Chapter Seventeen
When I returned home from the diner, Major was already there.
He was more than a little surprised to see I’d picked up some tortillas while I was out, but he didn’t argue as he opened the bottle of wine and let it breathe while I made the rice.
Once the rice was simmering, we shared a glass of wine, and he explained that his patient was on their way home after a successful surgery.
The case had invigorated him, and while he knew he wouldn’t get many revision surgeries in Bells Pass, he enjoyed helping people when they came in.
I wasn’t so sure about that prediction. Once word spread that there was a doctor in town who could help people with unusual issues from joint replacement surgery, something told me he’d be busier than he ever thought possible.
Once the rice was ready, we enjoyed it wrapped in the new spinach tortillas that Ivy had given me instead of the sundried tomato. Knowing Major was the expert on the Spanish Rooster, she wanted his opinion, so I happily obliged.
“These are as good or better than the tomato,” he said, pointing at the last of his burrito. “The tomato tortillas are good, but they blend in with the taste of the tomatoes in the rice. These add a contrasting flavor that makes it spark.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I said, finishing mine and slipping the plate onto the coffee table.
We were enjoying our dinner on the couch with a glass of wine, the music playing softly in the background.
He’d lit a few candles and kept the lights low, which built the level of intimacy to the point that all I wanted to do was kiss him again.
“They’re amazing, but how are the kids going to keep up with making so many if they’re going to be a daily special?”
I’d told him about Ivy putting them on the menu for the foreseeable future every Tuesday, to which he did a fist pump and some dance that reminded me of a chicken in a disco.
“They won’t be making them anymore,” I answered, sipping my wine. “The bakery will. They have the tools to get the job done quickly, from the mixers to the dough press to the industrial ovens.”
His frown made me lower my glass to my leg. “What? Is that bad? They’ll taste the same.”
“No, but I feel terrible that my love for the rooster took the job away from the kids at the farm.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. His love for the rooster.
Honestly, the sentence made me jealous of the rooster.
“Understand that a lot of what we do at the diner, bakery, and school-to-work program is tied together. We test things out at the farm and then implement them at the diner or bakery to see if they pan out. Did I expect the rooster to become an urban legend this quickly? No, but since it has, we pivot. We’ll turn over the production to the bakery, while the school-to-work kids will pick up their next project to be tested. ”
“I see, that makes sense. They're all training opportunities for the kids, so even if the project doesn’t pan out, it’s still a learning experience.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “With the holidays upon us, there will be plenty of other projects for the kids to work on. Come January, there will be new recipes but also new training opportunities in other parts of the service industry.”
“Tell me more,” he said, grabbing his glass from the table.
Now was my chance to be open and honest with him in hopes he’d do the same with me.
I launched into the changes that Ivy had in store and explained my role in them.
“I hope to eventually partner with some of the hotels in Saginaw, so kids who want to learn to work in hotel management have that opportunity. The possibilities are endless if you have someone committed to planning and implementing them.”
Setting his glass down, he took my hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to change lives, and I can say that with firsthand experience because I watched you work on the truck this year with the kids. What about your books?”
“What about them?” I asked, my head tipped to the side in confusion.
“Will you have time to keep writing them?”
My nod was immediate. “Plenty of time,” I promised.
“The books are already written and illustrated, so I simply draw the main character’s head and face to resemble the child from the order, and then paste the head onto the body of the character in the book.
If the child has a disability, I even have book versions prepared with wheelchairs or characters who use crutches.
Once the child’s face is on the main character and their name is in the text, I send the file to my printer, who preps it and sends me a digital proof.
If it all looks good, they print it and send it directly to the customer. ”
“That’s slick,” he said, surprise written all over his face. “I didn’t know it was that streamlined.”
“I like how you didn’t say easy,” I said, the wine relaxing me enough to lean into the couch.
“Because I know it’s not easy. The lead time on writing the books, doing all the drawing, having the forethought to have versions for kids with disabilities, and then putting a supply chain in place had to be complicated and time-consuming.”
“It was,” I agreed. “But now that I’m finally making books for kids, it was all worth it.
While the books are fun and can be ordered year-round, orders are generally concentrated heavily around the holidays.
Especially those that have holiday-specific books, such as Halloween and Christmas.
The rest of the time, they trickle in, so it's a nice side hustle, but not time-consuming.”
“That could change after the tree lighting next week,” he said, to which I shrugged.
“It could, but I know how long it takes me to create a character and go through the process, plus how long the printer needs to print and ship books. We’re just about at the cutoff point for Christmas.”
“It’s only the middle of November.”
“Or, as I like to say, a month away from Christmas,” I pointed out. “That doesn’t leave much time when I’m in a long queue of other books waiting to be printed.”
“That’s true. See, this is the stuff you don’t think about when you don’t do something for a living.”
“I’ve been doing it for a few years, but this is the first year I’ve done it as more than a test run. Then this happened,” I said, holding up my arm. “But I learned something, which I think is important in business.”
“You learned that you like doing it as a hobby but not a full-time job?”
“That,” I agreed with a nod. “It’s fun to do, but when you don’t see the kids enjoying the books except occasionally, that takes the joy out of it a bit, and it can just feel like a chore.”
“Versus the school-to-work program, where you get to see the joy each workday.”
“Exactly. It was definitely a trial by fire lesson I needed to learn, but I’m glad it became so obvious so quickly.”
“And that’s why you argued with Mayor Tottle about not lighting the tree since you aren’t a brick-and-mortar store.”
I gave him the so-so hand. “To a degree, but also, I was sure someone else was better suited for it. Regardless, I’ll continue to sell the books since I have the LLC set up, which was imperative, even if I’m doing it as a hobby.
I love having a creative outlet, so I’ll continue to do it for that reason rather than to build it into a full-time job. ”
“Maybe you should have people send you videos of their kids enjoying the books so you can put them on social media to grow your following.”
“Thought about that and immediately ousted the idea,” I admitted.
“The thought of encouraging parents to put their kids online so I can sell more books doesn’t sit right with me.
Some may do it, but if someone got hurt or kidnapped because some sicko saw the child on my social media feed, I’d never forgive myself. ”
“Hadn’t thought of that. Valid and smart. I know you think you aren’t doctor smart, but I wouldn’t have thought of any of that.”
“Listen, a bachelor’s in business isn’t exactly orthopedic surgery, okay?” I asked with a lip tilt, and he snorted, nearly choking on his wine.
“Our strengths and weaknesses are different, but if, as a couple, you complement each other, then you’re on the right path.”
“And I get that. It’s not a concept I can’t wrap my head around, but it’s hard when you don’t have your life together and you come face to face with someone who does.”
“Ha!” he said, making me sit back in surprise. “You think I have my life together? You couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“You have a good job, a house, a car, and a bank account. That’s pretty together, Major.”
“Of those four things you listed off, the only thing you don’t have is a house, and you’ll get that sorted out eventually. You spent a decade caring for someone else in their home. It’s going to take you some time to recover from that.”
“I’ve had two years,” I said sardonically.
“And I’ve had nine, but here we are,” he said, his words not just sarcastic but scathingly sarcastic.
Should I have shied away from the statement?
Yes. Would I? No, because it was time to address this head-on and stop dancing around it.
Thus far, doing that has only made us both uncomfortable and uncertain.
“Where are we?” I asked, hoping he’d elaborate a bit, so I didn’t have to be the one to push the issue.
“Still running,” he answered, kicking back the rest of the wine in his glass.
I was tempted to refill it to help him loosen his lips more, but I was afraid to interrupt him.
“Going from job to job in hopes that the next place, the next job, the next town would help me escape the memories of the past and find a future that holds more than endless hours at work followed by endless hours in an empty house.”
Honesty. Finally. “Has Bells Pass been the one to break that cycle?”
“You’re sitting on my couch, so that puts it ahead of every other place I ran from,” he said with a wink, though I could tell the wink was not so much kidding as it was nervous.
A beep sounded, and he dropped his head back to the couch.
“You were sitting on my couch.” The muttered sentence was followed by him pulling his phone from his pocket with a shake of his head.
“I’m still sitting here, Major. Tell me what’s going on,” I said, putting my hand on his arm as he went to get up. “If you think that telling me you’re an amputee means I’ll run away, then you’d be assigning some rather unkind personality traits to me that I don’t appreciate or have.”
“Telling you isn’t the part I’m worried about,” he admitted with a sigh. “I will tell you, but can it be tomorrow? It seems my leg is all out of juice again and needs to be charged, which means taking it off, and that will scare you off before we can talk.”
I shook my head as I stood. “Where’s the charger?”
“In my bedroom, plugged into the wall by my bed.”
“Take it off while I go get it.”
“Jaelyn,” he said, but I whirled back around and held out my finger.
“Don’t argue with me. I’m not going to go running from the house because you take your leg off.
I’m friends with several amputees. For God’s sake, give me a little bit of credit and stop insulting me.
If the kiss we shared at the farm was any indication of how you feel about me and where you’d like to see this go, then I can understand why you’re nervous about being vulnerable.
Here’s the thing: if we can’t be vulnerable with each other, then maybe I should walk out the door, and we can remain friends. Which way do you want it?”
Rather than wait for him to answer, I walked down the hallway to his bedroom.
Suddenly, the lack of pictures on the walls hit me in a whole new light.
He kept saying he hadn’t had time to decorate, but I wondered if he expected to leave Bells Pass just as quickly as all the other places.
Maybe it wasn’t worth the time and effort it took to make his house a home.
Then again, it could be his heart was too broken to allow him to find comfort in a home.
The thought stopped me short in the doorway of his bedroom.
It was a room I tried to avoid as much as possible, partly because being in his space made my daydreams about him feel more attainable.
Walking into his room again reminded me of the gentle masculinity that was him in a nutshell.
The muted greys of his bedding were met by the rich mahogany wood of his matching bedroom set.
The bed was made with military precision, but the image of him tangled in the sheets was not hard to conjure.
The charger was easy to spot next to the bed, so I carefully unplugged it.
On the way out the door, since I couldn’t stay in there forever to inhale his spicy cologne, no matter how much I wanted to, I grabbed the crutches on the floor by the bed.
Once he took his leg off, he’d need them to get around until the leg was charged.
Shutting the light off, I took a deep breath before walking down the hallway because, as much as I wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, what came next could alter the course of my life forever.