Chapter Forty-One
Aidan can’t stop checking his phone. He knows it’s inexcusably rude, especially on a date. Aidan finally took his vegetable
purveyor, Beverly Cricket, up on her lunch invitation.
He’d gotten the message from the weekend loud and clear: He needs to make his personal life more of a priority. But he’s going
to take baby steps, unlike Cole, who is fully committed to a future with Kalli. Aidan thinks he’s rushing—they’ve never had
a normal, out-in-the-open relationship. There’s still a lot to learn about one another. But at least now Aidan and Cole can
talk about it.
“Everything okay?” Beverly asks.
They’re having lunch at the Grape Seed, a restaurant housed in an ivy-covered redbrick colonial on Mechanic Street. She told
him to pick the place, and he chose to dine out in New Hope instead of Doylestown for two reasons: one, it’s arguably the
best date town in Bucks County. But also, it’s not in his neck of the woods, so local gossip can be avoided. It’s win-win.
“A cheese delivery didn’t show up,” he says with a contrite smile, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Heading into
the weekend without gouda and brie is a problem.”
Beverly smiles with understanding. She’s an attractive woman in her forties, petite with wavy blond hair to her shoulders, round cheeks, and a small gap between her two front teeth that he only just now notices.
“I get it,” she says. “This time of year, things start to get crazy. You wouldn’t believe the demand for pumpkins . . . It
would blow your mind.”
“I can imagine. I can’t keep them in the stores.”
He looks out the window, cracked open to let in the fresh air. The early-afternoon light filters through the branches of maples
and oaks, casting dappled shadows across the sidewalk. Families with kids in tow stop to look in shop windows, while a few
cyclists pass slowly, wheeling their bikes beside them. A breeze rustles the fallen leaves, sending a swirl of crimson and
gold skittering along the ground. Couples stroll leisurely, bundled in scarves and light jackets, occasionally pausing to
read the plaques on the historic buildings. Somewhere in the distance, a street musician plays an Ed Sheeran song.
There is one downside to his choice of location, one he didn’t anticipate, but probably should have: It makes him think about
Maggie Hodges.
He’d been hurt when she stood him up. But then he told himself it was a blessing in disguise—at least he didn’t get in any
deeper with her. She was clearly erratic. And she lived two states away. Wrong for him in those big ways, and probably many
others he would discover in time. Bullet dodged.
It was good he accepted Beverly Cricket’s invitation. He should have done it sooner. Maybe now he’ll be able to stop thinking
about Maggie.
Even after Belinda’s terrible news about the inn, Maggie feels compelled to visit the yellow storefront—the one she discovered during the walking tour that first day of the retreat. The spot has been on her mind since the moment she had the idea for a knit shop in town.
But she never, for one second, considered a New Hope without Belinda. The sale of the inn changes everything. Because she
realizes now she doesn’t actually want to move to New Hope just to open a knitting shop; she wants to move to New Hope to
build something with Belinda. If Belinda is leaving New Hope, what’s Maggie’s plan B?
Everything she sees along the way reminds her of Piper, and it hits her: Piper is married. But if she had to get married this
young, at least it’s with a decent man who loves her. Maggie won’t forget the call Ethan made to her today. And as her now
son-in-law, she has plenty of time to make things up to him. And she will.
Maggie turns at the corner. She sees a man who reminds her of Aidan, and this brings back the odd longing she’d experienced
when she walked into the inn lobby. Then she realizes the man doesn’t just look like Aidan, he is actually Aidan. And he’s not alone.
She has about four seconds to process this before Aidan sees her too. The diminutive blonde beside him is talking, gesturing
broadly. It’s clear from how close she walks to him, arms grazing, and the way she looks up at him, that she isn’t simply
a business associate or a pal.
“Maggie?” Aidan says. Is that disbelief in his voice? Annoyance?
“Hi,” she says, her brain filled with static. The only thing that’s clear is her urge to reach out and touch him, while a
grasp of basic conversation eludes her. After “hi,” she’s got nothing.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
“I’m here for the weekend. Belinda and I are . . . working on a project.” Well, it’s half true.
Aidan looks quizzical but, given the circumstances, doesn’t ask her to elaborate. He introduces her to his “friend” Beverly.
“How do y’all know each other?” Beverly asks with a smile.
“We met this past weekend,” Aidan says.
The woman’s smile becomes a lot less friendly.
“His son and my daughter hit it off,” Maggie says to fill in the blanks. She turns back to Aidan. “I came back here to apologize
to Belinda for running off like that.” It’s true, if not the full story. “I feel terrible about leaving so quickly and not
saying goodbye.” This part is directed at him, and a barely perceptible nod tells her he understands that. “I had a crisis
with my daughter,” she explains for Beverly’s sake.
“I hope that’s resolved,” Aidan says.
“I’m working on it.”
“Always best to bury the hatchet,” he says, and she looks up sharply, wondering if his choice of wording is a nod to their
weekend. Their eye contact, the heat between them, is her answer.
Beverly, maybe picking up on their more-than-passing acquaintanceship, says archly, “I’m so glad I never had kids. The world’s overpopulated. We need more food, not more people. That’s why I focus on my vegetables.”
Maggie nods, not knowing what her vegetable focus is, exactly, and not wanting to prolong the encounter by asking.
But then Beverly says, “And what do you do, Maggie?”
The question feels like a challenge—as if Maggie now needs to prove her own worthy contribution to society (since she contributed
to overpopulating it). And something about the pause she takes to consider this makes her answer it more for herself than
for Beverly.
“I’m a knitter,” she says.
That’s the bottom line. She’s a knitter. That’s her answer. And it’s been there this whole time.
“I need to go,” she says, telling Beverly it was nice to meet her while avoiding meeting Aidan’s gaze. It’s too hard to look at him.
She turns and walks back toward the inn, waiting until she feels certain she’s out of sight to make a phone call. Elaine doesn’t
answer her cell, but she picks up the store landline.
“I need a favor,” Maggie says. “Two, actually. First, I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation
on Monday and I need the day off tomorrow.”
After a beat, Elaine says, “What’s the second?”
“I need you to meet me in New Hope.”