Chapter 19
Cali was surprised at how tired she felt when Minka dropped her off at the A-frame house.
It had been a Sunday off. Her brain still buzzed from the cider, low radio on the trip back, and the crisp air as day cooled to evening.
Not to mention she had enough apples to last her until the end of the year.
She fumbled for the house keys with hands full, unable to wave goodbye to Minka, and mused on what she’d bake with the apples first. Her mind drifted momentarily to the image of Ethan in her kitchen, hovering beside the stovetop in his apron, careful with each stir and sip all on her behalf.
Her stomach tightened at the thought. It didn’t help that everything that smelled like the outdoors in autumn also smelled like him.
Cali set the bags of apples down on her doormat and noticed a piece of paper taped to the front door.
She adjusted her glasses and plucked it from the window.
The simple script read Fixed your deck while you were out.
Hope you don’t mind.—Ethan, Crosstown Repairs.
A smile traced along her lips. Two thoughts consumed her, the first being gratefulness.
Ethan had promised to swing back by her place and repair the broken plank, and he’d delivered despite everything.
Cali wasn’t so sure she would’ve done the same for him.
At the same time, her heart hollowed at the thought she missed being home when he swung by.
She wasn’t quite sure how she would’ve responded even if she’d been home, but then she knew.
After some awkward conversation and maneuvering, she probably would’ve excused herself, gone to get groceries or gas or just circle back roads around the lake trying to hide from the gravity this man held in her presence.
Ethan probably knew this, too, and chose his timing wisely.
But how could he have known she would be at the orchard today? Maybe Minka let the update slip out when she saw him at the café late in the week. Either way, a fixed deck was a fixed deck, and it warmed her to think Ethan Cross had driven back here to fix it.
She traced her thumb over the words “Crosstown Repairs” and laughed softly to herself.
One more quip for the growing list of inside jokes they shared.
But it was a bittersweet thought. In a few months, would that list be a memory of him, or would he hang around Autumn Ridge so they could keep adding to it?
She thought of Max then, too, his soft fur beneath her fingertips.
The house had ached with emptiness ever since he’d run off.
She didn’t know which of those two she missed more.
Minka was right. Cali knew she was right.
If she wanted Ethan to stay, she had to ask him, stop making him try to read her mind.
But her head kept resisting the hope that pumped blood through her veins, that he’d stay and somehow this would all work out.
Him and Max both. A part of her still thought she was dreaming.
She folded the piece of paper and stuffed it in her pocket then entered the A-frame and set the apple bags on the countertop.
Beyond the sliding glass doors, the deck was bathed in the glow of a soft, red sunlight, water glistening from the lake beyond it and a few breeze-kissed trees framing the view.
The image pulled her toward it until she found herself on the back deck, smoothness underfoot, the faint smell of sawdust and fresh wood stain still carried in the air.
His craftsmanship was perfect. The size.
The cut. The color of the stain. Despite the age difference of the planks, it looked as if that break had never happened.
She wondered then if he’d replaced more than one board or had somehow weathered the stain to match the rest of the deck. Whatever he’d done, it was beautiful.
She rushed back inside, and before daylight completely disappeared, she made a cup of chamomile tea and pulled out the old papasan rocking chair from the garage—the one that sat out there before the deck was compromised.
One deep inhale and a sip, and she found herself curled into a flannel blanket, body pressed into the overstuffed chair cushion.
It was heaven. Pure heaven. She’d missed this so much, too.
She stayed there, rocking softly with her mug in hand until the sun extinguished behind the lake, leaving bands of gold and pink painted across the sky as it melted down.
Once her mug was empty and her pulse calmed, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and found the abandoned string of texts between her and Ethan from before.
She typed out Thanks. Deck looks great. a few times only to erase it again.
When she read it back to herself, she was unsure how that made her sound.
Too cold? Too succinct? In the end she decided to send the message anyway but included an actual photo of the deck and comfy chair, her mug peeking from the corner of the frame and the last of the daylight a backdrop.
She expected him to take a while to reply or to not reply at all.
But within minutes, her phone was vibrating on her lap.
Ethan—That view deserves a brochure.
Cali—I’d rather enjoy it than advertise it.
Ethan—You got two of those chairs?
Cali—Just one. You snooze, you lose.
She watched as three dots appeared and disappeared, the seconds ticking by. She grabbed the blanket, trying not to fixate on what he’d reply next, and retreated into the warmth of the house. Finally he messaged I’m just glad you’re safe.
She didn’t know where to take it from there.
She typed out every thought that entered her head, like It’s all because of you and Are you free right now?
But nothing seemed to fit the moment. She found herself deleting all of them except I made a mistake, which she accidentally sent.
Her heart raced in her chest as she scrambled for an excuse.
On the spreadsheet. Sorry. Pressed send before I was ready. Can we meet up at the library a couple days before the gala to cross-check what I captured?
It was a long shot, but Ethan’s reply seemed to imply he knew what was in her head. Sure. Let’s do Thursday. I have to work late Friday.
Her interest was piqued. City Hall stuff?
No. Side gig.
That was all he offered, and Cali tried not to read anything more into it. But it was hard. It shouldn’t matter what Ethan was doing on his Friday nights and where, but it still made her gut tense to know he already had plans.
Okay, she messaged. Sounds good. Just enough time to make changes before it gets into the Mayor’s hands. You know she’s our emcee for the gala, right?
Yep. Oh, he added, everyone voted to cancel book club and Nine Lives Thursday night. I hope Minka told you.
She didn’t yet. But that’s fine. Makes sense since the gala’s on Saturday.
Exactly, he replied.
Then after a moment she sent, Goodnight, Ethan.
Night, Cali. Don’t stay out too long, okay? Nights like this chill you faster than you think.
I make no promises.
She already missed the steady feeling she had while sitting on the deck, before she’d messaged him.
Her fingers ran along the edge of Ethan’s note in her pocket, and she suddenly remembered the neat, emotionless Post-It her ex-fiancé left when he moved out of their apartment: Key under plant.
Since he was always traveling, his stuff was barely there to start.
But she remembered the finality of the note on her door, the feeling like a balloon deflating.
She used to think that about endings, that they all happened at once.
A fight, a slammed door, one last word you didn’t realize was your last except in hindsight.
But her engagement ended like a slow leak, all the love draining out of it, until she stood, note in hand, wondering how they’d gotten there.
She tried to remind herself, as she read Ethan’s note over and over again, that the two weren’t the same. The notes or the men or even how they’d treated her.
Cali slipped into pajamas, set her alarm for the next day, and sent Minka one last message to say how much she’d enjoyed Candlewick Orchard.
Then her phone buzzed again on the nightstand. A late message from Ethan.
Forgot to mention. That view’s missing something.
What’s that? she messaged back.
Someone to share it with.
A photo followed—Ethan with Max’s fuzzy gray face pressed against his cheek. Cali’s heart fluttered, unsure if Ethan meant the someone was him or Max or both of them. She stared at the screen long after the glow faded, smiling despite herself.