3
She attracted him more than he liked. —Pride profits are up and employees are happy. My mom and sister, however, are struggling. Right after my father’s death, my mom begged me to move back into the big house so she wouldn’t feel so terribly lonely. The move was convenient for me, since the farmhouse I’d been living in was nearly an hour from our corporate offices. But it didn’t really help my mom much. I hoped she would become more involved at Pemberley, but she said it was too hard; all the business stuff reminded her too much of Dad. I can’t say how painful it has been to watch my mom retreat inside herself. She has always been so capable, so confident, so brave. And now she walks about as if she’s in a trance. I suppose we all feel that way. It didn’t help that my dad’s death came just a few months after Georgie’s crisis. That whole experience left my mom a shell of herself. She felt she failed as a parent. When she visited my sister in England last June, she decided Georgie was on to something. Apparently, it’s much easier to deal with grief across the ocean. So now it’s up to me to run the house and the business.
In addition to leading the company, I’m expected to carry on the tradition of throwing Pemberley Parties. Last year, we canceled Blossom Days since that event happened in early March, only a few weeks after my dad’s funeral. But in July, Clarence, the foreman at the almond milk plant, said it would boost morale if we continued the tradition of the Pumpkin Hunt. This event, like all Pemberley Parties, was something my mom normally orchestrated with lots of input from my dad. But with her out of the country, the planning fell to me. I did what any good CEO would do: I delegated. And that’s how I first heard of Lettie Benson.
When October rolled around, I found I didn’t have the heart to attend. My dad loved the Pumpkin Hunt so much. Everything about it reminded me of him. It was often held the weekend of his birthday. I had planned on attending and even making a speech honoring him. But the closer the day came, the more I dreaded it. I made a lame excuse and went out of town. I didn’t know at the time, because she didn’t tell me, but Reynolds was sick that weekend. I really left her in a bind.
The following week, more than one employee told me how spectacular the Pumpkin Hunt had been. Janet from accounting asked me if I could get the recipe for the vegan chili served at the party. My mom also received messages from old friends praising the event. When I asked Reynolds about it, she told me that a young woman from Bennet Parties single-handedly saved the day. She sent a sick Reynolds home to bed and kept the party running. Feeling truly grateful for a stranger’s hard work that helped me through an emotionally trying weekend, I sent her a thank you note with my favorite chocolates. I knew I couldn’t skip the holiday party, even if I still didn’t feel much like celebrating. Reynolds promised to hire the same competent employee who made the Pumpkin Hunt a success.
The icy rain turns to snow as I take long steps through corridors of wintering almond trees. Snow is rare here. But this is the second snow this winter. It has been raining a lot, too, which bodes well for the harvest. As long as it doesn’t dip below freezing after the trees bloom, and there’s no raging hailstorm or mite infestation. There are so many things that can go wrong. Farming requires relentless hope. And right now, I don’t have much. Fitz scampers ahead of me, a happy dark whirl in a world of white. I’d be lost without my dog. If it weren’t for his buoyant affection, I think my heart would have frozen over completely.
When I turn the corner, the house comes into view, perched on a snow-dusted slope surrounded by trees glazed in ice. The wintery scene makes me think again of Lettie and the holiday party. Lately, everything makes me think about her. I don’t know... something about her casual confidence combined with her understated good looks. I phrased that wrong, just like when I called her tolerable. That was not my best moment. I only said that to get Bingham off my back. Lettie is so much more than tolerable. She is exactly my sort of pretty. That’s probably why she looked so familiar when I first met her, standing under the arch wrapped in Christmas lights. Her heart-shaped face shone in the tunnel of light as her bright eyes fastened on me. I felt a tug of recognition. Something about her felt strangely familiar, like déjà vu or coming home.
Funny thing is that my mom wanted to set me up that night. Caroline had been jilted by her longtime boyfriend. And after my lonely year, I was more than willing to see if anything was there. Caroline is indisputably hot, even if I’ve always found her a bit grating. So, when my mom suggested that I use the party as a chance to get reacquainted with her, I agreed. Partly because I was so happy that my mom had come home for a few weeks. Partly because I was so lonely, I was willing to see if we could finally find some chemistry. Sparks flew that night, just not with Caroline Bingham.
I stomp my boots on the doormat outside the kitchen door. My mom sits at the table, sipping her tea, watching the blizzard.
“Morning, Mom!”
She doesn’t answer, simply stares out at the trees, their skeletal branches swaying in the storm. She slides a thick, creamy envelope across the table to me.
I read: Mr. and Mrs. William Darcy Jr. It pains me to see this invitation addressed to my dead father. I glance at my mom and notice her red-rimmed eyes. She’s been crying. Again.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go with you.” I abhor such galas, but I’d do anything for my mom.
“I’m not going this year,” she says, still watching the flurries outside. “What I want... what I need is something to look forward to. Please, Liam, take a date. You need to get back out there.”
Again, my mind flashes to Lettie Benson. Instead, I ask, “Caroline?”
“She certainly knows how to behave at these things.” The invitation is for a black-tie fundraiser for the hospital. I’ve been before. I’ll be expected to wear a tux. The women will be wearing evening gowns. There will be a lot of important people, possibly the governor. My mom adds, “And how to dress.” I think of the string of unraveling yarn dangling from Lettie’s red beanie. My mom turns her eyes on me. “Caroline’s had a hard time lately. It’s softened her rough edges.”
“Mom, I like Caroline fine. But she’s like a sister to me. And Charlie said she’s back with that guy.”
“Oh! That!” My mom perks up to the gossipy subject. “That’s never going to happen. His family doesn’t approve.”
“Whyever not?”
“They’re snobs.” My mom says with disdain. “They don’t approve of Caroline’s work.”
“So, you wouldn’t be snobby if I dated a girl who’s not... say, a doctor or a lawyer.”
“Of course not. If you found someone, anyone, I’d be thrilled.”
That little glint of hope in her forlorn face pulls at my heart. I decide to give her something. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“I’ll go with a date. I have someone in mind.”
“You do?” Her tear-stained eyes light up. “Liam, that’s wonderful!” She pats the table, gesturing for me to sit. “Tell me all about her.”
I don’t normally indulge my mom by sharing feelings. In truth, I rarely admit them to myself. But it’s the anniversary of my dad’s death. And if she feels half as wretched as I do, she’s miserable. I can do this much.
“Remember that woman who worked for Bennet Parties—Lettie Benson.” My face heats just saying her name.
“Yes! Oh! She’s cute.” I wince at the use of “cute.” It seems a little dismissive. Of course, who am I to talk when I called her tolerable? “Are you seeing her?” My mom asks eagerly.
“No.” I’ve tried for the past month not to think of her. It was bad enough when, a couple of minutes after meeting her, Bingham suggested I kiss this stranger under the mistletoe. Bad because the moment the idea entered my mind, I couldn’t let it go. I wanted to kiss her—desperately. I bolted from that situation. But I couldn’t escape the idea of Lettie Benson. The whole night, I found my gaze drifting to her in her black puffy coat and unraveling red beanie. Her cheeks and nose, pink with the cold, and her eyes dancing with humor. She was always in the middle of the action, answering questions, solving problems, and making people laugh. I found I wanted to hear what she had to say. The moment I saw her by herself, I approached her. She did not disappoint. She immediately made a wry observation about my outfit change.
By the time we met again in the kitchen, my flicker of interest had flamed into a full-blown crush. It kills me that she overheard me calling her “tolerable,” but what else was I supposed to say? I couldn’t ask her out. As a rule, I never date employees. And though, technically, Lettie was not my employee, I had contracted the company she worked for, and that’s close enough. And then she said that sassy line about never kissing me, and I couldn’t let it go. Goaded on, I said more than I should have. I should have kept my mouth shut, but also, those last few minutes talking with Lettie were the best part of the party.
I initially chalked the whole confusing incident in the kitchen to being emotionally vulnerable. After all, it was my first time hosting the holiday party without my dad. But it’s been over a month, and I still can’t stop thinking of her.
I text Charlie.
Liam
Could you give me Lettie’s number?
Charlie
??????
I’ll have Jane send it ASAP
My phone dings. There’s a message from Jane with a new contact: Lettie Benson
I feel the same rush of joy I used to get when my team passed another boat during the last 500 meters. The contact info includes an adorable picture of Lettie wearing an oversized Iowa State sweatshirt, she’s laughing—of course.
“Why are you smiling?” my mom asks.
“Charlie sent me her contact info.”
“You’re going to ask her out?” My mom tries (and fails) to sound super casual.
I create the new contact. Then pause to study Lettie’s picture, again. Her eyes sparkle.
“I just might.