Chapter 7
Seven
Oliver
I can see her working away in her studio, but I can’t see what it is she’s sewing.
A nap overtakes me, and when I wake up, it’s nearly twilight.
I check my phone and it’s now 8 p.m. I peek out the window, and Iris is still at it.
I remember what she told me about typically forgetting to stop to eat, so that decides my next move.
I head out the side gate and decide to walk downtown rather than take a car, since most of the available street parking in this town is taken by tourists.
Fortunately, it’s only about a ten-minute walk to the food truck area, and I let my nose guide me to the best vegan option.
While I’m waiting in the long line, the volunteer with the braided beard, Leonard, from the pottery tent, finds me. “Hey, there you are. Leave me your number. We’ve only got one more piece of yours that hasn’t sold yet,” he says, handing me over a wad of cash.
I thank him profusely and give him my number, and he gives me his. Look at that. I’ve been here less than a day, and I’m already networking.
I load up a selection of Lebanese vegan falafel, tabbouleh, and stuffed grape leaves. My stomach growls all the way back to Iris’s house.
As I crest the hill at the end of the winding road and head toward the rental, my phone rings.
“Man, where have you been? I’ve been trying to text you all day,” my brother, Finn, says when I answer. I explain that reception is not the best up here. I look around and I’m at the exact spot where Iris said was the best spot in town to make a call with my phone plan.
“She was right,” I say, laughing and parking myself on a bench.
“Who was right about what?” Finn asks.
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m in Songbird Ridge for the week, looking at galleries to maybe display my work.”
My brother is supportive of the idea but thinks I need to push harder to try to get into galleries in big cities.
“I’m so burned out by that,” I say. “I’m actually thinking I might open my own place.”
We’re both silent for a second.
“Well…good. Shit, that’s a great idea,” Finn says. “Where?”
I swallow then say, “Here. In Songbird Ridge.”
“Seriously, Oliver?”
“The rent is much cheaper. And you know they have a full-fledged artist colony here. If I live here for two years and go through the vetting process, I could earn a base income to do my pottery full-time. Stuff sells here, I’m telling you.”
“This is not your worst idea,” says my brother.
“And you could help me renovate if I find a space,” I say, speaking his language as a contractor. “And I’d pay you.”
“Now I’m all ears,” he laughs.
“And then there’s Iris,” I say.
“Wait, who’s Iris?”
I don’t know why I’m blurting all this out. I guess I need to express the thoughts that have been roaring in my head all day.
“The woman I’m renting from. She’s incredible.”
A long pause follows, then my brother says, “Oliver, what did you do?”
“I ate her biscuits, and I fell hard.”
Finn splutters in his momentary panic. “Ol…Oliver, just listen to me, okay. You are emotionally compromised and you’re not thinking straight.”
“On the contrary, I’m perfectly calm. This is my person, Finn. I’m sure of it.”
Or maybe it’s the pollen. Don’t know, don’t care. I’m staying.
Another pause, and then Finn huffs, “Listen, don’t do anything rash. I’m coming up there to meet this girl to make sure everything is on the level before you make another mistake.”
The not-so gentle reminder of my past hits me in the gut. But I understand his concern.
“I’ve got nothing for her to steal. Besides, she owns a beautiful old house—I’m renting the carriage house in the back—and she has her own dressmaking business. She’s not after my money. She should be the one worried that I might be a gold digger, not the other way around.”
Finn scoffs. “Which you’re not.”
“Exactly.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“That’s fine, but you won’t find a single hotel room open within forty miles,” I warn him.
“Not staying. Just making sure you’re okay, and to look this woman in the eye. Then, I’m leaving. That’s it.”
I hang up and continue on my way back home. Well, not home-home. Back to my temporary home.
If you told me yesterday I would be fetching food, unsolicited, for the owner of my vacation rental, I would tell you that’d be a huge crossing of a boundary.
But right now it seems like the most natural thing in the world.
We’ve already broken bread together and plan to do so again in the morning.
She let it be known that she frequently forgets to eat.
And on top of that, I’ve already fallen for her hook, line and sinker.
When I knock, Iris opens the door to her studio with a smile, though she looks tired.
“Hi! Did you need something? Did I forget something? Are you missing pillows?”
Without thinking, I reach up and press my finger over her lips to quiet her. Big mistake. Touching her soft lips has made me instantly hard. The surprised look and the blush in her cheeks make that sudden erection even worse.
I pull my hand away, pretending what I just did was normal for me. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of you eating a tofu dog so I brought you falafel,” I say, holding up the bag in my other hand.
Her nostrils flare and she looks down at the large paper bag. Her eyes dance as she smiles at me. “Is that what I smell?”
I nod.
She takes the bag and opens it, sticking her face into the opening.
“Gosh, that smells amazing! But that is a ton of food.”
“You’ll have leftovers, then,” I say.
Iris squints at me, then steps aside, holds open the studio door, and says the words I had not dared to hope she would say.
“Come on inside.”