3
Elise
I lay perfectly still for several moments, inspecting the grainy, wooden floorboards my nose is hovering over, the fraying woven rug, and then a surprising amount of dust accumulated under my bed. How long has that been there?
I push myself off the ground and climb back into my bed, rubbing my head. My alarm went off an hour ago, but my phone is under my pillow, muffling the sound.
Weird dream. Weird, very horny dream. I’ve had unusual horniness-driven dreams before. I just don’t think they’ve ever felt that real.
It’s one of those dreams I can’t really shake the memory of, leaving me a little perturbed. What is my subconscious thinking—sex outside? Where I can get ticks? I’m sorry, I was a little traumatized by that one episode of House MD where the girl had a tick up her vagina. I could never. My pussy is an indoor kitty.
And it’s a little easier to focus on the thought of getting ticks in unsavory places than to confront the other part of my dream, at least before coffee.
Pulse still thrumming between my legs, I don’t really know what else to do except grab my vibrator and finish the job. The battery is low and it’s not actually all that satisfying.
Whatever. I glance at the clock, and it’s already too late to get to work on time.
I’m really happy to be here. This is honestly my dream job.
Ok, it’s a compromise on my dream job. I think my catering business really only stays afloat because of the partnership with Aconite Ales. And I have been low-key renovating a rundown little cottage in western Massachusetts, and yeah, technically, I’m renting it right now, but I’ve been talking to the landlord about buying it when I can afford the down payment. It doesn’t sound like a dream house, but really, I wasn’t going to be able to break into the housing market for anything less than nearly condemned.
If I’d asked myself ten years ago what I’d be doing now, never in my wildest dreams would I be living as good as this.
Or at least, I thought my wildest dreams would involve something other than a sexually charged chase through the woods.
Most Wednesdays, I head over to Aconite Ales with a number of trays full of prepped food. Mystic Falls has some small tourist industry, and both tourists and locals like to visit the front end of the brewery where they hold little wine tastings, and I make a bunch of hors d’oeuvres that pair with the different brews. Sometimes, when there are bigger events, I get to cater company lunches or engagement parties. It pays to be local, though not a lot. But I’m proud of my small business, no matter how many business cards I put up on the front desk that guests always take and never call.
Today though, my boss has another contract for me. One of her sons is getting married, and she wants me to cater it. We had a phone call about it, and we’re going to start planning everything today.
My car shudders as it crests over the big hill, and the Hayes House comes into view. I have to remind myself not to just drive past it to get to the brewery, which is just a few miles further up the hill, with some woods separating them. I’ve heard the kids in town tell spooky stories about it, but there’s nothing to it.
Honestly, I feel a little weird every time I pass by this place. Very briefly, my last name was also Hayes, though that was very quickly reverted back to Barrons after the divorce. I guess it’s a common enough name to show up in plenty of places, but it still bugs me at the back of my mind.
Whatever. I’ve left that life behind and moved on. I’m a new, different person.
Aiden catches sight of me backing my car up the long, winding driveway and jogs out to meet me by the time I get out. He’s a bit younger than me and about as gym-bro-y as I’ve ever seen a person be. I always come in this way because it’s closer to the kitchen.
“Need a hand?” he asks, already popping open my trunk.
He always helps me unload when I show up at the brewery, so I’m not surprised. In a way, this is our secret handshake: he lifts up the tin foil lids on my covered trays to sneak a taste and I have to slap his hand away.
Some days, like today, he’s actually quick enough to grab a homemade mini-quiche and pop it wholesale and cold into his mouth before I can say anything.
“One of these days, I’m going to bring something raw that you can’t just eat.” I sigh and roll my eyes. I can’t hold back my grin when I let him know these are actually leftovers from the last brewery event I brought over just for him. I’m only here to do the recipe planning today.
“I’d survive it,” he scoffs, hefting the sample food trays out of my trunk, heading away for the kitchen. “I’ve eaten gross things. You can’t even imagine.”
“You don’t even eat leftovers,” I scoff as I pass by Aiden’s brother, Logan, on my way in, following behind with the last of the trays.
“Hey, man, congrats on your engagement! I had literally no idea,” I start to say, fully intending to tease him a little. I’d consider the brothers my friends at this point, or at least work friends.
Logan shoots me a glare that I’ve seen people wither after receiving. I don’t think I’ve been on this end of it before, and I nearly drop the two trays I’m holding.
I don’t have time to really process the evil eye he threw my way before the Aconite Ales’ owner strolls down the hall, looking for me.
Deanna Hayes greets me with a perfect, red-lipped smile, her dark-brown hair pulled back into a graceful bun with fine silver streaks through it. “Morning, Elise. This way.”
“Morning, Mrs. Hayes, Deanna, I mean,” I stammer, clutching my stack of trays.
It’s hard not to be a little formal with her, she’s just so put together. She plucks the pair of them from my arms like they’re nothing.
“Um, is Logan doing ok? Thought he was gonna bite my head off.”
She waves a hand. “There was some issue with a supplier he’s been dealing with at the brewery. It’s been a topic all week. But! That’s not for you to worry about; we have more important things to discuss.”
Once I’ve shaken Logan’s glare off, it’s hard not to marvel at how lovely their home is. It’s like stepping into a magazine every time. She leads me into their kitchen, where she has her coffee and newspaper set out like she usually does.
It appears Aiden has left my other trays stacked on the stainless-steel counter, though none of the lids have survived his curiosity. Of course.
“Oh! Before I forget, I wanted to let you know. Since the brewery isn’t hosting events next week, I went ahead and put the clam delivery on hold.”
“Oh, good you remembered that.”
“Right? I swear I had a premonition about it last Friday. I woke up in a cold sweat after a nightmare that we got the delivery and didn’t have enough cold storage.”
“We would have too. I’ve been so buried in this I didn’t even think about our regular vendors.”
Buried is an understatement. Deanna has been all over the wedding preparations. Over the weekend, every couple of hours she sent me another recipe from the NY Times to ask if I thought it would go with the menu we have planned for the dinner.
She sits down on one of the stools and takes another sip of her coffee before pushing some printed-out recipes at me out from under her newspaper. She lays out three different sets of pages that still have the ads from the website interrupting the recipes on them.
“I know we’ve already been discussing the menu, and I hate to bring this up so last minute. I had wanted to get a local bakery to do the cake,” she starts to tell me, then wrinkles her nose in disappointment. “But I wasn’t all that impressed with the selections we tried from them. And before I start driving two hours away to look for a place I like better, I thought I’d ask—”
“I would love to. I’m a great baker,” I tell her quickly, and she smiles.
She pats the recipes. “Let’s start with these and see how they turn out.”
I nod, excited. I’ve never done a wedding cake before. It’s bittersweet, honestly. I don’t really believe in getting attached to your employers or business partners, but I’ve worked here a few years now, and I’ve become fond of the family’s dynamic. Sometimes I feel like a part of it.
Deanna starts to pack up her newspaper and coffee to go back to her office, when it occurs to me that in the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never even seen Logan date anyone. I’ve seen his younger brother flirt with anything that moves.
“Did, um, his fiancée pick out the flavors or recipes? What’s her name, anyway?” I duck my head a little lower and whisper, “I didn’t even know he was dating anyone!”
Deanna pauses for a long moment, a little bit too long to recall someone’s name. At least, someone who I would hope she would know somewhat well by now.
“Celina Carrington, she lives in Boston,” she says. “Neither of them are much for party planning, so it’s going to be a small, private event. But I wanted to make it nice, so they have some pretty photos to look back on.”
That does make sense. Logan often goes out on deliveries; he probably visits her when he does.
I guess I’m not surprised that I haven’t met his fiancée before. He’s the more introverted of her sons, and tight lipped over anything resembling a personal question. But he’s been polite enough and compliments my recipes, so I just kind of accept that he’s a little on the shy side.
I begin clearing the long countertop to begin the task Deanna set before me, when I see a glimpse of the front page of the local newspaper, something about wolf sightings in the area.
My cheeks flare red and my heart slams in my chest when I remember the dream I had this morning. I’d all but put it out of my head.
She pauses as if she heard my heart rate spike, a concerned expression already on her face. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, it’s just that, uh, the newspaper,” I stammer, and try to come up with something that isn’t my really weird dream. “Do you think hiking is unsafe if there’s been wolves around?”
“Don’t worry dear, I’m sure it’s just hikers who don’t know what a coyote looks like.”
I nod as she leaves and get to work. I’d nearly forgotten that dream. Things are too busy to linger over it. I don’t really have time to confront the fact that my subconscious was totally ready to bone a wolf-thing.