4 Lattes
JAMES AND I SPENT AN extra two hours in the Little Acorn on Sunday evening, poring over the accounts, taking turns to make more coffee as we sat side by side. And the accounts really were a mess. There were so many unpaid bills, and so many random scrawls that neither of us could make out.
But James was smart. Or he was obviously good at math, at least, and by the end of the two hours we had some really depressing—but very real—numbers to look at.
“What are we going to do?” James ran his hand through his hair, and I watched as it fell back into place. I’d taken my own hair out of its ponytail, and it dropped in red waves all the way down my back. The “we” in his sentence made me feel warm.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.” I picked a yellow chrysanthemum from the little vase in front of us.
“Oh yeah? Because from where I’m standing, the only option is closing.”
“The Little Acorn can’t close!” I’m sure I looked horrified.
“Where would people go? Listen, we’ll do some events outside normal opening hours.
We’ll do whatever it takes … ooh, and we could raise money to save the Kissing Tree while we’re at it.
That would get people to come out for sure. ” Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?
There was a flash of amusement in his eyes. “That’s a pretty big proposal. What are your ideas?”
“Well, I don’t have any … yet … but I will. I’m not just going to stand by and watch the Little Acorn shut down. And I’m definitely not okay with cutting down the Kissing Tree! No one is.”
James was looking at me like I’d lost the plot.
“Why do you care so much about some stupid tree?”
Suddenly, I really did.
“It’s not just some stupid tree. It’s a symbol of our whole town. It’s history, and love, and connecting people to each other. Cutting down that tree would be like cutting the whole heart out of Oak Falls …”
Even I hadn’t realized I was quite so passionate.
“Or maybe it’s because you want to kiss Penn State underneath it …”
“Who? What are you even talking about?”
“Carter Blake? Two years below me in school and even I knew who he was.” Any hint of amusement in his eyes had disappeared.
“What? No. That isn’t why. It’s about the town, and the people. And wait, why do you care about Carter Blake?” I was so confused.
“I don’t. I don’t care about him, or the tree. I don’t even want to be here right now.”
All our teamwork was gone, just like that. James stood, picked up our cups, and carried them behind the counter, accidentally kicking a ceramic pumpkin on his way.
“Do you really think the floor is a good place for pumpkins?” he snapped.
“Do you really think hospitality is a good place for you?” I shot back.
My heart was racing with frustration. I was only trying to help.
“No, Red, obviously not. But I don’t have any choice. I have to help my dad until he can come back.” James put on his jacket and took mine off the hook, along with my green scarf.
Red. Suddenly I was back under the Kissing Tree, with James and his cut knees. My throat went tight. Did he remember?
He stood at the door and held my coat out for me. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Why would I want to walk home with you?” I demanded, just short of folding my arms.
“Because it’s dark, Red, and it’s good manners. And someone told me once that manners cost nothing.”
My whole body froze. Then it thawed as I realized he could have heard that phrase from a thousand people, a thousand different times.
Not just when I said it to him at the tree.
He was still holding out my coat so I could put my arms into it.
So I did, and I stood there as he wrapped my green scarf around my neck, making sure to put it over my mouth.
“Hey.” I pulled it down.
“That was deliberate,” he teased, and just like that, all the prickliness disappeared. Again.
“Do you still play baseball?” I asked as we walked through town toward my house. “I remember you—Sam and Kyle were always out here throwing a ball around.”
He sighed. “Nope. Stopped that after high school. When I moved, I guess. Didn’t fit …”
“Didn’t fit?”
“With our life … I don’t know, it just didn’t feel like me anymore.” He shrugged and the collar of his denim jacket brushed against his jaw, drawing my eyes to his mouth.
“Our life?” I asked with curiosity.
“April. My girlfriend. Fiancée, actually.”
Fiancée? Something twisted in my stomach. Something like jealousy?
“We lived out in Indiana before I came back here.” I turned just in time to see his shoulders rise with tension. He cleared his throat.
“And she didn’t like baseball?” I asked, and I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t want to talk about the woman James was in love with.
James snorted. “No. April did not like baseball.”
“But you used to play all the time?” And there he was in my head again, mud on his face, running like the wind to catch the ball one of his brothers had hit high into the summer sky.
He hadn’t answered, so I kept talking. “I can’t imagine not running after high school,” I mused. “Did you pick up another sport or something?”
“You ask a lot of questions, Red.”
Well, here’s another one … where’s your fiancée now?
“Why do you call me Red?” I stopped under one of the streetlights that had been decorated with artificial fall leaves. I don’t know what I wanted him to say. Because it reminded him of when we were kids? When he stole my first kiss?
He smiled. “Maybe I can’t remember your name,” he said.
“It’s Willa. Willa Taylor, nice to meet you.” I held out my hand and he took it, cocooning my hand in his, shaking it firmly and slowly. And then he just didn’t let go.
“James Parker. Son of Geoff and Lana, brother of Sam and Kyle,” he said solemnly.
“Hold on, is this an obituary?” I laughed.
He looked around—at my house, at the town—then back at me. “I don’t know, Red, it kind of feels like it.”
“You forgot the most important part: Known for being closed off and giving terrible first impressions.”
“Ouch.” But then he laughed. “What would yours say?”
“Willa Taylor, known for her endless enthusiasm and impeccable taste in fall décor.”
“Sounds about right.” He nodded. Still holding my hand.
Suddenly it seemed like there was just this sadness all over him. One I hadn’t noticed before. I didn’t say anything for a few seconds; I just looked into his dark eyes and tried to figure it out.
Then he looked away, uncomfortable, and I cleared my throat.
“Well, on that morbid note … I guess I’d better scoot.” I turned to walk up the driveway, expecting him to say something else, but he didn’t.
I was the one who turned when I got to the door, just to watch him kick a pile of leaves as he walked away.
Pop was sitting in front of the fire, scraps of wood and tools around him.
Our house wasn’t big—more of a cottage, really—but it was ours.
And it hadn’t changed, not since I could remember.
The quilts Mom made were still hanging over the backs of the sofas, memories woven into their rusts, creams, and forest greens.
Pop’s work boots sat beside my sneakers at the door, and the wooden floors creaked in all the familiar places.
I curled up on the couch and watched Pop fight with the pieces of wood. “What are you building this time?”
“I finally replaced those old drawers of yours. You’ll have a place for all your clothes now.” Pop cursed under his breath at a screw and my heart swelled.
I hugged my knees. “Thanks, Pop,” I said. It would be nice to be able to put my sweaters away again.
“Do you want some soup? Jo sent some home for us.” Pop got off the floor slowly and moved toward the kitchen.
Jo again. I was starting to wonder why he saw her so much. And why she kept giving us so much food.
“Sure, thanks, Pop.”
“So tell me about your day,” he said, handing me a bowl of spicy goodness.
“It was pretty busy. Geoff’s broken his leg, so his son James was there to help out instead, and it turns out that Geoff’s accounts are a total mess.”
“James? I haven’t seen that boy in years, how’s he doing?”
The warm feeling I got when James held my hand was back. Rushing right through me, head to toe. “He’s okay. A bit quiet.”
Pop sighed. “I’m not surprised about those accounts. Geoff’s been running that business the same way since before you were born. And his leg? What a disaster.”
He sat down beside me and rubbed his chin. “What can I do to help?”
“Well, James and I are already making plans. We’re going to do an event or something to save the Little Acorn and to save the Kissing Tree.” It was going to be great.
“If anyone can do it, you can,” Pop said.
“I’ll count you in to lend a hand?”
“Of course. Geoff’s lucky to have you both stepping up. In the meantime, I’ll give him a call, see if he needs anything.” Pop was forever doing things for other people. He always said I was like Mom, but this trait? It was all from him.
Then it just came out, like I’d been planning it this way.
“So, Pop, I got this weird email.”
I got out my phone and showed it to him, expecting him to brush it off like I had.
But he didn’t. He shook his head slowly. “That sounds like Lisa May, all right. And a letter? Did you get that?”
“You don’t think it’s a scam? And no, no letter. Unless it’s here?”
“Haven’t seen it. But … it’s like Lisa has seen that little notebook of yours or something, right?”
I thought about the notebook underneath my pillow. The one that sat right next to Mom’s. “I mean, yeah, but …”
“But what?” Pop asked gently. “Don’t look so scared, sweetheart, this is a good thing.”
“I’m just not sure it’s real. I mean, I haven’t seen this letter, and Aunt Lisa barely knew me, so why would she leave me all this money?”
“Because maybe you were the only blood relative she had left?” Pop suggested. “But whatever the reason, it could be really exciting.”
I looked around our house, at the pictures of Mom on the wall, at the pencil lines on the chipped paint where Pop had measured my height. I thought about the Kissing Tree, the Little Acorn, the Harvest Festival. My whole life was right here. I didn’t want money to walk away from it.