by Jenna Mindel
“Not expected to warm up for a few days yet.” Usually in a rush to leave, today Darren wasn’t in a hurry to head for his empty home. He followed his father’s gaze over Maple Springs. The leaves on the trees were still young with that spring-green crayon color. Main Street lay sleepy on this cold morning before the town swelled with summer residents and tourists.
“As long as it doesn’t snow on Mother’s Day, I’m good.” His mom tucked her arm into the crook of Darren’s elbow. “Come to breakfast with us. It’s your favorite place.”
Simply called Dean’s Hometown Grille, the tiny restaurant was right around the corner and probably packed. He used to go there a lot with Tony. Darren swallowed hard. Maybe he wasn’t feeling that brave.
“Hey, isn’t that your girlfriend over there?” Cam had exited the church and pointed.
Darren spotted Bree walking toward them from across the street. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
His mom’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”
“Darren’s got a girlfriend? Will wonders never cease?” His sister Monica joined the gawkers. “Who is she?”
“Just a friend.” There was no use correcting them. They wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
Bree waved and crossed the street. Pretty in dark leggings and a long sweater, she headed straight for them with a smile that made those dimples flash. She wore the same brown knitted hat, and her hair was gathered into one long, fat braid.
His pulse kicked up a notch. Great. Just great.
When Bree stood at the base of the church steps, she smiled again. “Morning Darren, Cam.”
“Meet my family. Some of them, anyway.” Darren should have left when he’d had the chance.
“So, this is where you go to church. I go to the Bay Willows chapel.” Before he could stop the inevitable, Bree extended a hand toward his mom. “Hi, I’m Bree Anderson.”
“Helen Zelinsky.” His mom eagerly returned the handshake. “And this is my husband, Andy. My daughter Monica, and you’ve met Cam.”
“Last night at Darren’s,” Cam added.
His mom gave him that questioning look Darren knew to answer. “Bree is helping out with the wild edibles class at Bay Willows.”
“Oh.” His mom’s eyes widened a bit more before focusing back on Bree. “How’s he doing?”
“Wonderful. He really knows his stuff.” Bree gave him a nod. “I saw Stella at services this morning, and we’re looking forward to hunting for fiddleheads.”
Darren nodded. “They can be elusive, but they’re out there.”
They fell into an awkward silence.
“Well, I’d better get back home.” Bree dipped her head.
“We’re headed for breakfast around the corner. Please, join us.” His mom used her don’t-refuse-me tone.
Darren could have kicked his mom, but letting Bree walk away would open up a can of questions he didn’t feel like answering. He’d feel safer if she joined them. “You won’t be sorry. The food’s plain but good.”
“Yeah?” Bree looked as if she weighed his words.
He meant it, and threw out a ready excuse. “Buying your breakfast is the least I can do considering your help with the class.”
“Showing me the area is more than enough thanks.”
His mom jumped on that like his beagles swarmed after hearing a scraped plate. “Are you moving here permanently?”
Bree laughed. “Oh, no. My parents have a summer cottage here—”
“I agreed to show her the nontouristy places before she leaves,” Darren interrupted.
“I gotta run.” Cam skipped down the steps. “Nice to see you again, Bree.”
His mom didn’t let it go. “What kind of places?”
“We went smelt dipping with Kate and Neil on Friday.” This conversation was taking an odd turn, and Darren wanted it back on track.
“How’d you do?” His dad’s eyes lit up. “I haven’t been dipping in years.”
“We got close to our limits.” Darren scanned the streets. An old man walked his dog. Churchgoers heading home. No one to worry about.
“I’ve never done anything like that before, and it was fun,” Bree added.
“You poor thing.” Monica laughed. “Darren’s more at home outside than in. I’ve gotta run. Chamber meeting with Brady.”
“On Sunday?” Darren knew it didn’t matter the day. His sister had had a crush on the chamber of commerce president for a while now. The guy didn’t know what he was in for. Or maybe he did, and that’s why he’d never asked Monica out.
“As good a day as any other.” Monica got all prickly as if daring him to make something of it.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.”
“Good,” Monica sparred back.
His mom intervened. “Come on, let’s go where it’s warm instead of clogging up the church steps.”
“Bye.” Monica elbowed him in the ribs before bolting.
“Nice.”
Bree glanced at him. Looking uncomfortable. Maybe she didn’t want to go and couldn’t say no.
Darren knew how she felt. His mom was a formidable force. In fact, his entire family could be intimidating because of the sheer number of them. “If you’re busy—”
“No, no plans right now.” Bree kicked at the sidewalk.
“Let’s go, then.” Darren gestured for her to walk next to him.
They followed his parents down the block and turned toward the diner. His mom stopped when they came to his brother’s glass shop. “My eldest son, Zach, owns this store.”
Bree peeked inside the window decorated with blown glass ornaments of all shapes and sizes. “I heard about this place from Stella. She loves it.”
“He’s closed on Sundays, but have Darren bring you in for a tour,” his mom offered.
“I’ll have to stop in regardless.” Bree pulled back from the window and they resumed walking. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Six and three.”
Bree gave him a wide-eyed look. “And I thought it was bad with only one sister to drive me nuts.”
Darren chuckled. “You don’t get along?”
“We do. It’s just that, well, she’s the one who did everything right. While I...”
“You what?”
Bree shrugged, looking uncomfortable again. “I’m still finding my way.”
Darren’s arm brushed against Bree’s, and it seemed natural to take hold of her hand. She didn’t pull away. Her hand felt small in his, delicate. The pads of her fingers were tough. Those calluses proved her strength. Bree didn’t give herself enough credit.
He looked down at her and smiled.
She smiled back.
What was he doing? This sure felt like the start of a relationship hanging out with his folks. Bree must have felt it, too, because she looked thoughtful. Maybe her hesitation in accepting the invitation to breakfast was wrapped up in how right it felt to hold her hand. How right they felt together.
He let go. “So, were you just out walking?”
“Yes. After church I like to walk and meditate on the message, you know? Let it sink in.”
“Huh.” Darren couldn’t remember this morning’s sermon. He held open the door to the tiny restaurant that served only breakfast and lunch.
A staple in town for plain home cooking, Dean’s Hometown Grille had been owned by the same woman for years. Once inside, Darren was hit with the familiar smell of strong coffee, cinnamon rolls and bacon grease. It had been a while.
They grabbed a booth, and Darren let Bree slide in first. His mom watched his every move as if he might fall and she wanted to be there to catch him. He wasn’t five. At thirty-five, Darren was old enough to learn from his mi
stakes. He hoped Bree wouldn’t be one of them.
Linda, the owner, delivered four water-filled glasses. She pulled an order pad from the pocket of her red-checkered apron and a pencil from the bun of her gray hair. “Well, I’ll be. Darren Zelinsky, I thought maybe you’d moved away.”
“Never.” He smiled.
Linda, as well as half of Maple Springs, knew why he’d stayed away from town. It was no secret that Raleigh and Tony lived in a posh apartment overlooking the public beach.
Linda gave him a friendly pat. “Good to have you back. Now, what can I get you?”
After giving their orders, Darren shifted, all too aware of Bree, who’d wedged herself into the corner to give him plenty of room. He heard her stomach rumble and chuckled. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
Proof that her hesitation to join them hadn’t been about her appetite. “Ever been here before?”
“Once with my father, but my mother thinks the food is too greasy for anyone’s good.”
“Don’t let Linda hear you.”
“I’ll remember that.” Bree sipped her water.
“What kind of things are you interested in seeing while you’re here?” Darren’s mom got down to business.
“It all started with the wild edibles class. Roaming the woods is a novel experience for me.”
His mom glanced at him.
“She’s a cellist heading to Seattle in a few weeks for two years,” Darren explained.
“With a symphony?” His mom looked even more impressed as Bree filled her in. “Oh, I’d love to hear you play.”
Their breakfasts arrived. “Let’s pray.” Darren’s father said the blessing before digging in.
“Well, I’m playing in a string quartet for the Mother’s Day brunch at the Maple Springs Inn.”
His mom looked at him. “Oh, Darren, we should go.”
Not a chance. “Maybe.”
“If you’re looking to try new things, you should come by the sugar shack and check out our maple syrup,” his dad offered.
“You make maple syrup?” Bree had that kid-in-a-candy-store look in her eyes. The same look she’d had when she spotted her first morel and scooped up her first net of smelt.
He liked that expression. Maybe too much. It made him want to show her things that would make her look like that again. And again.
“You’ll have to come out and see. We had an excellent harvest of sap this year,” his mom added.
“Oh, I’d love to.”
“Then we’ll set a date. And maybe you can bring your cello. We’ll make you play for syrup. How’s that?”
Bree laughed. “That sounds wonderful.”
Darren concentrated on his biscuits and gravy. He was sunk. Bringing Bree to his parents’ smacked of a romantic relationship. But then, he’d held Bree’s hand while they walked here. What was that? “Maybe we can make a class out of it.”
His mother nodded. “Sure. Your dad would love to give a tour, and there are morels in the woods. When do you want to do this?”
“How about a week from this Tuesday? We were going to look for white morels anyway. Might as well scour our own woods.” Darren liked this idea. There’d be protection in numbers. It’d be a work-related outing. That’s all it’d be.
That’s what he’d make it.
* * *
Tuesday afternoon, Bree growled when her phone whistled with an incoming text interrupting her cello practice. If it was Philip after she’d told him to stop, she’d scream. Laying aside her bow, she grabbed the phone and her breath caught.
It was Darren.
I’ve got your sweater. Will bring to class.
She ran her finger over the screen and texted back.
Thanks. See you later this afternoon.
He didn’t reply. There was no need.
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Darren couldn’t be labeled a charmer, but there was something about him—something unsettling in how a simple thing like holding his hand had turned her upside down. Maybe she should look at him like a test that needed passing, proving her resolve. Was God testing her?
She’d almost let Philip talk her out of applying for the music residency. He’d said she wasn’t good enough because she didn’t play in the top-tier, more prestigious orchestras. It wasn’t as if she didn’t worry about that same thing, but she’d get nowhere if she didn’t try. A man worth his salt wouldn’t hold her back. He’d encourage her to reach her potential.
What kind of man was Darren?
Taking up her bow, Bree practiced. She played classics, she played modern pieces, even one of her own compositions, but her thoughts kept wandering toward today’s class. Scouring the woods for ramps and fiddleheads promised adventure. And dirt.
When she finally glanced at the clock on the stand next to her bed, she had to hurry to pack her cello into its case. She slipped on a pair of thick socks, followed by the hiking boots she’d purchased. Next she threw on a thick fleece shirt and over that her gold windbreaker, a hat and gloves and headed downstairs.
“Your practice sounded good, Bree.” Her mother was bundled up on the couch with a throw blanket.
The gas fireplace hummed instead of snapping and crackling with real fire. The carefully controlled flames twisted inside a fake log cage, giving off only a modest amount of heat. Bree stared at it, lost for a moment. It did the job but was nothing special. Clean and convenient. Easy to flip a switch instead of working hard for the real thing.
Bree wanted real fire in her life. Would Seattle provide it?
“Did you hear me?”
Bree shook loose her thoughts. “What?”
“You okay, honey? You’re not coming down with something, are you? This cottage is drafty, and with cold weather like this, it’s a wonder both of us aren’t sick.”
Bree smiled. “I’m fine. I’m heading out for class.”
“Let me know how it goes. I heard pretty good feedback overall, but—”
“But what?”
Her mother clicked her tongue. “Ed thinks this DNR guy is a know-it-all.”
Bree laughed out loud. “How well do you know Ed?”
She smiled, understanding her meaning. “Well enough, I suppose. Even so—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you a full report.” Bree grabbed a basket and left.
Ed. What a character. Maybe she should tell Darren. But to what end? She didn’t want to cause any rifts or trouble. Maybe it’d be better to let it go for now and see how things went. Darren had already proved he could handle someone like Ed.
Ten minutes later, when she walked into the community room, Darren greeted her with a ready smile. “Glad to see you dressed warm. With this cold snap, we might have a light group.”
His wide smile turned her inside out. Not good.
Bree set down her basket and lifted her foot onto the chair with a clunk. “Check these out.”
Darren laughed. “Good job on the boots. I have your sweater in the van. You might need the extra layer. It’s cold.”
“I think I’ll be okay.”
She heard Stella’s voice followed by several others as people arrived. After waiting only a few minutes, Bree knew Darren was surprised when everyone showed, bundled up and with baskets in hand. Even Ed, who grumbled about the weather, seemed eager to go.
In no time, they loaded up into the van and set out. Bree sat in the passenger seat again. Everyone else had slipped into the same seats as last week. “Where to? Same woods?”
“No.” Darren took a turn and headed south, and then took another turn eastward according to the compass on the dash. “Different land. Loaded with trillium and ramps. And further in are fiddleheads. I’ve found them there before.”
Bree had heard
of fiddleheads when she’d traveled out east.
She and Philip had gone with her parents to Vermont one spring weekend for a fine art show. Her folks had come home with a prized painting. Bree had returned with yet another reason why Philip wasn’t right for her. At the bed-and-breakfast where they’d stayed, Bree had wanted to try fiddleheads. Philip had given her so much grief about eating something that grew like a weed that she finally gave up. She didn’t bother ordering any and missed her opportunity to try something new. Something different.
She’d always given in instead of standing her ground. Today she’d look for fiddleheads, and if she found some, she’d eat them. But ramps she wasn’t familiar with.
“What are ramps?” she asked.
“They’re a wild leek and taste like a cross between an onion and garlic.”
“Oh.” Simple.
After a few twists and turns on what Darren called “seasonal roads,” and more bumps and jostling that led to laughter, they finally came to a stop. Bree got out and looked around. These woods were dense. The ground was covered with white trillium flowers, and a few purple ones dotted the carpet of white.
“Beautiful.” She breathed in the cold spring air, feeling a zip of boldness. She felt alive. More alive than ever before.
“Remember, ladies, no picking the trillium. They are protected plants.” Darren opened the doors at the back of the vehicle. “Please gather round the van for instruction and tools.”
“Ooh, tools. What did you bring?” Stella tried to peek over his shoulder but couldn’t.
“Small planting shovels for loosening the soil around the ramps.” Darren stepped aside. “Grab a whistle lanyard along with a shovel. Remember to stay in pairs. If you get turned around—”
“We know—use the whistle and you’ll find us.” Ed’s voice dripped sarcasm.
Bree glanced at Darren.
He took it in stride. “Right. And if you’ll look at the book on page five...”
They were already wandering away.
“Come on, folks, let’s stay together.” Darren kept his voice even, but several ignored him and kept walking.
Bree gathered her courage and blew her whistle. Hard. “Don’t you want to know what we’re looking for?”
