Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
STELLA
After the longest week in existence, it’s finally Saturday—Blissful day. More accurately Apple Jamboree day, but I’m not going for the apples.
I’m in my car before the sun is up, humming along to the songs on the radio.
I love to travel, but by the last day of every trip, I’m excited to go home.
I miss the familiar and comfortable. Today feels like going home day.
Somehow, my heart has decided that Blissful is home.
It’s something I have to shake because I’m not uprooting my life.
Tucson and my librarian career are the safe, smart choice.
Part of my love for the town is Drew, I can’t deny.
My favorite mind movie to play at night as I fall asleep is my guitar lesson.
The press of his fingers on mine linger.
It’s exquisite torture. It’s also dangerous ground.
Possible quicksand. I won’t let myself get sucked in, not for anything.
I do not need another friendship to implode because of an unrequited crush.
When I reach the exit off Interstate 10, it’s like I’m leaving the stress of work and the pain of missing Mallory in another world.
At the outskirts of town, there’s already traffic. Second Street has a speed limit of fifteen miles an hour, but I’m lucky to go seven. Both sides are lined with cars, and people jaywalk like it’s the real life version of the arcade game Frogger.
My heart pings as I drive past Blissful Books.
I’ve had a dream about that store every night this week.
I have to stop. I’ve seen You’ve Got Mail dozens of times.
I know what happens to independent bookstores — they close down because everyone buys discounted books from Fox Books. Or, outside of the movie, .
Drew told me to park behind the Hardware store and come up to his loft as soon as I arrive.
When I pull in next to his truck, he’s casually leaning against the building’s back door with one ankle crossed over the other.
He’s wearing cowboy boots, worn blue jeans, and a long-sleeved brown plaid shirt.
His hair is pulled back, away from his face, putting his prominent cheek bones on display. In his hand he holds a cowboy hat.
Why does he have to be so handsome? Not that it really matters, because the most attractive part of him is what’s inside. Though, having his insides wrapped in such an exquisite exterior does make it harder to remember that he is only a friend.
He lifts his hand and smiles.
“Do not fall for the handsome handyman," I whisper to myself. “Do not fall for the handsome handyman.”
Maybe if I repeat it enough times, my subconscious will listen.
He places the hat on his head and approaches my car. For a few seconds, I get lost in watching his smooth gait.
Do not fall for the handsome handyman!
It doesn’t help.
I don’t move to open my own door, so he opens it for me. With a full-body shiver, I stand.
“I should have asked about the dress code,” I say. “Not that I have cowboy boots, but I could have worn something besides this.”
I look down at myself. Stretchy skinny jeans (never take away my skinny jeans), sneakers, a boring gray t-shirt, and a jacket.
I prefer wearing skirts and dresses, but I wasn’t sure what to expect today at Apple Jamboree.
My casual clothes don’t offer much inspiration for an apple festival in the country.
“You look beautiful,” Drew says.
I blush. Do not fall for the handsome handyman.
He continues. “But I’m a firm believer that everyone should own a pair of boots. We have a great boot store here. If you want, we can stop by and see what they have.”
The idea excites me. “Yeah?”
“Sure. We can squeeze in a visit between the apple picking and the corn maze.”
“You have a corn maze?” Today sounds better and better, and I was excited even before I arrived. “I haven’t been in one of those since high school.”
“We wouldn’t be a proper fall jamboree without a maze made of corn stalks.”
I study him. “Something’s different about you.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, you seem happier.”
Which is saying something, because every time I’ve seen him, he’s been happy. Maybe it’s that he looks lighter, like a weight has been removed from his shoulders.
He shrugs. “It’s Apple Jamboree. Are you ready to get started? We can’t miss out on our donuts.”
I hold up a finger. “First. I have some things for you. Help me take them upstairs? I’ve been waiting for this all week.”
He looks confused. “You brought me something? Why?”
“Because I wanted to.” I tug on his arm. “Come on.”
I pop the hood of my trunk and load Drew up with two boxes. Together they’re taller than he is, though not heavy, and he has to look around the side to see.
I sling the reusable grocery bag over my shoulder and grab the last two packages, flat and rectangular, wrapped in brown paper. I open the door and follow him up the stairs.
“How was the drive?” he asks.
“Serene. I love leaving the city. It’s so beautiful once the houses disappear.”
“What?” He sounds shocked. “I thought you were a city girl.”
“I was raised in the city. My job is in the city. But I escape as much as I can. Camping. Hiking. I love the country.”
At the top of the stairs, he tells me the code to unlock his door. I hold it open for him but before he passes, he pauses.
“You should move to the country,” he says sincerely. “Why live somewhere you only tolerate?”
I laugh, though not as loud as I should considering it’s what I’ve dreamed about all week. But Drew said “the country.” Not Blissful. It’s an important distinction. If I moved here, it really would be stalking.
“Unfortunately,” I say, as if I don’t take his words to heart. “I need a job in order to eat.”
When he doesn’t move, I leave him at the door and walk into the kitchen where I lay the packages against the wall and unpack my grocery bag.
“You brought me flowers?” Drew says from the entrance. He’s no longer holding the two boxes.
“And a vase. Which one do you like better?” I hold up both options. “My niece Lola painted this one and she insisted I give it to you. But I also bought one, because not everyone appreciates a vase painted by an eleven year old.”
He points to Lola’s pink and purple masterpiece.
“I am not one of those people,” he says.
I fill the vase with water, add the flowers, and place it in the center of the table. I snap a picture and send it to Naomi. Lola will love to see it. They brighten the space on their own, but I brought more.
From the bag I pull out two scented candles and place them on the counter between the stove and the sink.
“I wasn’t sure which scent you’d like better. I love the sugar cookie, but the pine forest is nice, too, and maybe more masculine? You decide.”
I snag Drew by the arm as I go back into the living room. The boxes are on the floor next to the couch. I do a little bounce, much like Penelope does when she’s excited.
I point to them. “Now open these.”
He runs a hand along his jaw. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s how gifts work.”
He sits down and pulls the folded box flaps open. And laughs.
“You said you wanted help,” I say. “So here is help.”
He pulls out three throw pillows for the couch, a blue and two teal. Tucked between them are red dish towels. On the bottom are red kitchen rugs. I take them into the kitchen while he opens the second box.
When I come back with the two flat packages, he’s already put the throw blanket along the back of the couch and the welcome mat at the door. The new blue lamp shade covers the previously naked bulb.
“Last two,” I say.
He rips off the paper on both and leans the two, large framed prints against the back of the couch.
“I love the ocean,” I say. “I thought this one could go in here on the wall above the couch. The field of poppies will look nice in the kitchen. I just love that red. They’re prints, so when you find something you like better, please switch them out.
Think of them as place holders until you find art that speaks to you. ”
He looks around the room. “It already feels more lived in, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“How much do I owe you?” He takes out his phone and swipes it open. “I can Venmo you now.”
“No way. These are gifts.”
He’s about to argue, but instead nods. “Thank you, Stella. This is great.”
“You’re welcome.”
Before I can step out of his reach, he wraps his arms around me and gives me an embrace tight enough to crack a rib.
It’s as comforting and cozy as I imagined his hold would be.
Without conscious thought, I tuck my head under his chin.
The flannel is soft against my skin. His heart beats against my cheek.
How will I ever recover from this moment?
It’s something I will crave every day from now on.
He lets go, takes my hand, and leads me to the door.
“Let’s go get those donuts.”
Second Street is filled with people walking along the sidewalks and going into shops.
As we cross the street to the bakery, it’s easy to see through the front windows that the place is jam packed.
I feel bad we’re not going to get those delicious donuts Drew’s obsessed with.
The gifts could have waited if I wasn’t so impatient.
I’m about to offer an apology, when Drew pulls me to the side of the building. He knocks on the backdoor.
A woman, probably in her mid-fifties with her hair in a net and a formerly white apron tied at her waist, opens it. She scans me from shoes to eyes before she smiles.
“I like the look of you,” she says.
I glance at Drew. “Thanks?”
Her attention turns to Drew as well, and her smile disappears.
“You’re late,” she says. “I’ve had to guard your donuts with my life. Have you seen the rabid crowd out front?”
“Sorry, Lana. I owe you an extra hour.”
“You better believe it. Be back in a second.”
She disappears inside, letting the door slam shut.