thirty-seven | emberly
THIRTY-SEVENEmberly
I’m in the studio, setting out the supplies for our tie-dye project, when Juni shoots through the door.
“Hey, girl.” I kneel down and give her some love. “How did you find me? And open the door?”
“I did that part.”
I start at the sound of Will’s voice.
Between finalizing all the last-minute details for the party and multiple phone calls with Samantha about the design options for her new house, I haven’t seen him much this week.
The studio feels like a sauna and I’m well aware that my hair has doubled in size. I’m also ‘glistening’, which is a nice way of saying I’m drenched in sweat.
Will folds in half to enter the room and immediately walks over to the window.
“I tried. It’s stuck.”
Or not.
The stubborn thing gives way without any grunting or straining on his part.
“Thank you.” I sigh in relief as fresh air filters over me.
“You should have texted me.” Will opens the window on the opposite end of the studio. “I would have come over sooner.”
The thought had crossed my mind, but I remembered how Will had reacted the last time he’d been here. The last thing I want to do is cause more pain.
“I’m almost done.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with his mom’s paintings, so I stacked them neatly in a corner, far away from the table where we’d be tie-dying the shirts.
Everything is coming together, but keeping secrets from Iris has been a challenge. The girl is everywhere.
Will pauses to inspect my work. “I wanted to let you know that I talked to Eden’s mom, and she invited Cab over to spend the night.”
I clap my hands. “I can use your oven?”
“You can use my oven.”
Firefly’s kitchen is tiny, so I texted the Surprise Birthday group yesterday and asked Knox if I could use the kitchen at the Grill to bake Iris’s cake.
He’d said yes right away, but then Will sent a message, pointing out that his kitchen was closer and the cake wouldn’t be subjected to the potholes on the gravel road.
Knox had responded that Iris wouldn’t see the cake if I baked it at the Grill and he brought it over before the party.
Will had sent a photo of a beautifully decorated birthday cake with a slice missing.
Knox’s follow-up text—It Was One Time—tipped the balance in Will’s favor.
Reeve ended the thread with #TeamWill and that was that.
“What time should I come over?” I peel a damp strand of hair off my cheek and tuck it behind my ear.
“They’re picking her up at six.”
“I’ll be over at six fifteen. If that’s okay.”
“I also wanted to tell you that Stan dropped off another package this morning.”
“Yes!” Hazel had sent a list of ingredients, half of which I found at the grocery store. The rest I had to order, with a wider delivery window than I wanted to risk, so I’d paid extra for overnight shipping.
“You’re giving me the receipts when the party is over, right?”
“Uh huh.” Just not all of them. I want to give Iris a birthday gift, too.
Will’s eyes narrow.
“Em …”
“I think I’m done here!” I want to distract Will before he notices the karaoke machine. I’ve been using the studio as a staging area the last few days because Iris knows it’s off-limits until the party.
Will and Juni both walk back with me, but one of the Drummonds appears the moment we step off the path.
“Will! Hey. We’ve got a bit of a situation.”
Will’s expression doesn’t change. “What can I do to help?”
The Drummond hustles him away. Juni sticks with me—probably because she can smell the biscuit in my pocket.
I spend the rest of the afternoon choosing color swatches for Samantha’s living room.
At six, I see a car pull up in front of Will’s cabin. Iris runs outside, a wide smile on her face and a backpack slung over her shoulder. Will is a few steps behind and walks over to talk to the driver.
He’s more dad than a big brother, but whatever his title, Will performs both the roles so well.
I step back from the window before he spots me and pack up the last the ingredients.
Butterflies take wing inside my stomach as I cross the yard between the two cabins.
I don’t know why I’m nervous. We spent an evening together in a canoe, our knees practically touching, and nothing happened. We talked. We ate cake. We went back to shore. We said goodnight.
But there was that moment, the one I can’t seem to put out of my mind, when I saw that flash of heat in Will’s eyes.
Since I was the only one in the canoe, it had to be for me.
There’s something happening, and I know he feels it. I suspect that’s why open water, in view of the guests and fishermen, was safer than having our planning session in a cabin.
But Iris will be gone until tomorrow morning—and we’ll be alone in his kitchen.
Now I know why I’m nervous. Will is good at guarding his emotions. Me? Not so much. It’s getting harder to pretend that Will wasn’t part of the reason I’d stayed.
The door opens before I can knock, and Will reaches for the laundry basket crammed with baking supplies. Pretends to double-over from the weight.
“There’s still time to order one from the grocery store.”
“No, there isn’t.” I breathe in my new favorite fragrance— Will-in-the-Pines—as I follow him into the kitchen. “I’ve got this.”
And I have backup.
We start to unpack the grocery bags and Will examines an industrial-size container of flour.
Hazel nixed my vanilla raspberry white chocolate combination.
“Too sophisticated,” she’d said. “These are thirteen-year-old girls? Stick with chocolate.”
“This is a lot of stuff.” Will examines a canister of silver and pink sprinkles.
“Those go inside the cake.”
“Inside?”
“Trust me. It fits our theme and it’s going to be beautiful.”
“Is it also going to be—” He picks up a tube of frosting. “Perfectly Pink?”
“It is. With a little silver bling.”
“Brighton made her a cake that looked like a large-mouth bass last year.”
“Then this one will really be a surprise.”
Will doesn’t seem like he’s in a big hurry to leave. In fact, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave at all.
The butterflies take flight again.
“I promise I won’t burn your kitchen down if you have something else to do.”
“The Drummonds decided to look for waterfalls, so it’s pretty quiet around here tonight.” Will’s lips quirk. “Unless you don’t want me around.”
“I’m not going to kick you out of your own kitchen.” And I want you around. For a really long time. Maybe forever.
But I guess I’m guarded, too, because I don’t say it out loud.
I open the carton of eggs and check for breakage, but I have no idea if they’re room temperature. Hazel has been sending me texts for the last twenty-four hours, most of them in caps. As if capital letters are going to guarantee I won’t forget.
“I think we’re ready.” I call Hazel and her face appears on the screen.
She looks exactly the same as she did the day I moved into Nona’s house.
Iron gray hair. Brackets permanently carved between her brows.
She seldom smiles, and she’s as protective of her kitchen as a guard at Buckingham palace, but she’s also the one who made chicken soup whenever I had a cold and somehow knew when I needed a warm chocolate chip cookie at the end of the school day.
“Hi, Hazel!”
“Did you bring the butter to room temperature?” she barks.
The butter, too? I glance at Will, who’s trying to stay out of sight. I discreetly point at the block of butter and then the microwave.
He nods and gets to work unwrapping it.
“How are you, Hazel? Have you been busy getting ready for Nona’s book club? What’s on the menu this week?” I string the questions together to drown out the whirr of the microwave.
Nona isn’t paying any attention to me. “Where are on earth are you?”
I realize my backdrop is the faux brick backsplash above the countertop.
“We’re using the kitchen in one of the cabins.” I shuffle a few inches to the left, but now she can see the oven.
“You’re baking the cake in that? My grandmother had one just like it.”
“It works just fine.” I shoot a questioning glance at Will, who shrugs.
Okay, then.
I ordered a cute apron along with the rest of the ingredients and slip it over my head. It’s pink and white, with the words Ain’t She Sweet embroidered on the front pocket.
I catch Will staring and grin.
“Sorry … should I have ordered one for you, too?”
“I have my own.”
He isn’t lying. Will opens the pantry and pulls out a black chef’s apron that makes him look like a contender on Beat Bobby Flay.
Now I’m staring. Women who think guys in tool belts are hot have never seen Will Hartley in an apron.
“What?” Will continues to unpack the ingredients. “Who do you think does all the cooking around here?”
I don’t realize that Hazel can clearly hear—and see—both of us now until she clears her throat.
“Ah … whenever you two are done doing whatever this—” She swirls her index finger in the air. “Is. Let’s get a move on. I still have to prep tomorrow’s dinner for your grandmother.”
I assumed Hazel’s insistence that we video chat was her way of inspecting the ingredients, but she walks us through the entire process, start to finish, until the cakes are in the oven. And insists I call her back when the timer goes off.
There’s a brief moment of panic (mine) when it looks like one of them is going to stick to the pan, but Will wraps a hot dish towel around the bottom and it pops right out a few minutes later.
“Brighton loves watching cooking shows,” he explains.
Hazel claps her hands in approval and Will ducks his head, blushes a little.
And I thought the apron looked good on him.
Nothing like a little humility in a guy that oozes confidence to soften the hardest heart. And right now, mine feels like a stick of butter in the microwave.
Nothing lukewarm about it.
“You can start to make the frosting now,” Hazel says, all business again. “Is this going to be a naked cake?”
Will glances at me. “Is that appropriate for someone Cab’s age?” he murmurs.
“I—” Am laughing so hard that I have to lean against the counter for support. Laughing so hard that I snort. Which of course starts the cycle all over again. Laugh. Snort. Laugh. Snort.
“A naked cake,” Hazel raises her voice so Will can hear her. “Leaves the sides bare, so you can see the filling.”
Will ignores me. “We need frosting, Hazel. Lots of frosting. More frosting than cake.”
She smiles. Smiles. “Then you should double the recipe.”
“What is all this ruckus, Hazel? Are you being attacked by a pack of wolves? Should I call someone?”
I recognize the imperious voice in the background, but I don’t have time to hit the little red circle before Nona’s face appears on the screen. She must have been at a board meeting, because she’s in “executive queen” mode. Chanel pantsuit, Christian Louboutin stilettos, and blood red lipstick.
I want to look like Nona when I’m seventy-five.
Her hair, which she wears in an inverted bob, used to be auburn like mine, but now it’s a gorgeous shade of pewter.
She’s poised and elegant and I’ve watched men flock around her at the country club, but Nona doesn’t seem the least bit interested in any of them.
I was only three years old when Samuel Lockwood, my grandfather, died. I don’t remember him, but I remember Dad saying once that his father had ruined Nona for anyone else.
I assumed it meant that she hadn’t had a happy marriage, which seems to run in our family.
“Hi, Nona.”
“Emberly.” She does a doubletake when she sees me. “Was that you laughing like a hyena?”
“That’s a little more accurate than the wolves,” Will whispers.
I turn the screen to hide him, but it’s too late.
“Who is that man lurking around in the background?” Nona demands. “Show yourself!”
I half expect Nona to pull the Mont Blanc pen from the pocket of her blazer and brandish it at Will like a sword.
Will dries his hands off with a towel, as if he isn’t the least bit nervous.
He should be nervous. I’m nervous. I didn’t tell Nona the reason I’d extended my visit.
My grandmother can be suspicious. Through the years, there have been people who’ve tried to worm their way into my family’s good graces so they could get ahead, borrow money, etc.
etc. If I’d told her that I’d offered to plan a birthday party for someone I barely know, she would have hired a private investigator to do a background check on the entire Hartley family.
I wave a hand behind my back and hope Will understands.
Run.
Instead, he steps right in front of the screen.
“Hello, Emberly’s Nona. It’s nice to meet you.”