by Jo Noelle
Chapter 6
Cole Zamora
“Cole, you’ve got to be kidding!” Jenna throws her hands in the air as I try out a rocking chair covered in burnt-orange fabric in the furniture warehouse clearance section. “You’re making this too easy for me to win.”
“What? It’s comfortable.” I jump out of the seat and move Jenna over to try it out. “See?”
Jenna shakes her head as she flops down into the chair. “Yeah, it is. It’s the kind of chair I would put near a window by a bookcase,” she concedes. “It’s a curl-up-and-take-a-nap chair, but you need to think more of putting elements together that complement each other and the decorating theme. This orange rocker will clash with the bright pink bedspreads you picked out this morning. Which I go on record as saying are hideous. No one wants simulated fur on their bed.”
I turn to the salesman who’s been following me around the warehouse. “Do you have this in another color?” I ask. He points to a mossy green chair behind me. I pretend to consider the merits of both chairs, looking back and forth between them. “Nah. Orange it is.” That green one would actually look great in the room. I’ll have to come back for it later.
“What exactly is your theme?” Jenna asks with frustration in her voice—courteous, but patronizing.
What would be a good theme for the mess I’ve been choosing? With mock confidence, I say, “The cottages are almost a hundred years old, built in the twenties. I want it to look like there’s something from every decade since then in this cottage.”
“That might make it come out looking like a garage sale without any of the cool kitschy-ness that could make the theme work.” Now she sounds exasperated.
This is working. I’ve always enjoyed teasing her, but I’m hoping to throw her off. I really want everything to be a surprise during the reveal.
“I think you’re right.” But not what you think you’re right about. How is she not suspicious about all of this yet?
Jenna sighs, relief lining her face. “About the theme? Or the color of the chair?”
“No. That I need a bookcase by the rocker.” Her eyes enlarge with disbelief again as the salesman leads me to that area. I choose a simple framed bookcase. It’s narrow, but just right for the size of the cottage.
“At least get a nice neutral black or that soft gray one,” she suggests.
“I’ll take the blue.” I smile and say to the salesman, “Put that on the list.” His lips press in a straight line, and I know he’s holding back a smile as he jots notes in the book he’s pulled from his shirt pocket.
Earlier, when Jenna was looking at light fixtures, I clued him in that I wouldn’t be purchasing the hideous choices I talked about, but to keep a list of the things I really wanted. I’ve had to signal him when Jenna isn’t looking.
Jenna spins away from me, shaking her head and mumbling, “Of course you will, because it’s the worst possible choice. Can you even imagine that blue next to the orange across the room from the hot pink?” She turns back momentarily. “I can’t take this. I’m going next door to look at the paint selection.”
“Oh, I’ll come with you.” Maybe I should rein it in a little before she steals the truck and leaves me here. On the other hand… “You look a little frazzled, Jenna. Shopping is hard—so many decisions.”
“Maybe you should bring Walter with you next time. He might talk some sense into you.”
“Have a little faith—it will all come together. You thought the way I connected the cottage with the storage shed nearby was genius. I think I can pull off this decorating stuff too.”
“It was brilliant. You’re going to get another bedroom to kick up the price. It’s a great business move,” she concedes.
“So it might give me the edge over your decorating style if you think mine is so bad.”
While Jenna pores over the paint samples, I go to the “mis-tinted” table. Cans are labeled with paint dots to show what’s inside. As Jenna approaches, I choose one with a lavender smudge. “Hey, we can save a little money by choosing paint from this table instead of having them mix new ones for us.”
She looks at me without saying anything, but I can see the effort it’s taking for her to bite her tongue.
I try to egg her on. “I’m going to get this one for an accent wall behind the headboard.”
“Okay. When I win, I’ll change the name of your rental to the Rainbow Bright cottage.”
Jenna sits at a table and opens her binder. All her decorating ideas are inside, complete with project sheets for each room showing furniture placement, fabric swatches, and estimated budgets. She matches the paint chips in her hands to the rooms and calculates the amount she needs for each color before making an order at the paint desk. While they’re figuring it up, she tapes the paint cards onto the corresponding pages.
Something I admire about Jenna is that everything she does is carefully considered. I can see it in the way she’s organized her ideas for the renovation project. Her supplies, when she’s flipping a cabin, are tucked into the wagon in the order she’ll use them as she cleans the cottage. It’s not obsessive—it’s efficient. She’s even the fridge at Walter’s. But hey, I find the ketchup now so I have no complaints.
As we pay for our paint, I say, “I’ll have to make a second trip to get everything we ordered today. I’ll drop you off with the stuff you bought and come back for mine.”
We walk to my truck hand in hand. This isn’t the first time she’s held my hand, and it seems like she’s more comfortable doing it. It’s a baby step—I’ll take it.
We’re halfway into the competition. At this point, I’m feeling encouraged. It can’t help but get better between us. It feels right.
Since we started with her not wanting to be near me, I’d say the plan is starting to work. We’ve shared secrets that neither of us felt comfortable telling before. I think it was hard for both of us to be open, but it helped us trust each other again. She’s playful instead of wary around me too. I have my best friend back. And the last time when she kissed me, it felt real, unlike the awkward one at the airport. I could see happiness shining in her eyes.
If we keep moving in this direction, being together past this summer seems like a doable goal.
“You have absolutely the worst taste. Except in best friends, of course.”
Oh, burn. She rises to her tiptoes and kisses the bottom of my jaw. Really? We’re just friends, huh? If she thinks she can kiss me to get her way, she’s nearly right, but I can’t let my plan peak too early.
I know she likes me. She might even know she likes me, but she’s still standing in her own way. She’ll have to work it out before we can move forward. It just takes patience. I’ve got all summer to bring her around.
“Let me help you, because when you lose—and looking at the choices you’re making, you will lose—I’ll at least have a cottage to rent out that I won’t have to redecorate first.”
During the drive home, I look at her portfolio, getting a sense of the styles and colors she likes. “Sometimes I think there’s an old lady hiding inside you, Jenna. Everything in this book is old-fashioned.”
“It’s French country, so yes, that’s an older style, but beautiful. My favorite style is shabby chic, but French country seems to work better for the Apple Blossom cottage.”
After dropping Jenna off and unloading her purchases, I return to the warehouse to pick up my new selections. When I get back, I turn off my lights as I’m pulling up to my cottage. I don’t want Jenna to come out and see what I’m taking in—that would ruin the surprise.
The next morning, Jenna finds me behind the Huckleberry cottage. “I would have helped you get your stuff in last night. What time did you get back?” Her attention is distracted by Seal trotting by with a doll in his mouth. She points at him. “Are you going to stop hi…”
“Not yet.” But I watch where Seal is going. “I got home after ten, and thanks, but it wasn’t hard to get it in.” Except for
the rocker. And the loveseat. And the table. Ugh. Sneaking around is hard work.
Seal stops by a towering Sitka spruce between here and the pavilion, sniffing around.
“What is that?” she asks, pointing to the project in front of me.
At first, I think she’s talking about the dog or the tree, but she’s pointing at the oar in my hand. “Decoupage.”
“I know that, but what are you putting on the oars?”
“I’m wrapping them in maps. Since the cottages sit right on the beach, I thought it would be good to put maps of water on the oars before I hang them over the headboard.”
“On the purple wall?” Jenna turns to check on Seal. “He’s burying the doll now.”
“Yeah. Lavender, not purple. And good—I’ve been wondering where his new stash is.” Dirt is flying between Seal’s legs, and the doll’s body is mostly covered when he walks away. It has the eerie look of a crime scene.
Jenna’s attention is back on my project. “Is that a map of Hood Canal or Puget Sound? Or even Washington?” She leans closer. “That looks like Lake Michigan.”
“Well, you know that, and I know that, but no one else will notice. It’s got water.” I lay the oar aside and walk to Seal’s stash. I pull out the doll and scoot more loose dirt away, finding a screwdriver, a pair of ladies’ sunglasses, some baby’s binkie, and a box of Chinese takeout. That one can stay.
Jenna grabs the screwdriver. “I lost this a week ago. I thought you stole it.”
I shake dirt off the other items as we return to Willow. When we step onto the front porch, I point to the project I did a couple of hours ago. “I finished some frames.”
She’s going to love those! I saved the half shells from our oyster-shucking contest and hot-glued them onto wooden frames—a kindergartener could have done a better job—then spray-painted them fire-engine red.
Just before Jenna buries her face in her hands, I hear, “Oh, for the love.”
Yes!
