10. A Cottage and a Beginning
A Cottage and a Beginning
Levi
Bob laughed when I called him, dry and creaky. “You want the old place next to yours?” he said, his voice crackling over the speakerphone. “Thought you’d sworn off neighbors.”
“I’m making an exception,” I said, pressing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I tossed another flake of hay into the feeder. “It’s for a friend.”
There was a long pause. I knew Bob well enough to know he was picturing something. “Female friend?”
I rolled my eyes skyward. “Just need the lease terms, Bob.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, but I could hear the grin in his voice. “Tell her she’s got to keep the porch light off after midnight. That thing’s wired to a motion sensor, and it drives the raccoons nuts.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“I’ll draw up the rental paperwork and email it over. You can fill it out on her behalf and get her signature later.” That was Bob—mostly indifferent, mildly suspicious, but ultimately easygoing once you cleared the crust.
I hung up and looked over at the empty cottage tucked behind the pines.
Mom and a few of the knitting ladies wasted no time in bustling over to the cottage and cleaning it.
It was move-in ready, save for a few repairs I’d already planned to fix.
It needed a little work—a loose railing, some gutter repair, a stuck window, nothing serious—but it had charm.
More than that, it was hers now. If she wanted it to be.
By the time I pulled up to the inn to break the news, Cassie was already outside, perched on the steps with a half-eaten apple in one hand and her phone in the other. She looked up as I parked, brushing her hair out of her face.
“Good news,” I said, walking over. “Bob’s cottage is yours if you want it.”
She blinked. “Really! That was fast.”
“He’s retired,” I said. “Which basically means he spends his time looking for excuses not to deal with paperwork. You’re doing him a favor.”
She stood, the apple forgotten. “I wanted to see the inside again.”
“You saw it once. Not much has changed. Still has floors, a roof, and old furniture that smells like mothballs.”
“And the raccoons?”
I grinned. “Only mildly aggressive.”
She laughed, light and surprised. I’d caught her off guard. “Okay. When can I move in?”
“Today, if you’re up for it.”
Her brows lifted. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Nope.” I handed her the key. “We’ll take my truck.”
She stared at the little metal key resting in her hand. “This is really happening.” She wiggled around excitedly.
“Yep,” I said, watching her expression shift—hesitation, wonder, then excitement.
She looked up at me. “Thank you.”
There was a moment of hesitation before Cassie flung herself at me, testing my reflexes.
Shocked by her excitement, I caught her mid-air and held her tight.
Her strawberries-and-cream scent wafted by me, and her arms wrapped a little tighter around me.
The moment was over too soon. I was reluctant to let her go.
She belonged in my arms, tucked in close.
Then, with a stubborn little sigh, she slid back to the ground and looked up at me.
Her eyes were filled with hope. It would have been too easy to dip down, take full advantage of the last six inches, and plant a light kiss on her lips.
She was so close, and her arms were still wound tight around my waist. I bent forward slightly, heart pounding in my chest, breath caught in my throat, but the curtain next to the front door fluttered aside, and I looked up just in time to see Janet retreat from the window.
My shoulders dropped, and I sighed with resignation.
Living in a small town means nothing goes unnoticed.
Cassie looked at me, puzzled. I nodded toward the window, and realization flickered across her face. She stepped back—shy and a little timid. Just like that, the moment passed, leaving only a faint thread of tension in its wake.
I didn’t let the pause linger too long. “Anytime.” I inhaled, my breath ragged. The two of us were still caught in the what ifs.
Mentally shaking my head, I tried to pull the moment together. “You grab your bags, and I’ll pull the truck around.”
The plan was simple: drive her out to the cottage, swing by Jordan’s garage where all of Cassie’s worldly goods were still hidden under a tarp in the bed of her old truck, head out to the cottage, and unload the truck, maybe help hang a curtain rod or two. But Everwood had other ideas.
We hadn’t even made it two blocks back into town after leaving Jordan’s—the truck bed now crammed half-full of Cassie’s stuff—when Edie from the hardware store flagged us down with a box full of lightbulbs, nails, and “spare hooks I found in the back, just in case.” She set it in the truck bed with a little bounce in her step, then patted Cassie’s arm like she was passing on a blessing.
Passing the bakery, Dot came hurrying out in her apron, flour on her cheek, and a warm loaf wrapped in a dish towel. “You’ll need breakfast tomorrow,” she said, tucking the bread beside the mop. “And something to make the place smell like home.”
Two minutes later, Mac from the diner handed over a half-dozen mismatched mugs and a used coffee maker. “Figured you’d want coffee gear,” he said with a wink. “Levi’s got opinions, but now you’ll have options.”
By the time we hit Main Street’s far end, the truck bed looked like a small moving parade. A folding chair. An old set of measuring spoons. A potted plant in a cracked ceramic pot someone had tried to glue back together—twice.
Cassie sat in the passenger seat, arms full of a donated quilt and a box of books someone had labeled “extras.” She blinked at me, stunned.
“Did you... organize this?” she asked, glancing around like maybe the trees had conspired too.
I shook my head. “Everwood’s grapevine works faster than wildfire. You can bet Bob called his fishing buddies down in Florida. Mom and the knitting club helped clean. It was a town event.”
“And this is what happens every day in Everwood.”
“That’s about right,” I said, turning onto the gravel road between the cottage and my ranch. “You should’ve seen what they did when Dot’s niece moved in last fall. Someone showed up with a puppy.”
Cassie laughed, but her eyes shone too brightly to be just amusement. She pressed her lips together and looked down at the quilt in her lap.
“They don’t even know me,” she whispered.
I glanced at her, and a smile stretched across my face.
“They will,” I said. “This is just how they say welcome.”
She didn’t speak again until we pulled into the driveway. The cottage ahead caught the last gold light of the afternoon.
“You sure this is all going to fit?” she asked, climbing out and squinting at the mess.
I grinned. “Nope. But we’ll make it work.”
The back of the truck looked like a yard sale caught in a windstorm—boxes stacked half-crooked, a mop dangling like it was trying to escape, and a laundry basket full of cleaning supplies wedged under a rolled-up rug.
Cassie stood next to it with her hands on her hips, surveying the chaos with narrowed eyes.
Rolling her sleeves up, she hoisted a box labeled “KITCHEN?” and started toward the porch.
I chuckled, shifting the rug and a floor lamp to one arm to open the creaky screen door. “We’ll call that one a mystery box.” I nodded at the box she was wrestling with. “Adds excitement.”
Inside, the cottage still smelled faintly of dust and old cedar, but with the sun streaming through the windows and Cassie’s energy bouncing off the walls, it was already starting to feel less abandoned. She moved through the space in shock.
“Your mom and the yarn cult cleaned all this?” Cassie’s eyes were a little misty.
“Yep.” I balanced a box on my hip. “Where do you want this?” I asked, holding up a box marked “BOOKS.”
She paused, biting her lip. “Living room, I guess. I don’t even know where I’ll put a bookshelf.”
I set the box down gently, giving her a moment to look around. Her eyes scanned the room, pausing at the fireplace, the sunlit corners, and the worn floors that still had charm beneath the scuff marks.
“You know,” I said, “it doesn’t all have to be perfect today.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I just want it to feel like mine.”
“It will,” I said. “Give it time.”
We worked in near silence for the next hour.
Every so often, she’d mutter something about missing dish towels or how she had a coffeemaker but no coffee, then jot it down on a receipt she pulled from her purse—a notepad taking first place on the list. I offered to make a hardware store run, but she waved me off.
She wanted to pick out what she needed on her own. I got that.
As the last box landed with a thud on the kitchen floor, Cassie leaned back against the counter and blew a strand of hair from her face. “Okay,” she said, breathless but smiling. “This is officially real.”
I nodded, shifting my weight and tucking my hands into my back pockets. “Yep. No turning back now.”
I spotted the crooked cabinet door again, the one begging for a screwdriver and five quiet minutes.
Grabbing the screwdriver from my back pocket, I headed straight for the cupboard.
I’d already fixed the stuck window by scraping away a little paint.
I filled the wood for the fireplace and de-winterized the house.
“You ready to head back to Janet’s? Grab your truck, maybe say a dramatic goodbye to that floral wallpaper?”
“Mmm.” She glanced at the light switch and flicked it. The bulb above us blinked on with a soft hum. “Well, would you look at that? We have electricity.”
“Everwood grapevine’s faster than Wi-Fi,” I said, stepping out onto the porch. “By now, the whole town knows you’ve moved in, and someone’s probably already baking you a welcome pie.”
She followed me to the truck, pausing at the bottom step. “So... would you like to join me for dinner, my first real meal in the house?” Her eyebrow lifted, half-smirk, half-question.