Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
[Love is…] when two people like each other and it gets stronger and stronger.
From the sticky note correspondence of Gilbert Dalton and Ellie Sterns:
Eleanor—
We need to talk.
—Gilbert
Dearest Gil,
No person in the history of the world likes to see the words “We need to talk” directed at them.
—Ellie
P.S. Sorry about leaving my, ahem, unmentionables hanging in the bathroom to dry.
Eleanor—
How else should I say it? Let’s chat? Is that better.
Let’s chat ASAP.
—Gilbert
P.S. No comment.
Gil, Gil, Gil?—
Let’s chat is better. I guess. Or, and I know this is crazy, how about just start talking instead of telling me you need to talk and then I can skip the anxiety of waiting for us to talk.
—Ellie
P.S. I did think hanging everything from my bedroom doorknob was a bit much.
After that text from my mom, the day had only seemed to pile more on me. Work had gone sideways almost immediately with one wrong order after another. Iris had a party of five who’d dined-and-dashed, which had her seeing red. A big order of produce came in without a potato in sight.
By the time I dragged myself home, got caught up on all the first grade drama from Oliver, made dinner, and cleaned up from dinner, I was done.
I stumbled into the living room and kicked off my shoes.
The groan I let out was embarrassingly loud, but my feet felt like I’d gone to town on them with a meat tenderizer.
I splayed out on the couch and stared up at nothing.
It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion getting to me today.
That kind of tired I could handle. It meant I’d put in a good day’s work.
It was a bone-deep exhaustion and loneliness.
I felt that kind of exhaustion all the time as though I was a computer with a program always running in the background.
I was one keystroke away from giving up and crawling into bed and never getting out of it.
Sometimes, life could get a girl down. And sometimes, I couldn’t put my finger on any one thing that brought the feeling on. It just…was.
Oliver perched on his knees at the edge of the couch. I smiled at him. “Buddy, why don’t you go play in your room for a little bit?”
He put his little hand on my cheek and stared right into my eyes. “You look sad. It’s okay to be sad, is what you tell me. Do you need me to kiss you and make you feel better?”
I brushed his hair off his forehead. “You know what? I think that would help a lot.” I turned my head and tapped my cheek. A grin escaped at the loud smacking kiss he gave me.
Oliver pulled back. “Is that better?”
“Yes. My turn.” I threw my arms around him and squeezed. He broke into giggles as I rained kisses on his face.
Finally, I let him wriggle free and he ran off down the hallway toward his room. A little Oliver Therapy was always good to brighten my mood. But still, the sadness lingered. More so than usual lately.
Sunny said we needed to allow ourselves to “feel the feelings.” My natural inclination was to push those feelings down deep and keep on smiling. And for the most part, that’s what I did. But Sunny was right. Sometimes I just needed to feel the feelings.
So, I did.
I set the timer on my phone to three minutes to attend a pity party of my own making.
I closed my eyes and let the worry and doubt and fear of all the things—being a single mother, being alone, the café, this house, the disappointment I’ve been to a lot of people, that weird noise the toilet kept making—I let all those things crash down on me.
But just for three minutes. Because the same things that exhausted me also needed me to be okay.
And I would be okay. I’d proven that to myself the last three years I’d lived in Two Harts.
I could come back from my mistakes. I could be a person I was proud of.
I could be strong for my son and a good friend to Ali and Mae.
I could be a good business owner and muffin maker. I could do all those things.
It’s just that sometimes I needed those three little minutes to remind me how far I’d come.
At around two minutes, forty-two seconds, someone cleared their throat. I cracked open an eye to find Gil hovering near the couch, staring down at me with something that might have been concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m feeling my feelings.” The timer beeped on my phone. “I’m done now.”
“Feeling your feelings?” He took a step back as I sat up.
“You should try it sometime. Might make you smile more.”
He frowned and I bit back my amusement. “I smile.”
“Sure.”
“I do.”
I yawned. “Okay.”
He muttered something under his breath as he sat down on the couch as far away from me as he could. In case my feelings rubbed off on him, I guess.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said after an awkward moment of silence.
My head flopped back, and I rolled it in his direction. “I hear there are people who take naps whenever the heck they want.” I jabbed a finger on my chest. “I am not one of those people. But enough about me, how was the park?”
A co-op soccer team had started up in Two Harts last year.
They met every Tuesday night at Legacy Park and Theo had invited Gil to give it a try.
Which explained the gym shorts. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
Long, long legs, the muscles lean and defined.
Sweat stains marred his t-shirt. His cheeks were ruddy and eyes bright. He looked…good.
“It was nice. I saw the Legacy Tree, too. Bigger than I thought it would be.”
“The tree is one of my favorite things in Two Harts. All those people who’ve carved their initials in it over the years.
You know the biggest heart with the E and J in it?
That’s from one of the Hart brothers, who founded the town.
The rumor is that the two brothers were in love with the same woman.
One married her; one pined for her his whole life. ”
“That’s depressing.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s enough to love someone from afar as long as you got to be around them.”
“Bet it made for some awkward Christmas dinners.”
“That too.”
Then he did this thing . He slid his glasses off and used the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face, revealing a strip of pale stomach with a dusting of dark hair.
Right there on the couch where I could see.
Like his legs, his ab muscles were lean and defined.
Not like he spent four hours a day in a gym.
More like he’d earned them playing driveway basketball or using this toolbelt to make things that required toolbelts.
Obviously, he played soccer. I wondered if he played anything else. Maybe he was a runner.
The room had become very quiet in the last minute. Maybe because I was staring at Gil’s exposed stomach and Gil was staring at me staring at his naked stomach. Was it hot in here?
“Are you a runner?” I blurted.
“What?” he asked as his shirt slipped back into place.
“Nothing.” I tore my eyes away, praying he would let it go.
“Did you ask me if I was a runner?”
Of course he wasn’t going to let it go. “Just making conversation, you know. Just two people doing people things.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Yes, I run. About four times a week.”
“Cool. I used to run. Especially when I lived in LA. Hated every single second. But anything to keep the weight off. Had to keep it tight and trim to fit in that kangaroo pouch.”
He laughed, sounded a bit rusty but it was nice. With twinkling eyes, he gave me a once-over that had me fighting a blush. “I think you’d fit just fine in it right now.”
“Oh, no thank you. Do you know how hot it was in that thing?” I shrugged.
“I went to some auditions after Ollie was born but I never lost the baby weight, and I kept getting comments from casting directors about it. The dream lost its luster, you could say. Now I can eat muffins, and I don’t have to run.
” I pointed out the window at the blue, cloudless March sky.
“Although now that the weather is nicer, Oliver and I like to go on walks out behind the house.”
“I haven’t been back there.”
“You should come with us. It’s so pretty. One day, I’d love to have a gazebo, maybe put in a trail or two. It would be fun to have some chickens and a goat.”
“You’re a real farm girl, huh?”
“Me?” I laughed. “Oh, no. Raised in Oklahoma City in the ’burbs. My parents do live in the country now, though they moved after I left. But I love it out here with all the land. Gives Oliver lots of space to run and explore. What about you? City or country?”
“Mostly the city but my stepdad loved camping and fishing, so we were always outdoors doing something.” He leaned back and stared out the window across the room. “I loved it. Not necessarily because we were doing things outdoors but that we were doing things together.”
“Sounds like you miss him.”
“I do. He was the best,” he said softly.
“He was a janitor at the elementary school around the corner from our house. He could have done other things, but after my mom died, he didn’t have anyone to watch us, especially my brother.
The principal didn’t mind him bringing us with him in the evenings when he worked.
” He blinked as though pulling himself out of whatever place his mind had gone. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that.”
I nudged him with a foot. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Yeah.” He gave me a long, unreadable look. “Friends.”
I twisted and pulled open the drawer to the little end table. Inside was my bottle of heavy-duty, maximum-strength foot cream. This was not one of those bottles of floral-scented stuff. Nope.
“Udder Butter?” Gil asked, eyeing the bottle. “I’m scared to even ask what that’s for.”
“My feet.” I peeled a sock off. “They hurt after being on them all day. This stuff is industrial-strength. If it’s good enough for cows, it’s good enough for me.”