by Winnie Reed
“I didn’t have to take my break at this very minute, either, but here we are. You said it was important and you couldn’t make up your mind.” His dark eyes darted over my face, meaning I had to stop looking at his mouth. “What are you so scared of?”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
“So why not give the interview?”
“Because maybe I don’t feel like it.”
“So say no.” He finished wiping down a stainless-steel prep table, then slapped the rag over one shoulder with a practiced gesture. “Easy peasy.”
That didn’t sit well with me, either—and he must’ve seen it in my face. “You want to do it. You know you do. Why do you keep trying to talk yourself out of it?”
“I’m not! I’m just trying to make up my mind.”
“What’s the harm in it?”
“I don’t want anybody thinking I’m trying to profit off what happened. There. Happy?” I leaned over the table, pressing my forehead to the cool metal. “Okay? You broke me down.”
“It wasn’t exactly difficult. And now you’ve smudged my table.”
“Boo-hoo.” I rubbed my forehead back and forth. “Now it’s really smudged.”
“Wow, that’s a new one even for a Harmon. Rubbing your greasy forehead all over the place just to annoy me.”
I popped up with a gasp. “Shut up! It’s not greasy!”
He glanced at the swinging door between us and the rest of his shop, where people were enjoying lunch. “You want to shout that a little louder? Just in case there’s anybody out there who doesn’t yet know you’re visiting me on the down-low?”
“Could you not make this sound salacious, please?”
“My point stands.” He snickered, looking me up and down. “It’s too easy to get you worked up. You either need to learn to keep calm, or start taking blood pressure meds.”
“If the doctor hasn’t prescribed them for me yet, knowing how my family stresses me out, I think I’m okay.” I held out a hand and Ethan tossed the rag, which I used to wipe up my smudges.
He folded his arms on the table, looking at me from under lowered brows. “So we have the truth. You don’t want people thinking you’re benefitting from finding who wrote those letters in the bottle. My question is, who cares?”
“I care.”
“I know you do, and I’m saying you shouldn’t.”
“Which is a very easy thing for you to say.”
“It’s easy to do, too. Stop caring so darn much.”
I blinked. Waited. “Nope. Just saying it doesn’t make it so.”
“You have to try.”
“Oh, there’s trying involved? Now, see, you didn’t mention that part before.”
“Darcy, come on. Stop with… whatever this is and listen to reason. Even if you benefit from helping somebody, so what? You deserve it. You went out of your way to help somebody—and unlike so many people in the world, you didn’t do it for yourself. Do you know how unique that makes you?”
A tiny tingle ran up my spine. That’s the sort of thing he’d said just before the kiss. “It doesn’t, though.”
“It most certainly does. You give so much of yourself to everybody around you. Even people you don’t know and never would’ve met otherwise. You don’t ask for anything in return. You’re a special person.” He scowled then, standing up straight and clearing his throat. “Unique. It makes you unique.”
I cleared my throat, too, which suddenly felt tight. “Well, thanks. I never looked at it that way before.”
“Of course, you didn’t. We don’t usually see ourselves the way other people see us.” Then, he smirked. “I mean, I do. I know some people think I’m the big, bad wolf. Like your mother and sister.”
“They don’t think you’re so bad anymore. I mentioned you the other day and Mom didn’t even hold up a rolling pin and pretend she was going to bash me over the head with it. That’s a huge step in the right direction.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned me the other day?”
“You would latch onto that part, right? Not the part where she doesn’t hate you anymore.”
“Why were you talking about me?” A little smile played over his lips. It was a stark difference from his usual smirk, which he wore only slightly more frequently than his customary scowl.
“I brought up the idea of organizing another restaurant week later this year, smarty pants, and we were trying to come up with the best possible time to do it.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “So there. Get over yourself.”
“Little chance of that happening.” A timer went off, making him turn toward the ovens. I watched him pull out one loaf pan after another and moaned softly at the scent of fresh bread. That was one area in which he had it all over Mom. She didn’t bake her own sandwich bread—but then she didn’t serve sandwiches, either.
“How many loaves do you go through every week?”
“Five to six dozen.” He narrowed his eyes. “Doing reconnaissance?”
“Oh, yes. This is all part of a spy mission. You wouldn’t believe what people are offering for this inside information.” I shook my head, backing toward the door. “Now, to cash in on this remarkable discovery. I have to spread the word.”
I was in the alley with the door swinging shut, but I heard Ethan’s final proclamation. “Do the interview!” He always had to have the last word.
“I think you should do the interview.”
Pete’s voice was thick, thanks to the mucus and whatnot, but his opinion rang out clearly enough. “Yeah? You do?”
“I do.” I could tell he was chuckling, though it sort of sounded like choking, all things considered. Judging by the sound of him, I was sort of glad this conversation took place over the phone. He was a cutie pie, but nobody was all that cute while battling a summer cold.
I didn’t feel like picking it up, either. He was a very nice guy and I hadn’t quite forgotten how sweet it was, watching him interact with little Georgie the night he’d helped me babysit, but that didn’t mean I wanted to share his sickness.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I don’t know why there’s all this resistance.”
“You’re a creature of habit. You like things to be a certain way. Comfortable and familiar.”
Here’s the thing.
While he was a very sweet, very charming, and generally adorable man, nobody wanted to hear herself described as a creature of habit who liked things to be a certain way. I mean, maybe if we’d been in a relationship for ten or fifteen years. Maybe then, hearing myself described as a creature of habit wouldn’t have made me recoil. Maybe then I wouldn’t have looked in the mirror over my dresser, expecting to see wrinkles and liver spots.
Did Mrs. Merriweather have any unused hats lying around?
“Darcy? Did I lose you?”
I sighed as quietly as possible. “No, you didn’t. Here I am, thinking I’m getting better at putting myself out in the world. Broadening my horizons and all that. But a simple online interview makes me pull my head inside my shell.”
“It’s not like snapping your fingers and everything magically changes. It takes work. Sometimes every day, from one decision to another until you get better at making the more courageous choice. You know?”
I sat on the corner of my bed, smiling now. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a human being. So, yeah, I know what I’m talking about.” He sneezed a few times, so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ear. His nose blowing was even louder, making me wince.
“That’s a heck of a cold. Poor thing. I could bring over chicken noodle soup, if you want. I make a very good chicken noodle soup.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“It wouldn’t be putting me out. What else do I have going on?” I laughed at myself, a little awkwardly. “Not something to brag about, but you know what I mean.”
“I don’t want to get you sick.”
An interview I hadn’t yet accepted.
After putting the chicken in a stock pot with plenty of water, I pulled up my email and found the message from Jane.
Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I’d be glad to chat tomorrow evening if you’re still free and not irritated with me for being so slow to reply.
I included my Zoom account name and sent the message before I could second guess myself, then slid the phone across the counter so I couldn’t obsessively check whether Jane wrote back.
“I need to chill out.” A glance at Lola told me she couldn’t have cared less, all curled up in her little doggy bed with a chew toy between her front paws. “You have the life, you know? Wherever you go, everybody loves you. You can do no wrong. Except for the time you threw up blueberries all over the place, but that was Mom’s fault for practically feeding you an entire muffin that one day.”
Emma’s dog sighed softly, plopping her chin on her paws like she remembered and wished she didn’t.
Soon, there were garlic cloves, peppercorns and other various aromatics in the pot with the chicken. I simmered it for an hour before removing the meat from the carcass and leaving the bones and skin to continue adding their goodness to the stock.
I might’ve checked my email once or twice, too. “Nothing yet.” Lola was unimpressed. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how you feel about it when you want chicken. You’ll be my best friend, won’t you?”
It didn’t take long for that to happen, either. Soon she danced around my ankles, prancing and wagging her tiny tail. “Okay, okay, I’m not a monster.” I chopped up a little meat and dropped it in her food bowl before going back to the soup.
There was something very comforting about the act of making soup. Especially because I was making it for somebody besides myself. Taking care of him, even in a small way.
The way friends did. Right?
“Ugh.” I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling while Lola begged for more chicken. What was I doing? Thinking about Ethan’s kiss one minute, making soup for Pete the next. “He’s not going to read too much into this, is he? I mean, I know he’s into me. And I like him, but how much? We haven’t gone on a date yet. I don’t know if there are any sparks, you know?”
Lola stared up at me. “I know. You don’t care.” I tossed her a little scrap of chicken, anyway.
Friends did things like this for each other all the time, didn’t they? Pete wouldn’t read too much into this. And even if he did, well, I liked him. Worse things could happen.
Darn it. I was overthinking everything. I was also anti-change, just the way Pete had pointed out. That made it sort of difficult to figure out whether I was resisting him or the notion of my bland, boring little life changing thanks to a relationship.
Which was why I very cheerfully packed up a big container of soup, thick with veggies and noodles and tender chicken, then cheerfully put on Lola’s harness and walked her over Pete’s. I had to act, not think. Overthinking never got me anywhere.
It was a ten-minute walk to the cheerful little duplex where Pete lived and where I performed a slightly more grown-up version of the old Ding Dong Ditch game. Instead of running away before Pete could reach the door, I waited on the sidewalk for him to answer.
Seeing his face light up lit me up inside, making me wonder if I wasn’t trying to talk myself out of something when I insisted to myself that we were only friends. “Make sure you eat it hot, and maybe have some tea with honey and lemon. Do you have honey and lemon?”
“I can get some. Thanks for this. It’s been a long time since anybody cared enough to make soup for me.”
The best part was how happy he looked when he waved before closing the door. My heart felt very full as I led Lola away, back toward the Victorian I called home.
That warm, fuzzy feeling lasted until my phone buzzed, tucked inside my pocket. It wasn’t a call coming in, but an email.
Sounds great, see you tomorrow night at 8:00. – Jane
No turning back now.
Chapter Three
“You look great. You always look great.” Poppy tossed Lola’s stuffed bunny across the room and giggled when the dog took off after it. Her paws skittered over the bare floor but she managed to stay upright, unlike the one time she slid out of control and crashed into the fridge.
Good thing she was so small and couldn’t do any damage.
Poppy turned to me from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. “No offense, but what does it matter what you wear for your interview? She’s not going to include any images in her article, is she? This Jane person?”
“I don’t think so.” I sat on the sofa with a sigh, shrugging helplessly. “I want to look good, that’s all. I’m nervous. I’ve never been interviewed before.”
“Sure, you have.”
“Trixie doesn’t count. She’s been interrogating me since I was old enough to wear a training bra.”
Poppy snorted. “There’s a difference between interrogation and interview.”
“It’s a fine, fine line. Trust me.”
“Imagine you’re talking to a friend, then. It doesn’t have to be so serious. Tell her all about finding the bottle and how your neighbor, Poppy, helped you get the cork out of the neck so you could read them. Poppy who by the way is an artist and hasn’t sold a painting in weeks.”
“I’ll try to drop your name, don’t worry.” She thought I was kidding, but she was wrong. I’d figure out a way to get her mentioned. She did play an integral part in finding Cassie.
“Anyway, it doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. Be your normal, friendly self and everything will go smoothly.” She nodded to the dog, who’d just taken off after her toy again. “You want me to take her across the hall, give you a little peace and quiet?”
“No, she’s good. I’m not worried about a distraction.” Besides, Poppy tended to leave her paints and other supplies around when she was working. She called it getting lost in the flow, when she’d lose track of time and place.
All I needed was for Lola to get her pretty paws on an open tube of paint. Emma would kill me if guilt didn’t do the job before she had the chance.
“When are you going out with Pete?” Poppy reached over the coffee table to grab her wine glass. It had been her suggestion, opening a bottle to calm my nerves. We usually made it a point to hang out once a week or so, anyway—this was as good a reason as any.
“I don’t know yet. We’ll see if my soup helped or harmed, then go from there.”
“It didn’t kill him, did it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Not as far as I know. He texted me a bunch of times to thank me for it, promised to make it up to me.”
Her eyebrows moved up and down. “We all know what that means.”
“We don’t know any such thing, so get the idea out of both our heads right now.” All she did was stare at me. “What? Stop it. Don’t make this into more than it is.”
“More than it is? He wants to date you. He wants to smooch you.” In case I didn’t follow, she pursed her lips and made kissy noises.
“Stop!” My face was hot with embarrassment, or was it the wine? Either way, it felt like the temperature in the room had gone way up.
“Don’t you want that, too?” She stopped giggling and looked at me very seriously. “Don’t you like him?”
“I do. I guess… I don’t know.” If I hadn’t already spent a ton of time blow drying my hair, which truth be told I usually didn’t have the patience for, I would’ve thrown myself down on the sofa and buried my face in a pillow. “It’s weird. My whole life, everybody’s known my business. Like a celebrity, only without the money. It’s never been easy for me to talk about stuff. Personal stuff. Emma’s really the only person I feel like I can open
up to, but I’m working on it.”
“I’m honored to be your guinea pig.” She winked before checking the time, then hopped to her feet. “You’ve only got a few minutes before you’re supposed to be on that call. You’ll be great. I bet you’ll laugh at yourself for ever being so worried about it.”
That, I doubted, but I didn’t have time to argue. I didn’t want to, either. I wanted her to be right.
My laptop was already open and all that was left to do was log into my Zoom account. “Wish me luck, Lola girl.” She was too busy chewing her bunny to pay much attention.
JaneBrooksPCNews signed on not a minute after I did, and she called a moment later. I took a deep breath before answering, and was greeted by a pretty, redhaired girl who looked like she might be around my age.
“Hi, Darcy.” She waved, smiling wide. “I’m Jane Brooks. It’s great to meet you.”
“Same here, Jane.” My voice was only slightly shaky, which I guessed was better than the babbling, nervous wreck I was inside.
She didn’t seem to notice, either way. “Thanks for taking the time to chat with me. I’m sure running your store must keep you awfully busy.”
She had a warm, natural sort of vibe to her. It put me at ease right away, which I guessed was the point. It wasn’t the sort of thing a person could learn in school, though.
“I’m more surprised you want to talk with me, honestly. I don’t think of myself as being anything special. Worth interviewing, you know?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed softly while shuffling things around on her desk. “Sorry, it’s been a heck of a couple of days and I feel like I’ve been playing catch-up the entire time. You know the feeling? Like you’re always running just a few seconds late?”
“Oh, sure. It’s not easy. If you’re too busy—”
I almost hoped she’d say she was, but instead, her head swung back and forth. “No, no, not at all. The second I read about you in the Cape Hope Times, I knew I had to speak with you in person. Or over the computer, either way. What you did was so… cool.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks. I don’t think anybody’s ever described anything about me as being cool.”
