laughed, shut the door, then waved.
He waited until I’d gotten into my car before making a U-turn in the lot and heading out.
James was a thoughtful guy. So much about him confused me, not least of which was the hope in his eyes for those few seconds when he’d thought Ryan knew I was working with him—when he’d thought maybe Ryan didn’t hate him anymore.
But Ryan’s anger at James had reached cruising altitude eight years ago and had never deviated since.