Chapter 4
One Year Ago
The Tipsy Apple smelled like cider and rain. There was a buzz in the air, and it felt like it was inside Rebecca, too. A strange jittery energy, the kind that comes after a good cry. Or a funeral.
It seemed that everyone who lived in Bramley Hollow had turned up for Lenore’s memorial, held at the United Church in the middle of town.
After, they had crowded into the church basement for strong tea, and Rebecca had remembered Lenore always joking to her granddaughter that at any church event, you could count on tea so strong your spoon might stand up in it.
There had been tiny sandwiches made by the church committee in charge of such things.
Tuna, egg salad, paper-thin sheets of turkey or ham, a whisper of lettuce, all between soft white bread with the crusts cut off.
Townspeople squeezed her hands, patted her back.
She was a pillar of the community. She loved you so much, dear.
She’ll always be with you. She’s in heaven now.
Rebecca had found it all so comforting. She had felt the love in the room for her grandmother almost as if it was a tangible thing she could put in her pocket, save for later, when she needed it most. It was clear that everyone in Bramley Hollow wanted to give her grandmother a proper send-off.
In a strange way, even though it had been a funeral, in that crowded church basement, Rebecca had felt like there wasn’t room for sadness.
At the end of it all, there had been nothing left for Rebecca to do but take the many floral arrangements from the funeral back to the diner with her.
This was when the sadness kicked in. She had thought of the empty diner, the apartment above it, the place where her grandmother had raised her alone, after losing both her daughter and her husband.
Somehow, even with just the two of them living in the building, and even though they had both suffered loss, it had never felt empty.
Always warm, bursting with activity, a community hub—and Rebecca’s home.
But now it was empty, and her heart began to feel heavy.
That was when Cort Adams approached Rebecca and Sabrina as they were attempting to fit the flowers into the trunk of Sabrina’s Audi SUV, Tetris-style.
A gentle misting rain had started, and he stood in the church parking lot, in his dark-gray suit that matched his gray eyes, his sandy-blond hair curling at the ends in the humidity.
He smelled like cedar sawdust and herbal soap.
“I think my truck bed might be a better bet for fitting all these flowers than this trunk,” he had wisely suggested. “Let me help you.”
After getting the flowers to the diner, Sabrina had floated the idea of drinks at the Tipsy Apple, and Rebecca had been relieved to put off her return to the empty diner building even further.
The three of them sat in a corner booth, ordered pints of cider, chatted, and laughed. Every time a fresh round was delivered, they toasted to Rebecca’s grandmother.
“To Lenore,” Sabrina said, lifting her glass. At this point, Rebecca was starting to lose count of how many hard ciders they’d had. “A woman who could outbake, outsmart, and outlove the rest of us combined.”
“To Lenore,” Rebecca echoed, and Cort clinked her glass last. His hand brushed hers—just enough to send a flicker of heat through her body that was growing stronger as the evening progressed.
Was it just her, or had he been brushing her hand with his on purpose?
She felt like a simmering pot on a stove.
These emotions bubbling at her core were chasing the sadness away.
She almost felt exhilarated. Cort caught her eye and smiled, and she smiled back, certain that the expression on her face could only be described as goofy, and she didn’t care.
That Cort Adams, such a delightful young charmer, Lenore had said once.
His smile could light an entire continent.
Lenore had always been full of compliments about Cort, had been delighted where Rebecca was at first dismayed when she had been assigned to be his English tutor, back when she was seventeen.
All night they had been telling stories about Lenore, picking up where the funeral reception had left off.
Now Cort was remembering Lenore’s rule that no one was allowed to leave the diner hungry.
“And remember, she used to ask you to prove it by offering a warm slice of pie? If you could resist, you could go. If not, you stayed, you ate the pie. On the house.”
Rebecca laughed softly. “She was weird in the best ways.”
“Do you remember when she banned us from the back kitchen for stealing frosting?” Sabrina asked. “Put photos of us on the door like we were little criminals—but then stuck a bowl of frosting just for us on the pass.”
The way Cort smiled across the table tugged at something inside Rebecca that had been loosening all night.
His suit jacket was off, his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his collar was open enough to reveal the golden glow of his skin.
Rebecca found herself reaching for his shoulder, brushing sawdust away.
“Peril of the trade,” he said with a laugh.
“There was a job I needed to check in on, on the way to the church today. Thought I managed to get all the sawdust off me, but nope. I’m permanently covered in it. ”
Sabrina was watching them over the rim of her cider glass.
“You two,” she said, but didn’t elaborate.
Rebecca met Sabrina’s gaze and shook her head slightly, but then she felt Cort’s eyes on her again.
Sabrina stood and slid her cider to the middle of the table.
“I have reached my limit,” she said. “I’m walking home.
Tomorrow, hay maze construction begins. I need my rest. Cort, can you make sure she gets home okay? ”
“Of course.”
Sabrina kissed Rebecca’s cheek, whispered in her ear that she loved her and would talk to her in the morning, and reached for her jacket.
Then she paused and looked down at her friend.
“She’d be so proud of you,” she said, a bittersweet smile on her face.
“She really would. Today was as good as it could have been. You handled it all perfectly.” Then Sabrina was gone, and the silence she left in her wake was a warm glow, like embers on a hearth after a chilly autumn rain.
The jukebox switched to a Lenny Kravitz song about being ready for love.
It was slow and familiar. Cort turned his empty glass between his palms, tracing circles in the condensation.
The server passed their table, a tray in his hand, and replaced their empty pints of cider without a word.
“Lenore was so loved,” he said thoughtfully. “We left a greenhouse’s worth of flowers in that diner earlier.”
“It feels a little overwhelming,” Rebecca admitted. “I wish I had thought to ask for donations instead of flowers.”
“This town loves their floral arrangements, though. You know that. It’s tradition.
Half of them are from gardens and greenhouses, not flower shops.
” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “We could take some of them over to the retirement home tomorrow, maybe the library. Anywhere, really. Spread the color around town a bit.”
Rebecca nodded. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
He laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “Just impressed, I guess. Grateful.”
“Always trying to impress you, Professor.”
She laughed. “I’m not a professor yet. Although I did achieve the status of doctor this year.”
He grinned. “Oh, we all know that. Lenore was so proud she practically took an ad out in the paper about you, her wunderkind granddaughter, defending her PhD successfully, a full year early.”
“I think I just like punishing myself. I worked at a breakneck pace. Wanted to get to the teaching part.”
“And? How are you liking that?”
She hesitated, looked down into her new glass of cider, then back up at him.
“It’s been a bit strange, honestly,” she said, surprising herself.
“It feels like I’m stuck in an endless loop.
My colleagues love that feeling, of being a student forever.
I’m actually not so sure, it turns out. My students always look so bored.
I wonder if it’s me. If maybe I’m the problem, because, well, to be honest, I’m a little bored, too.
” She looked up again. “I’ve never admitted that to anyone. ”
“You’re the smartest person I know,” Cort said. “I’m sure you’ll get back on track.”
She sighed and tried to smile. “Tell me about you, instead. You’re busy restoring Bramley Hollow’s century homes, one at a time, right?”
“Feels like it. It’s interesting work, restoration rather than just new builds. Not sure how I fell into it, but I don’t mind, really. Although—” He stopped, bit his lip, shook his head. “I just think it’s funny, how easy it is to fix houses. Not so easy to fix things in life.”
She hesitated. “Are you talking about you and Melanie?” He nodded. “I heard you were separated.”
“Divorce was finalized last month, actually. And it’s okay, honestly. Divorce is always complicated, as I’ve learned—but it was the right thing for us. She met someone else…”
“I didn’t know.”
“Really, it’s okay. I don’t know if I can blame her. I wasn’t there, you know? When it came to being a good husband, I was a giant failure.”
“You didn’t fail,” Rebecca said.
His smile was rueful. “Technically, I did. So I’m trying to be the best ex-husband, and father, that I can.
Mel deserves that, and so does Pip.” When he said his son’s name, his expression lightened.
“And it’ll get easier, because time does that—fixes things all up.
I feel like that’s a piece of advice your grannie would have given me, over a coffee and a force-fed slice of pie. ” His crooked grin made her smile back.
“That does sound like her. And she would have been right.”