Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Apartment
Brooks made me come again and then finally managed to drag himself out of the shower. He was dressed by the time I left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body.
“I might be late coming home,” he said, grabbing his keys. “I’m packing up the rest of my clothes.”
“Okay,” I said. “What are we doing for dinner?”
“Barbecue? At the Copper Mule?” he asked. “We just ate there, but there aren’t a lot of other options.”
“We could cook,” I suggested dryly.
We both looked at each other and started to laugh.
“Yeah, barbecue sounds good,” I said with a huge grin.
“Invite your girl gang and their men to go out with us,” he suggested.
“A triple date?” I asked. “You sure you’re ready for that?”
“I survived the family dinner, didn’t I?” He strode over to me and kissed my forehead. “Your friends make you happy. So that makes me happy.”
“You’re too good to me,” I quipped.
“I can be better.” He winked and then his expression sobered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Brooks . . .”
“I was just thinking about earlier. And about how much pain you were in.” His eyebrows slashed together in concern. “I don’t like seeing you that way.”
“I know. But I’ve lived with it this long. I’ve learned how to handle the pain. And now, with you, I’ve got something else to add to the arsenal.” My teasing smile fell flat when he didn’t return it.
“What did you do before when you were in that much pain? Call out of work? Spend the day in bed?”
I looked at him and frowned. “No. I popped painkillers, went into the office, and forced my way through it.”
His jaw clenched. “No more, Poet.”
“No more what? Painkillers?”
He shook his head. “No more forcing your way through it. You need rest. You rest. You need sleep. You sleep. You need anything, you tell me, and I’ll move a mountain to get it for you.”
The front door shut and locked before I’d even hoped to respond.
As I got dressed, I thought about what he’d asked in the shower.
Was I ready for a baby?
Was anyone ready for a baby?
But no. I wasn’t ready.
And yet . . .
I couldn’t stop picturing a little girl with whiskey-colored eyes and dark hair.
“No,” I stated to the empty room. “We are not doing this. We are not getting hijacked by our ovaries. We are not thinking about little Brooks babies. We’re not . . .
Oh, but we so, so are.
I groaned.
It didn’t matter that the apartment I lived in was barely bigger than a pincushion and would be smaller with Brooks’ huge body in it. It didn’t matter that I’d just uprooted my entire life and was going for a dream that had formulated as fast as my new relationship.
Both of which lit me up inside.
No matter what sort of pep talk I gave myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Kids had always been part of my life plan.
But I never really thought of them as anything other than some distant dream.
I hardly thought about them in New York.
Aside from my job taking everything from me and then some, I hadn’t been able to get close enough to any man to sleep with him, let alone think about them as the future father of my children.
But the way Brooks cared for me . . .
God, he’d be such a good father.
Such a good husband.
I smacked my forehead.
Okay, time to focus on something else.
I grabbed my keys and phone, slid on a pair of shoes, and was out the door.
Sweet Teeth’s line was a few people deep when I arrived. While I waited for my turn to order, I read the laminated flyer that was pinned up on the wall behind the espresso machine.
Belly Basket & Barn Dance. Dark Timber Ranch. The date was set for the last week in October.
I stepped up to the counter. Gracie was at the register and her smile widened when she saw me.
“Are you always here?” I asked with a laugh.
“Seems that way, doesn’t it,” she said with an ironic grin. “What can I say, I love this place.”
“I love it too,” I said. “It’s cozy and unique.”
“Thank you.” She perked up. “It didn’t always look like this, but Cole’s parents let me change it up a bit and I really want this place to feel like an extension of someone’s home. But just different enough so you don’t feel the cabin fever effects of never leaving.”
“One of these days, we’re going to sit down and you’re going to tell me all about you and Cole and this place.”
“I’d love that,” she said. “What can I get started for you?”
“Hadley’s chocolatey drink with a shot of espresso,” I said. “And a plain croissant.”
“Coming right up,” she said, grabbing a to-go cup and a Sharpie.
“So, what’s a belly basket?” I gestured to the laminated flyer.
“Oh. It’s just a wicker basket that’s filled with food.
Every year in autumn one of the local ranches hosts a barn dance.
The belly basket auction is a fun little tradition.
Men put the baskets together. Women bid on them—usually their husbands or boyfriends.
Or if you’re interested in someone, that’s kinda how you make it known. ”
“Wait,” I said, taking the croissant from Gracie. “Men do the baskets?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “It’s like the Sadie Hawkins dance. Where the girls ask the guys.”
“Oh, that’s fun,” I murmured.
“Are you going to have Brooks put together a basket so you can bid on it?” she inquired.
“I just found out about this two seconds ago. But yes. Absolutely. What does the money go toward?”
“The town donates the money to a local charity or business in need. Last year Mountain Mutt Rescue was the recipient of the funds. This year it’s going to the women’s shelter that helps domestic abuse victims get apartments and jobs.”
“What a good cause.”
I was loving this town more and more.
“Here’s your Hadley’s Hooch,” the female barista said, handing over the drink.
“Is that its official title?” I asked with a smile, accepting it with gratitude.
“Yep.” She nodded. “To those in the know. So now you know.”
“You should do a secret menu,” I said.
“That’s a fun idea,” Gracie said.
I set my coffee down so I could reach for my phone to pay.
“Brooks took care of it,” Gracie said. “He set up a tab yesterday. So you’re good to go.”
“I don’t have any cash to tip.”
“He took care of that too.” She winked. “You’ve got a good one, Poet.”
“The best,” I said automatically.
How was I going to repay him for being so sweet and thoughtful?
“Hey, this is a really random question,” I began, “but do you have bananas in the back kitchen?”
“Yeah.” She frowned. “Why?”
“I want to make banana bread, but I have no ride to the grocery store to get the ingredients.”
“I could make it for you.”
I shook my head. “I want to make it.”
She smiled slowly. “I see. Hang tight. Let me get you some stuff. Abby, cover the front for a minute for me, will you?”
I moved away from the register toward the bakery display case, but there was no line behind me. It was slow at the moment, but I knew that wouldn’t last.
A few minutes later, Gracie returned with a brown Sweet Teeth bakery bag and handed it to me. I peered inside. Ingredients, plus a baking loaf pan.
“I’ve given you everything you need except for my recipe,” she said. “That’s a bakery secret.”
I laughed and hugged her. “No worries. I’ll pick Muddy’s brain.”
“If I remember correctly, Brooks doesn’t eat sweets,” she said.
“I’m trying something.” With a wave, I took my stash and left.
I sat on one of the sidewalk benches and ate my croissant. The chocolatey drink was delicious, and the sugar gave me a little jolt. I was about to get up and head back to the apartment when Lucy stepped out of General Merc and pointed at me.
“You,” she said.
“Me what?”
“Come in here. I want to talk to you.”
I rose from the bench, and she held the door as I sidled past her with both hands full. She closed the door behind us and flipped the lock.
The phone rang.
With a sigh, she said, “I’ll be just a minute.”
“Take your time,” I said as she went to answer the phone in the back room.
I wandered around the store that sold everything from socks to camping gear and even raw milk. Stopping at the far wall, I studied a series of black and white photos.
Lucy’s conversation was brief, and I heard her steps as she came to stand next to me.
“In the 1800s, Huckleberry Hill formed during the silver rush here in North Idaho. This building used to be the trading post.”
Silver Street had once been a dirt road.
The brick and wooden structures were newly erected and freshly painted.
As I moved through the photos, I watched the street evolve from dirt to brick to asphalt, the buildings slowly modernizing and the signs changing.
The passage of time was stamped on each picture.
“Cool, isn’t it?” Lucy asked.
“Very cool,” I agreed. “How did you become the owner of General Merc?”
“Family business,” she said with a smile. “As most things are in this town. This store belonged to my grandparents, then my parents, then me and my husband. Edwin was Eloise and Edna’s older brother.”
“Oh.” I smiled softly. “They’re your sisters-in-law. That makes so much more sense now.”
“What does?”
“You and Eloise and your closeness.”
“Eloise and I were in the same grade. Edna was a few years above us, and then Edwin a few years above her,” Lucy explained.
She waved me toward another frame and picked it up off the wall and held it out to me. “These were my grandparents. Can you believe it? They were in their thirties in this photo.”
I looked at their faces in the sepia-toned photograph. Their skin wrinkled and lined from the hardships of the time.
“Stoic,” she went on. “So stoic. My dad was like that too. Mom made it her mission to make him laugh.”
Lucy put the photo back on the wall and then took the one next to it off the hook and showed me. “See? Dad not smiling, Mom grinning like a fool.”
It was their wedding photo.
“Look at him though,” I said. “He’s staring at her while she’s looking at the camera. He might not be smiling, but he loves her. You can tell.”
She peered at me and nodded. “Yes. Very astute observation.”
I then saw the next photo of Lucy and Edwin. They were on the bank of Lavender Lake. Lucy had reeled in a fish, and the camera had captured her whoop of excitement mid-flash. Edwin was holding the net to try and help her grab the fish.
“He’s been gone ten years now,” she said softly. “Miss him like crazy. I swear I can still hear him coming through the back door sometimes.”
I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing at all.
“Listen to me,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t mean to stroll down memory lane.”
“Thanks for letting me stroll with you.” I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
She placed the photo back on the wall and faced me. “When are you going to ask me if you can rent the storefront and open up your bookstore?”