Chapter 11
As soon as Rebecca turned onto Spyre Street, the apple she had just harvested from her family tree warm in her hand, she saw Cort: He was on the Hartwells’ front lawn in a faded black T-shirt and khaki cargo pants, his shoulders flexing as he lifted a length of scaffolding and brought it to his truck.
His skin glowed bronze in the midmorning sun.
She slowed, stopped, unable to keep herself from staring, and couldn’t help but notice the spike in her own heart rate.
But quickly, she forced herself to keep walking toward him.
He turned, as if sensing her there. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—warmth, maybe; the patented charm he had a hard time turning off, probably—but it shuttered quickly into guarded neutrality.
“Rebecca,” he said evenly, setting the plank aside, handling it as if it weighed nothing.
“I’m surprised to see you. You made it pretty clear you didn’t need me the last time we spoke. ”
Her cheeks burned. Because I did say that, didn’t I?
And she could stick with it, tell him she was just out for a walk and happened to be on Spyre, dead end or not, that it had nothing to do with him.
She could find another contractor, as impossible as that felt right now.
But she would just be making her own life harder, while trying to protect herself from the feelings for Cort Adams she was surely strong enough to get past. These feelings existed in some past version of herself that rose up whenever she came home, whenever she was near him and his tousled hair, his easy, lopsided smile—but she was going to fight them.
So what if the last time she had been home, she had tried to kiss him?
He had pulled away from her. What was done was done.
Because despite what she’d said the day before, she did need him.
She held out the apple. “I was wrong,” she said.
Now he raised an eyebrow and his expression became less guarded. His jaw loosened, until he was smirking. “Wait a minute, are you sure it’s Becca in there, or have you been body snatched? Because the woman I know never admits she’s wrong.”
She was surprised by the relief that flowed through her when he called her Becca again, even though she had sternly asked him not to, the day before.
But she didn’t let the warm feeling travel too far; she was determined to hold herself together, even if, under her knit sweater, the hairs on her arms were standing on end.
“That’s because I’m almost never wrong,” she retorted, hoping her tone was as light as his had been. She lifted her chin. “Except this time. And maybe one other time.”
Now the laughter he had been repressing came out in a low chuckle that soothed the goosebumps, made her warm.
He took the apple from her outstretched hand, brushing her fingers with his.
She felt it, even when the touch was over, as if his skin, so sun-kissed and calloused, was still against hers.
She tilted her head and looked up at him, hoping her breathing was steadier than she felt.
“I can’t believe I called Eli Walsh,” she said.
“A guy who once concussed himself with his own nunchucks.” A short beat, and then Cort began to laugh harder, and she couldn’t help but do the same.
“That guy,” he said through his laughter. “I’m sorry, but the only good thing I can say about him is that he didn’t come back, did he?”
“Come to think of it, no. No sign of him at all.” Now, she was laughing, too. “The damage he did, after just twenty minutes in the diner. He took a running leap onto the counter, instead of using a stepladder.”
“Yesterday, he defied even my low expectations.” He folded his arms now, which only emphasized his biceps, and she felt her pulse begin to misbehave all over again as their laughter faded. “So, are you asking me to take the diner job?”
“I am,” Rebecca said. “And I’m sorry. I haven’t been in a great place. But it’s not an excuse to be unfair to you.”
“I’ll take the job, Becca. You know I’d do anything for you.
” He paused briefly after these words, which gave them a chance to sink in—when she needed them not to, because she was trying to stop taking every sentence Cort said to heart.
His eyes held hers, kept her in place, and she found herself getting lost in his gaze, while wondering faintly if the best thing to do would be to run away from this feeling.
Why did he have to be like this, so good-looking, so kind, so very Cort?
Why did he have to say such nice things, so casually, so unaware of where his words were going to land?
“The diner is a special place to me,” he continued.
“But I have a condition before I take the job.”
“What’s that?” Her heart was racing so fast she felt like she had just completed a marathon rather than walking two blocks from the diner to here.
“That moment, last year, after the funeral…” Now her racing heart plummeted.
“Can we put it behind us? Can we just…Well, my son, Pip, and I have this thing we call the reset button.” Now he smiled, looking shy, while she wondered if it was scientifically possible for a human to melt into a puddle, if this was the inevitable end result of the Cort Adams Effect she had been building toward for years.
But maybe that was the antidote: actually melting and then having your atoms re-formed into a person who could ignore the way he made her feel.
“Anyway, it’s a total reset. We let go of the thing that happened.
You and I, we remember we’re friends. Friends who won’t let one moment mean—”
“Consider it done.” Rebecca’s words tumbled out in a rush; she was desperate for this moment to be over. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She laughed self-consciously, but his expression stayed serious.
“You don’t have to act like that,” he said softly. “I know we have history, Becca. You’re important to me. And I hope I am to you, too.”
“Of course you are,” Rebecca began—but then didn’t know how to finish.
He was important to her, but not in a way that was grounded in her real life, only in her youthful fantasies.
And now, just moments after saying she would hire him, she could already feel solid, pragmatic ground slipping out from under her feet.
“I’m just…relieved we’re getting this all sorted,” she managed, although the truth was she was now wondering if it had been a terrible mistake.
He was watching her closely. “You don’t look relieved,” he said quietly. “You look like you’re trying to decide whether asking me was a mistake.”
Rebecca felt a sudden rush of indignation. She held up her hand. “Now I have a condition,” she said. “No doing that.”
He looked confused. “What?”
“No…acting like you know exactly what I’m thinking and feeling.” Even though you almost always do.
He tilted his head, taking her in. He was doing it again, and she knew it, but all he said was, “Okay. Sorry.”
She forced a smile. “I’ll let this one time slide.”
He nodded, then took a bite of his apple. “Do I get unlimited apples as part of this deal?”
“As long as my supply lasts,” she said.
“Yours were always the best in town.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell Sabrina.”
“She said so once, too. She wants to try to clone the tree.”
In mere seconds, the apple was gone. He ate it just as she remembered from high school: in just a few bites, core and all.
“I’ve got another day or so here,” he said after he swallowed. “But I can be at your place to start first thing Thursday morning.”
“And you’re actually going to show up?”
“I might even bring a ladder on the first day,” he said with a smile that only made her knees wobble once, which she told herself was impressive.
“Thanks, Cort,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you, Becca.”
As she turned away, she saw a curtain across the street close, fast, and wondered which Bramley Hollow resident had witnessed the exchange and how quickly it would spread around town that she had hired Cort Adams. But the rumor mill didn’t matter, not today.
As she walked back down Spyre Street, her heart felt lighter with each step she took.
She knew she had done the right thing, finally.
She was determined to keep the feeling going.
With twenty-eight days left in town, and so much to keep her busy, how hard could that be?