by Brynn Hale
“Ditto.”
Grace goes to the window when the bell rings and piles three plates on her arm. “Are you going to go with Cole?”
“I… I’ll take the biscuits and gravy, please.”
Grace shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Nice diversion.” She delivers the plates and fills a couple glasses of tea. Her face gets stern. “Ellie, this is Cole Reeves. Cole the football captain. Cole the prom king. Cole the guy who married your best friend.”
“And then divorced him. I think the first was meant to hurt me and the second to hurt him.”
“Shana’s always been a miserable person. We both know this.” She grabbed the plate of biscuits and gravy and set them in front of me. “But do you deserve to be miserable, too? Just because they were husband and wife, doesn’t make him any less available now that they’re divorced. He’s not broken goods, he’s just probably rough around the edges. So…what’re you gonna do?”
I dig into the plate instead of answering her.
I never really thought I deserved anything. But right now, I am a little miserable.
I could imagine dancing in Cole’s arms. Being the only woman in the room he looked at with those big hazel eyes, with a rim of green. I shovel in a bite, pushing down the thought. Not that I’d looked that closely. Right.
I don’t need a man to make me happy.
But maybe I want to be happy with a man. And if that man’s Cole…
I could do a hell of a lot worse.
COLE
“She said that?” Breck, my middle brother and only a year younger than me, walks around a horse that he’s preparing for a sleigh ride with the guests.
“Yeah. She had to get over me? I never knew. Not a clue.”
Breck shakes his head. “But would you have done anything anyway?”
“She’s sexy as fuck, so hell yeah.”
“Sure, she’s sexy to you now, but think about back then. And more importantly, brother, think about who you were.”
I’m still the same guy, I think to myself, but I can’t say it out loud because clearly, it’s not true. I was cocky and made a damn fool of myself more than once back in high school. Now I know it’s not how cocky a man is, it’s how he controls his confident side. I’ve grown up. I’ve lived some life to know that it’s not about finding yourself in someone else, it’s about knowing yourself before finding the right someone. Being enlightened and deep doesn’t do anything for me at the moment, but I’ve learned that shallow and self-centered wasn’t the way to go either. Shana showed me that.
I want a woman who can put me in my place, but when I take her to dance with me, she doesn’t hesitate to let me drag her onto the floor. I want a woman who is confident and finds her place in this world. But I want to be able to take care of her, too. And I want to be her world. Her whole damn world.
“That’s a creepy smile. What the hell are you thinking about?” Breck asks while a group of guests start to arrive.
“You’re right. I wasn’t the man she needed back in high school. But I am now.”
“If you say so, but I don’t think I’m the one you have to convince. Good luck with Ellie.”
“Ellie? Here name’s Elodie.”
“Wow, she hasn’t gone by Elodie since she was probably seven.”
Ellie. The name is sweet. It rolls through my brain. I like Elodie, but there is something to Ellie. It makes me think of fields of wildflowers and pieces of peach pie on the front porch. It has a country quality to it that I can get behind.
And I hope to.
ELLIE
The rest of my day is completed at the vet clinic. Lots of rabies shots, checking growths, and doing paperwork.
But now that I’m back home, I change into leggings and a scoop-necked sweatshirt. Comfort above style. I slip a potpie I made on the weekend into the oven and pour myself a glass of red wine. I sip and let the juicy berry notes float down my throat. That’s the stuff. I’m still a little on edge and a glass of this will definitely dull the constant whine in my head that I should woman up.
I blow out a long breath and look around. The house I’m renting has been renovated and I love the cherry wood cabinets and light grey granite countertops. The dark wood-look ceramic flooring complements both. My month-to-month lease was orchestrated by my father. He wanted me to move in with him, but that was a hard no for me. I couldn’t imagine living with him again.
All our talks would be about visits and he’d be quizzing me constantly. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot…enough. I can look things up on the internet, too.
I grab my glass and a small plate of cheese and crackers that I created as an appetizer while the pie bakes for forty-five minutes and then sits for another fifteen.
Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.
The doorbell is one of the only things that apparently hasn’t been remodeled. The 1960s chime resonates a high-low modulation through the house.
I set my plate and wine on the glass coffee table. I don’t have any furniture, so the fact the rental came furnished is a blessing. However, the contemporary lines and stark white walls aren’t really my taste. I love warm colors and homey touches. Almost a rustic contemporary, I’d call it.
I check the peephole. Great.
Peacock Ridge isn’t a small town, but it’s not big either. He probably could’ve found out where I was living from a number of people, but there was one who I could imagine would gladly give up the information.
I swing the door open. “Cole, hello.”
“Hey.” He’s in a black and white checkered flannel with a black puffy vest over it that looks so comfy. The warm pine scent of his cologne wafts to me on the winter wind and I wonder if the shirt smells like him, even after he takes it off.
“What’s up?”
“I thought you might be missing this?” He pulls my stethoscope from behind his back.
I grab the equipment. “Thanks. I left in a hurry.”
“You could say that again.” He draws a bottle of wine from behind his back in his other hand. His brow lifts and that cocky grin of his makes me step back and he moves forward. “And maybe you might be interested in a glass of this?”
I hold up a hand to stop his progress and it lands on his chest. Firm. Unyielding. “Whoa, cowboy, I’m just thinking, not inviting you in. Why are you really here?” His body leans into the touch.
“To return your stethoscope and welcome you back to Peacock Ridge. Consider me the welcome wagon.”
I drop my hand from his chest and cross my arms. By his widening eyes, I realize it allows the off-the-shoulder sweatshirt to drop even lower, showing the deep valley between my breasts. “And what if you’re not welcome.”
He steps closer. “Ellie—”
“You’ve never called me that.” And I don’t like it.
“Breck told me that you haven’t gone by Elodie for years.”
That’s the truth. My fourth-grade teacher changed me from an Elodie to an Ellie. I’m named after my mother’s grandmother, my great-grandmother and I kind of like the tradition it set. I imagine naming my children after my grandmother, Cora.
And I really like how Cole says the name Elodie. He stretches the ending like he wants it never to end.
“Oh…” I can’t bring myself to tell him.
“Do you want me to call you Elodie?” he says while pushing a chunk of my hair over my shoulder, his fingers brushing my bare shoulder.
I bring my eyes to his. “I just like it when you say it. It reminds me of good times and maybe a little of the girl I was.”
“Elodie Dawn Roberts, I remember the girl you were, but I want to get to know the woman you are now.”
I push down the fears that raise their head. The thoughts that tell me I’m not enough. The reasons to stay miserable. If there are any legitimate ones. Which there probably aren’t.
“You like potpie?” I ask.
“Like it? I love it!”
“Come in.”
“And
then Breck crapped his pants and that’s why we haven’t let him drink tequila again.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Tequila can do some pretty strange things to the body, but I’ve never heard of it doing that.”
“Could’ve been the six enchiladas he ate that night from the Tijuana food truck, too.”
“Oh, God, no. That’s never a great idea. Ease into the food truck food, Breck.”
He chose to sit in a chair across from the loveseat and I’m thankful. I can’t imagine having him next to me on the small seating area. It would be snug.
“Was that for your bachelor party?”
He lifts his second glass of wine. “Yeah. I wondered if you’d figure that out. You were always really smart. Always reading books. Always taking classes grades ahead of your own. I remember you were in my calc class. What were you an eighth grader?”
“Yeah.” I raise and lower my shoulders. “I liked learning. I’m glad to be done with school though.”
“Year four at State, I was done playing football, done with school, I was ready to be back here.”
“And you’ll never leave Peacock Ridge?”
“I don’t think so. And now that you’re here, are you staying?”
“I am.”
He picks up his second plate of potpie. “This is incredible. It reminds me a lot of my mom’s chicken potpie.”
I stand and grab the second bottle of wine and the recipe from the kitchen counter. I hand it to him. “It should. She gave me the recipe.”
Our gazes meet and our hands brush as I pass it to him. He reads it.
His mother died while we were in high school and I remember how broken he was. It was the one time when I got to hug him. And I almost didn’t let go. I could feel how hard her loss was on him. Diabetes and complications had caused renal failure that happened so quickly there just wasn’t time to do more than say goodbye. But before she was gone, she gave me the recipe and on the back was written, “To the daughter I never had.”
He sets his plate on the table and stands quickly. “Elodie, I don’t want to waste time. If you loved me once before—”
“Cole, I didn’t just love you…” I swallow hard. “I worshipped you. I dreamed of you every night. I cried myself to sleep so many nights. And it’s not your fault I had those feelings and couldn’t say anything. But even if I had said something, I was little—or probably fat—Elodie to you. And don’t say I wasn’t.”
His jaw tightens. “I’ve never called you that word. And I stood up to guys who did. You can ask Breck. I never ever called you that word.” He reaches out and his hand clasps mine. “And I don’t think of you like that. You have curves, sweetheart. And I know this might come out horribly, but babe, you have an ass that I can really get behind.”
I roll my eyes and shake out of his hold. “But you never thought of me like you did Shana.”
“Please don’t bring her into this.”
I step back from him as I feel the tension between us rise and it’s not the kind that lends itself to anything good. “Believe me, I don’t want to. But she knew how I felt and she still married you. In fact, she rubbed it in my face that you two were having a relationship.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry she did that to you, and being honest, I did wonder why you weren’t in the wedding and your father didn’t tell me why you weren’t there, just that you weren’t able to make it. But what happened between me and Shana is in the past.”
“My father got it out of me when I’d shared a little too much vodka with him after I heard that you were engaged.” I can’t help but be pulled to stare into his eyes. They’re my kryptonite.
His fingers slip along my jaw and I fight everything to sink into the touch. “Elodie, I can’t change the past. I can only tell you that I want you as my future. I can’t explain it, but I think my mother knew we were meant for each other.”
His lips brush my forehead and I close my eyes. I can feel his breaths brushing on my face and his lips graze mine.
I use every ounce of courage to step back. I can’t kiss him. I’ll never want to stop.
And if we kiss, he’ll know the truth…
COLE
I can see the pain in her eyes, and I don’t know how to take it away. She’s still living in the past. If she can’t get over the fact that I used to be married to her best friend, we won’t happen. Actually, previous best friend. What kind of friend does that? That behavior defines Shana. She pushes people away by being herself and then she gaslights them into believing it’s their fault. I got blown away by that gaslighting more than once.
But after reading my mother’s voice from the past, in her own handwriting, I know one thing. Elodie is meant to be mine.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll just have to take it slow.” I reach the door but turn with my hand on the doorknob. “Please tell me you’ll be at the Snow Ball tomorrow night.”
“I can’t promise you that, but I’ll… I’ll think about it, Cole.”
I rally up a smile. “I’ll take thinking about it because I know you’re brilliant and you’ll come to a decision that’s right for you.”
I leave her standing there in her living room, in that shirt that made me fight going hard around her. How it slipped down, lower and lower. And how she would laugh like we were the only two people in the world.
I’m not out. I’m just giving her time to think. She’s good at that, possibly too good. And I’d put a hundred-dollar bill down that she’ll be at the Snow Ball tomorrow night.
And I’ll be ready.
The next morning, I finished with the cattle. Little Mama as I called her was showing signs of calving and I was thinking it might be a Christmas Eve baby.
I gave a tour of our honey production barn and facilities. We’ve had to add some side businesses to make ends meet. Beef just doesn’t pay like it used to. Honey, soap making from the goats we milk, and the B&B facilities make the majority of our profits now. We can house up to forty guests in the bunk house and six cabins. But we don’t usually have more than fourteen to twenty at a time. The ranch has a full-time staff of four to do day-to-day work when it comes to the businesses and the guests, but we stay active and involved, too.
“Mr. Reeves, are you going to the Snow Ball tomorrow?” a woman in her mid-twenties asks while I hand her a piece of honeycomb to taste.
“I’m not sure.” It’s best to hedge her expectations because I’m betting that she has ulterior motives.
“I’d love to fill in my dance card with your name.”
I’m not great with names, but Luke warned me about this one. She cornered him in the library last night. He shot her down easy. Part of me wishes that he just had one night to get over the one that got away. He’s been making our lives miserable for the last year, but Luke could read the bad news in this one. It also isn’t great to be screwing the guests. We aren’t a bordello, we’re a bed and breakfast, not served in bed.
“Well, Ms. Bane, we stopped using dance cards about eighty years ago.”
“You can call me Mona.” She steps close and slips a piece of paper into my coat pocket before turning and declaring over her shoulder, “And now you can call me.”
All I can think about is how I hate this and how I want to find Elodie and at least see if we could have something.
“If she’s going to get a try, I’m going to put my hat in the ring.” A woman in a red peacoat steps forward and her hand lands on mine. I pull it away quickly.
“Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but I’m already taken.”
“I don’t see a ring!” one of the group of six calls out.
“It’s not official yet, but if I have my way…”
“Oooh, are you going to propose at the Snow Ball?” the woman in the red coat asks, her eyes wide and everyone leans toward me.
They all twitter with each other about how romantic it would be.
I couldn’t disagree with them.
But what woul
d she say?
ELLIE
I complete the day’s bookings and the clients, all six dogs, two horses and one pig, seem to like my bedside manner. I glance at my phone as I jump back in the truck.
Dad: Go to Nolan Church’s. Got a dog that’s been throwing up for a day.
Do I really have to?
Yes. You do.
I love it when my thoughts answer themselves.
Ellie: Okay. Are you going to the Snow Ball?
Dad: Not planning on it. Are you? Got a hot date?
I shake my head. Hotter than you’d ever think.
Ellie: I might make a run to Heraldsville after this. Will Fern close up the clinic or do I need to go back?
Dad: She closes up every night. No need to go back in. What are you doing in Heraldsville?
Nothing, Dad.
Ellie: I ordered a new pair of muck boots and they’re in at the Tractor Supply.
That sounds more reasonable than I’m going to look for an evening gown. My father would probably choke on his pipe if I said the truth. I’m not known for wearing much more than flannels, Carhartt pants and boots.
Dad’s afternoons are now spent with a book and his smoking pipe and sitting in a chair reading. I wonder if he really wants to be doing that stuff or if he just thinks that’s what retirement is.
I turn down the road to the Church’s farm. I wanted to tell Dad no on the appointment, but I have to get used to seeing Shana. I have to get past this desire to rip her face off and feed it to the wild wolves that roam the countryside.
I really wouldn’t do that no matter what. But I might have thought about it. Once or twice.
I roll my eyes when their house comes into view. Nope. Not simply a house. Their home is a mansion. It looks like something that should be in Gone with the Wind instead of in northern Colorado. White pillars stretch two stories and line the front, large green wreaths with burgundy ribbons attached to each one.
It’s in stark contrast to the Reeves’ place. Their home is a large ranch hand-built by Mr. Reeves, probably in the 70s and having additions all through the decades. The cabins on the outer limits are charming with front porches on each. This monstrosity just speaks excess to me.
