Chapter 21
chapter
twenty-one
Darren spent mornings in the house. Painting a bedroom that held no furniture. Making breakfast and then lunch for himself. Cleaning a bathroom. Installing a ceiling fan. He took his lunch out to the barn and stable with him, and he did a little work there each day too.
He had two cowhands to exercise and feed the handful of horses that he’d bought with the property. Sometimes he’d saddle Paintbrush and take the horse for a walk down the snowpacked road.
Afternoons usually found him out in the orchards. He didn’t have a lot to do with the trees in the winter, but he liked their skeletal branches and he wanted to keep his eye on his new maple saplings.
Once Farrah left, he checked on the boutique, making good mental notes about how the fish were doing, and the progress of the plants.
He’d been surprised at how easily this place maintained itself, but he also knew Farrah and Audra and Meagan—who hadn’t quit yet—did an enormous amount of work he didn’t even know about.
But the boutique didn’t require much in terms of money, besides the occasional repair, which he could do himself.
In the evenings, after everyone had left the farm but him, he went out into one of the sheds in the backyard.
Jim had once been a woodworker, and he’d left all his tools and machinery.
Darren was slowly building himself a kitchen table, but he suspected the chairs would be too complex for his budding habit.
He watched videos online and he subscribed to a website that sent how-to tutorials to his email inbox. His hands found an easy rhythm with wood, and he felt certain that he’d be able to make beds and rocking chairs, couches and end tables, given enough time.
The scent of wood and shavings soothed him almost as much as riding Paintbrush or going to church. He hadn’t been into town on the Sabbath since he’d purchased the farm. It was a fifteen minute drive, and he craved his solitude.
Still, as Christmas approached, he felt called to go hear what Pastor Gray had to say about the Savior. Maybe then he could close this year up right. Find a measure of peace to hold onto. Discover a way to be happier in the coming year.
He stepped through the doors of the church the Sunday before Christmas to a mob of people. He’d forgotten how busy the building could get during the holidays. Ben had saved him a sliver of space on the end of the row, and Darren folded himself into it.
“Merry Christmas,” Ben said, beaming at him. “Rae wants you to come for dinner this afternoon since you’ll be gone on Christmas Day.”
“I suppose I can be persuaded,” Darren said, grinning back. “Is she feeling better?” He looked past Ben to Rae, who sat with her hand on her very pregnant belly.
She seemed a bit flushed, but she said, “I’m fine, Darren. Bring yourself and maybe some of those oatmeal cookies Ben has been telling me about.”
“You told her about my cookies?” Darren’s mock horror made Ben chuckle.
“No raisins,” Rae added just as the prelude music started.
Darren would never pollute an oatmeal cookie with raisins. At this point, he hoped he could make them edible. He’d never made them for anyone before, and he’d tasted Rae’s baking. His cookies definitely weren’t up to par. Most of the time he ate the dough instead of baking them into cookies.
Pastor Gray stood at the pulpit, his face practically glowing with heavenly light.
He told the story of the Christ child’s birth, and Darren sat back and relaxed.
He could almost substitute his mother’s voice in place of the pastor’s.
She loved the shepherds, and therefore, Darren had grown to love them too.
He hadn’t thought of his mother quite so much as he had in the past couple of months. He’d brought his set of green napkins, embroidered with that B, to the farmhouse he was slowly making his. He’d been thinking about what it meant to be a Buttars.
And while he still wasn’t entirely sure, he knew he wanted to live a good life, the way the Savior had.
“He focused on serving others,” Pastor Gray said. “He never deviated from that. And we shouldn’t either. Sometimes it can be hard to find ways to serve. Sometimes people resist the help. Pray, and God will put you where you’re needed most.”
He continued speaking about the miracles Jesus has performed while on the earth, and then he sat down in favor of letting the choir bring a spirit of peace and joy with several Christmas hymns.
The entire congregation stood and sang Silent Night, and the service ended. Darren hugged Rae and Ben and tried to get out before the exits got too clogged. He didn’t let his head swivel to find Farrah.
In reality, he could see her anytime he wanted.
All he had to do was walk out to the botanical boutique.
He never did, wanting to give her what he’d promised he would.
He made it to his truck without incident, but his feet froze to the pavement when he saw a bright red envelope stuck under his windshield wiper.
The festive paper flapped in the wind, and Darren glanced around to see if anyone was watching him.
Satisfied they weren’t, he hurried toward the bright spot of color in the winter landscape and pulled it from under the wiper blade. No name. No handwriting at all.
He climbed into the truck and stared it, gripping the thin envelope in his fingers. Not wanting to get stuck in the parking lot once everyone started leaving, he pulled onto the road and headed away from the church.
After a few blocks, he pulled over and looked at the item that had been left on his truck. He slid his finger under the sealed flap and broke it. An invitation lay inside, easily recognizable by the thick paper and bold lettering that read “Housewarming Party” across the top.
He withdrew the invitation completely, his eyes eating up the information on it.
“Farrah moved?” He flipped the invitation to the other side, but it was blank. The address on the front was in Burlington.
Darren gasped as if he’d been kicked square in the chest by a horse.
She’d moved. She was gone.
And she’d told him by placing an invitation to her housewarming party on his truck during the Sunday service?
He wasn’t sure what to think, but he knew he hated holding that glossy paper as if he was supposed to be happy she now lived a half an hour away. Like he would be buying her a houseplant and showing up to her ridiculous party.
The familiar anger he’d experienced most of the summer raced through him. If he came face-to-face with Farrah, they’d probably argue like they had before getting back together this past fall.
He was so tired of arguing. With her. With himself.
So he’d fallen for her.
He could pick himself up and move on. He could. He would. He just needed to figure out how.
One more glance at that invitation, and it looked like she’d moved on without him, literally. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter. They weren’t together. She could do whatever she wanted.
He arrived at his farm, and went through the motions of making oatmeal cookies. The house filled with the scent of warm brown sugar, and Darren texted Sam and Logan while the first batch of cookies baked.
Texts came pouring in, mostly from Logan. He and Layla were more excited about Darren’s visit to California the following day than Darren was. He smiled at the exuberance in his brother’s texts, and the thought of eating lunch on the beach—as Logan had promised—sounded amazing.
While the second tray of cookies baked, he collected the presents he’d bought for Ben and Rae and his new friends and employees of the farm.
He’d meant to get the gifts out to everyone earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to run into Farrah.
Silly, probably. He had a carefully wrapped box for her.
Of course he was going to have to see her.
But no, he’d planned on leaving it in the boutique, where she’d find it and open it in private.
The gift wasn’t anything special. A box of purple dice he’d bought online, and a package of pencils decorated with vines.
He’d heard through Rae that Farrah had joined the bunko group permanently, and he was glad she’d started making friends.
He took that as a good sign in her well-being.
Now, he looked at the box, a skiff of foolishness racing down his spine. She’d moved away from Island Park. Maybe she wouldn’t be doing bunko here next year. Maybe she’d quit her job in the boutique and she hadn’t told him yet.
His heart pounded, and he thought about calling her. Just to ask. Just to say Merry Christmas since he wouldn’t be here on Tuesday. Maybe see if she wanted to come to Ben’s—
He cut off his thoughts, which could derail so easily when it came to Farrah. No, he told himself. She’ll come to you when she’s ready to deal with you.
He hated that he was “something to be dealt with.” The timer went off on the batch of cookies, and Darren gripped the hot pad to get the tray out of the oven. Maybe she’d already come to him. She’d left that invitation on his windshield. Was that an invitation to her party? Or back into her life?
Confused and exhausted with his mental war, he took a deep breath. “It’s almost Christmas,” he said aloud to the house. “Can’t I get a moment of peace on Christmas?” He tipped his head toward the ceiling and added, “Please?”
Nothing much happened, other than some of the tension drained from Darren’s shoulders. He sighed and picked up a freshly baked cookie. The melted chocolate and crisp edges made him moan. He could definitely take these to Rae’s for dinner and not be embarrassed.
He could run by Sherwin Mayfair’s to deliver his gift.
Darren hadn’t known what to get the man who’d been essentially running the farm.
Sherwin took care of the livestock, the schedule for planting, the equipment, all of it.
Jim had been focused on the orchards, and he had spent most of his time there.
Darren had relied on Sherwin to learn the ropes of this farm, and he’d asked the man if they could meet after the new year to properly rename the farm.
Sherwin lived in town, and he’d started dating Audra a couple of months ago. At a loss for what he might like, Darren had written him a note and added some cash to the envelope. He’d never been a boss before, and he wasn’t sure what protocol was. He wasn’t sure he cared what protocol was.
While the cookies cooled, he took his gifts out to his truck. He’d stop by Sherwin’s and Audra’s, Callie’s and Carlson’s. That was his whole staff—don’t forget about Farrah—and they all seemed to get along great.
And how could he forget about Farrah? Her box mocked him, still sitting on the end table he’d finished last week. Should he put it with the others? Stop by her place as he was out?
Surely she wouldn’t be there. She’d probably gone to her parents’ house, especially now that they lived in the same town.
“One way to find out,” he said, marching over to the box and picking it up. He put it with the others in the truck and returned to the house for the cookies. With three paper plates stacked with still-warm cookies, he headed out the front door one more time.
“Oh!” a woman cried out as he barreled straight into her.
He fumbled, grunted, couldn’t find a handhold. The cookies tumbled to the ground. He held his hands out to his sides as he stared in disbelief at the mess on the porch. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the woman.
“Farrah?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry.” She dropped to her knees and started swiping cookies off the ground. “These are still warm.”
Darren stared at her for a few seconds before his brain kicked back into gear. He bent to retrieve the cookies too. They gathered them all, slight wisps of steam from the cookies lifting into the chilly air.
She held one plate while he balanced two. After wiping a lock of her hair off her forehead, she looked at him.
Darren’s chest ached with the beautiful lines of her face. The softness he found in her eyes. So much about her had changed, and yet everything was still the same.
“What are you doin’ here?” he asked.