Chapter 4
The following morning is Saturday, and I walk over to Jake’s cottage at just after nine to discuss spending estimates for the upcoming quarter.
At my knock, he calls out, “Come on in” with his gruff voice, and I let myself in.
The cottage we assigned to Jake and his wife, Holly, who died four years ago, is set up exactly like the one I now live in with Audrey and Natalie.
There’s a comfortable main room with a kitchen, living area, and dining space, plus two bedrooms on the ground floor and a spacious loft above them.
The finishes are updated but rustic—hardwood floors, painted cabinets, butcher-block countertops—and the overall feel is cozy but not cluttered.
We’ve decorated our cottage with florals and pretty shades of pink and taupe, but Jake’s place is mostly beige walls, brown furniture, and no adornments except framed family photos.
Aunt Grace made muffins earlier and packed up a basket for him, so I carry it to the kitchen table where he’s sitting with a cup of coffee and the paper newspaper he still gets delivered every morning.
“Mornin’, Ella. Take a seat. You want some coffee? Wes, bring her some coffee!”
I give a slight jerk as I glance over to the kitchen to see Wes is indeed present, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in old sweats, a T-shirt from our old high school that’s now a bit too small for him, and rumpled hair.
“Oh” is my brilliant response to the sight of him.
“Oh,” he says in a wryly amused tone as he grabs another mug from the hooks along the backsplash and pours coffee into it. “Surprised to see me?”
“I just thought you’d be working.”
“It’s Saturday.”
That is true. I’ve never actively investigated his work habits, but I’m under the impression he pretty much works all the time.
“He works Saturdays too,” Jake says, still focused on his newspaper. “I keep telling him work won’t love him back.”
“I only work on Saturdays when there’s something that needs doing.” Wes pulls the half-and-half from the refrigerator without asking how I like my coffee and adds a tiny amount. “All I’ve got today is to help Dad with this stuff.”
“I don’t need help,” Jake mutters. “I’ve been doing this crap for years.”
He has. For as long as I’ve been alive, Jake has handled almost all the grounds work—supervising the staff, managing the budget, taking care of all the upkeep and repairs in the buildings and gardens.
But he’s still up at dawn every morning with a mower or chainsaw or drill, tackling various projects himself.
“I know, I know.” Wes is carrying his and my coffees to the table. “You don’t need my help, but I like to pretend to be useful anyway.”
I’ve already had two cups of coffee this morning, but I wouldn’t dream of objecting to the mug set in front of me. I murmur thanks as Wes takes the chair next to his father.
Both Wes and Jake reach into the basket of Grace’s fresh muffins simultaneously to claim one.
“Mmm,” Jake says over a bite.
“Tell Grace thanks,” Wes adds.
No one needs to be told that Grace did the morning’s baking. Audrey hates any sort of kitchen work, and Natalie sticks to the basics. While I like to putter around with cooking, I certainly can’t produce baked goods at this level.
Jake finally folds the newspaper back up, keeping the folds exactly as they were originally, and sighs as he reaches behind him to drop it on the stack of past papers. “Not sure why I bother reading anymore. World’s gone to shit.”
He’s always been a grumpy sort, but I know his heart is warm and generous beneath the grumbles. And this particular sentiment I heartily agree with.
“No argument here. At least you contain the torment to twenty minutes in the morning instead of getting bombarded with it twenty-four hours a day over social media.”
“Why folks do that to themselves, I’ll never know.” Jake is scowling—not at me but at the world. “Speaking of, what’s this crackpot idea you’ve dragged Wes into?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I don’t know why my instinct is always to immediately apologize if anyone, anywhere, is unhappy, but it is. “I—”
“I didn’t get dragged into anything. I agreed to The Plan before Ella did.”
“But you sure as hell didn’t cook it up.”
Embarrassed and self-conscious, I start to apologize again, but Wes doesn’t let me.
“Neither did Ella. It was Natalie’s idea. And it’s not a bad one. Even you’ve seen all the new business coming our way in the past two days.”
“Sure, whatever. We were doin’ fine without all this playacting.”
“We weren’t doing fine. We were in trouble, and this might be the way we fix it.” Wes is as sober as ever, almost stern, but his tone isn’t mean or annoyed. He loves his father as much as he loved his mother.
“Whatever. Seems like a lot of hoopla for nothin’, but what the hell do I know?” He’s frowning over a big bite of muffin. “You sure it’s not uncomfortable for you two? Can’t be easy to pretend you’re a couple when you’re not.”
This is a surprisingly sensitive observation from Jake, and I smile at him. “It’s okay with me as long as it’s okay with Wes.”
“I already told you it’s okay with me.”
Jake snorts. “You two are always up to something. Remember that hayride when you were kids when everyone was saying Wes kissed you, and you both went around telling each and every person there that he didn’t?”
I laugh as he wants me to, but my cheeks are flaming at the memory.
I was only twelve back then, but the thought of that evening still makes me cringe.
Wes might feel similarly. He’s flushed slightly and is staring down at his coffee.
Jake, oblivious to our reaction, keeps chuckling over the rest of his muffin.
It was the Fourth of July, and Blossom Park was doing hayrides all evening and fireworks after the sun went down. Back then every community event we hosted was well attended. Half the town showed up and a good portion of the rest of the county.
I’m not sure how it started, but the story was going around us kids all day that Wes liked me and was planning to kiss me that evening. It spread the way that kind of thing always does, and it led to a lot of teasing and giggles.
So much teasing. So many giggles.
I didn’t like Wes despite how often we were thrown together.
He wasn’t one of the cute boys in school.
He didn’t do sports, and he didn’t have a lot of friends.
He was skinny and quiet and kind of nerdy, and he was sometimes teased for the sweater-vests he occasionally wore.
I was appalled at the idea of everyone believing I liked him.
We got herded into the same hayride, and the kids with us jokingly pushed us together.
I was so mortified I was almost in tears, and I finally couldn’t stand it anymore.
So I stood up and yelled at the top of my voice, “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you to kiss me!”
The night spiraled out from that outburst exactly as you might expect.
It was afterward that both Wes and I went around making sure no one had any suspicions that he kissed me, and it was more than a year before he would get within a few feet of me.
We were out of high school before he said more than two words at a time to me again.
Later that afternoon, I’m still trying to shake off waves of hot embarrassment as I get ready to drive to a big flea market in the next county over.
Natalie came up to my loft so she could advise me on my outfit, and we decided on a cute yellow sundress with a small daisy pattern paired with the same hand-knit cardigan.
The day is getting warmer, but by now that sweater feels like a statement piece, so Natalie suggests I wear it and just take it off if I get too hot.
“Okay,” Natalie says, eyeing me from my casually knotted hair to my vintage lace-up boots. “You look perfect. Remember, you’re there only on business. No overt displays. Anyone watching will have to look for little clues on your secret feelings.”
I shake my head with a huff of a laugh.
“What? If you’re too over-the-top, everyone will know it’s fake and they’ll start to lose interest.”
“I know. You’ve choreographed it all exactly right. I just can’t believe I’m doing it. With Wes.”
“I realize you’ve got conflicted feelings about him, but he really is a good guy.”
“I know he is.” I sigh. “I know.”