“Hello? Still there?”
“Sorry, yeah, still here.” Charlotte’s cheeks went hot. She’d drifted away at the idea of Nico. “Anyway, how’d you dig up a picture of him? All you had was a first name.”
“Researching is my middle name and it’s a small town, like you said.” Sahil paused for effect. “Plus, he’s an easy guy to find. He’s all over the place. It took me about half a second to find out whether he likes white bread or wheat.”
Her hand hovered over the rack of pots. “What? How? Is he famous and I don’t know it?” She shook her head and almost lost the phone. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious?”
“No, not at all.”
There was a long silence.
“Okay, that was a lie. I am curious, but only about the people I know here, face to face. That was one reason I wanted to live in a small town, Sahil. It’s too easy to live behind a profile picture. I bounced from party to party, meeting to meeting, never really getting to know anybody. I had more friends on twitter than in real life. I need this slower pace. I need the slow dinners, the chats on the porch in the evening, the time to make cinnamon rolls and the freedom to draw funny little notes on top.”
“Wait, has any of that happened?” Sahil’s excitement was back.
Charlotte cleared her throat. All if it. Several times. “It sounds cooler than it is. I just mean that I want to get to know someone the old-fashioned way ― through conversation and time together, not by reading a blurb.”
“You never put little notes on the cinnamon rolls you gave me.”
“Elena likes them.”
“Right. Well, I’ve got to work on a paper that probably won’t get published and therefore will do nothing for getting me closer to tenure, but I’ll do it all happily because you’re tending plants and writing cute notes to put on plates of cookies. Notes that are definitely not for Nico.”
“Just remember that soon it won’t be enough to just hear about it. You’ll buy tickets and then―”
“I’m not listening! I’m committed to that boring conference,” Sahil said, laughing. “I’ll talk to you later. And I expect to hear all the details if you happen to spend any more time with the neighbor, okay?”
“You’d be bored. It’s really nothing.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Sahil said.
Charlotte was still smiling as she set the phone on the table. She really did have a wonderful life here. She just wished her best friend could be as happy as she was. The sun warmed the little table by the window where she’d placed a larger flat of seedlings.
Nico’s dark eyes flashed into her memory. She’d brought over the plate of cinnamon rolls a week ago, and Elena had laughed in delight at the post-it note with the drawing of Bunnicula eating a roll, a steaming cup of coffee next to him. When the little girl begged her to stay, Charlotte had looked to Nico, nervous that Elena might be putting him in an awkward position with her invitation. He hadn’t hesitated for a moment.
They’d sat on the porch, looking out at the canyon and talking about whatever crossed their minds. Or more accurately, Charlotte had talked and Nico had listened. She’d known a few men who didn’t talk much, but Nico took reticence to a new level. A few times she’d fallen silent and he’d simply looked out at the grass where Elena herded a family of baby bunnies. In retrospect, Charlotte pondered how odd it was that she hadn’t felt uncomfortable. Once she’d gotten over her nerves, the silence was just as nice.
Charlotte realized she’d been standing in front of her seedlings, watering can in hand, motionless. A movement out the window caught Charlotte’s eye and she stood on tiptoe to see more clearly. A familiar flash of white had her moving for the back door.
Stepping down off the porch, she crossed her arms as she watched Bunnicula hop his way up and down the length of the fence. He paused and gave her a look as if to say he wasn’t pleased with the new developments. She reached out a hand and stroked his back, marveling at the softness and the way his fur rippled as he moved. He hopped away from her, checking the fence for any break in the integrity.
“There’s nothing left here, Peter. You should just go back home,” she said, hands on her hips. “Plus, your master did a fine job of securing the perimeter.”
“I think he’s looking for strawberries,” a voice said from behind her.
Chapter 9
“I am glad I will not be young in a future without wilderness.”
― Aldo Leopold
Before she turned, she could already feel her cheeks going warm, and was irritated with herself for the reaction. “Hi, Nico.”
He smiled at her and Charlotte’s heart flip flopped in her chest. His dark hair was curled at the ends as if he’d just stepped from the shower and he was freshly shaved. Maybe he had a Friday night date. Even though he wore a faded plaid shirt and worn jeans, there wasn’t a woman alive who’d insist he put on a suit and tie before taking her to dinner. “Can I help you with anything?”
She sounded like someone working the counter but Nico didn’t laugh. “I saw him slip through the fence and thought I could catch him before you saw him.”
“It’s fine. Really. I’m a McGregor in name only.”
“Were you teased a lot in school?”
“Actually, no. I think Beatrix Potter was out of fashion when I was little. She’s back in style now. Charlotte’s Web was pretty popular. I did get called a few names because of that book. Black Widow. Spidey.”
He grimaced. “Kids can be jerks. That book changed my childhood. My father was a butcher and I always felt terrible for the animals.”
“And the book convinced you he was wrong?” The skinned rabbit flashed through her memory. “Or you don’t eat pork?”
“I eat anything tasty,” he said. “No, I grew up knowing the anatomy of every animal you could eat, and some you couldn’t. Everybody told me farm animals were for food and not to get attached. But I couldn’t help it. Sometimes I just did. Charlotte’s Web made me realize there was nothing wrong with that.”
“I know what you mean. A few childhood books changed the way I see the world, even now. Like The Secret Garden and The Chronicles of Narnia.”
Nico leaned against the garden gate. He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I was reading The Last Battle a few days ago and, no matter how many times I read it―”
“When Reepicheep leaves for Aslan’s country?” She sighed. “Only a master storyteller can make you weep for a large, talking mouse. Reepicheep is the embodiment of honor, loyalty, and friendship.”
“Yes,” he said, meeting her eyes. Charlotte realized she’d interrupted him and felt ashamed for assuming the rest of his sentence. She waited, resolved to let him speak without interference. He held her gaze, and the moment stretched out between them.
Charlotte was conscious of the way the sun cast half his face into shadow, the way the chickens clucked softly in their coop, how the light breeze ruffled her hair like the touch of a hand. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and as the seconds passed, she knew she should say something else to keep the conversation going.
Charlotte grasped at the only topic that occurred to her and said, “When I was little, I was so in love with Reepicheep, I decided I was going to name my first child after him.”
“That’s a true fan. But I can’t laugh at you.”
“Why not? It’s a silly thing for a ten year old to decide.”
“I can’t laugh because, well, I have to confess something. Elena’s middle name is from C.S. Lewis.”
“Don’t tell me! Puddleglum?”
His lips twitched. “No, it’s Bree. Short for the horse Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah.”
Charlotte felt her eyes go wide. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s brave but he’s arrogant, too.”
Nico grinned. “You’re right. It’s not Bree. You know your Narnia. Actually, it’s
Aravis.”
“The Queen of Archenland.” Charlotte thought of Elena, brave and wild, holding giant rabbits and herding chickens. “Your wife must have either loved Narnia as much as you do, or just loved you enough to let you have your way.”
“Both. I’m sure it was both.” He looked out at the garden. “I should get back. My mother is bringing Elena home anytime now. She gets out early from school on Fridays and they spend the afternoon looking through recipes.”
“Does she like to bake? I’m not very good at it but I find it relaxing.” Charlotte paused for a moment, wondering if it was the right time to offer her morning’s project. “I made you and Elena something. I’ll go get it… if you want…” Her words tapered off and the courage she’d felt evaporated. It seemed everyone in Arcadia Valley created, cooked, and gardened, and all much better than she did.
“That’s very nice of you,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll like it. Whatever it is.” Laughter lurked in his eyes. Her offer had sounded more mysterious than she’d meant it to.
“Be right back,” she said and headed for the kitchen. Her heart lifted as she crossed the porch. Her library was in trouble and the summer reading program might not get off the ground, but this community lifted her up in a way she couldn’t have imagined. As she carried the plate back out the door and caught sight of Nico standing there by the garden gate, she had to admit that this man was responsible for a big part of the happiness that flooded through her.
“I have so many eggs, I thought it would be fun to make an angel food cake.” She held it out and felt a fresh wave of shyness. In Fresno, you invited new friends to meet you for drinks or swapped favorite places to grab a burger. You didn’t wrap a cake in tin foil and hand it over like some home ec project. “It didn’t rise perfectly but still tastes good. The strawberry compote is in a little jar in the middle.”
He took it from her, a smile spreading over his face as he caught site of the post it note. This time she’d written ‘From the chickens’ and drawn a little sketch of the hens around a cake. A few were clearly having a dirt bath. “Sounds delicious. I should shove Bunnicula over the fence every day so I can come visit. What are you giving me tomorrow?”
“Anything you want.” The next second she wondered if that sounded too suggestive and looked around, embarrassed.
“I think I hear Elena,” he said and turned his head toward the fence.
“Of course.” Charlotte waved a hand and backed toward the deck. Anything you want. Good grief.
“Papa,” a little voice called, and the next moment Elena’s head poked through the bushes. “There you are. I knew you’d be with Charlotte.”
A woman appeared and Charlotte knew it was Nico’s mother by the angle of her brows and the jet black hair. Her round cheeks were flushed, and her black eyes alighted on Charlotte with curiosity. She seemed to take in everything, from the cake in Nico’s hands to Bunnicula hopping around the edge of the fence.
“Let me introduce you,” Nico said.
Charlotte nodded and tried to smooth down her hair. Elena slipped through the rails of the fence and rushed forward, hugging Charlotte around the waist.
“I missed you,” she said into Charlotte’s shirt.
She squeezed back. She was tempted to laugh at Elena’s dramatic behavior but that was one of her most adorable traits. She ran hot or cold. There was no tepid for her. “I missed you, too. It’s been days.”
“Three days,” Elena said. “You need to come over every day.”
Charlotte caught Nico’s eye and started to laugh, sure that they would share a little eye roll over Elena’s suggestion. Instead, his expression was somber.
“This is my YaYa,” Elena said, pulling away from Charlotte and leading her to the fence. “You can call her Demetria.”
“Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said. Demetria enveloped Charlotte in a soft hug. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.
“I’ve been eager to put eyes on you,” she said. Her words were heavily accented and although she smiled, she was clearly appraising Charlotte. “I hear many good things. I think they can’t all be true.”
“Oh, exaggerated, I’m sure but I won’t argue.”
Nico leaned to shoo Bunnicula away from the garden. “Let me get this guy off your property and thanks again for the cake.”
“Cake?” His mother widened her eyes. “She make you a cake?”
A flush appeared over Nico’s cheekbones.
“You have boyfriend back in Fresno?” Demetria asked.
“You mean Jarrod? Well, I… We…”
Nico shot his mother a look. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“You make this Jarrod any cakes?” Demetria looked like she was trying not to smile and Charlotte realized the rapid-fire questioning was all in good fun. Well, fun that was rather pointed and cut a little too close to home. The truth was, she never had baked a cake for Jarrod.
“It’s nothing. Just an experiment,” Charlotte said quickly.
“Well, come over and let’s have some,” she said.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. You go on and have―”
“Please, Charlotte.” Elena took her hand and looked up, big brown eyes fixed on her.
There was no way she could refuse Elena. Anyway, it was just for a few minutes. If his mother decided Charlotte wasn’t good enough for her son, that was fine. Charlotte had no romantic designs on Nico. She just wanted to be a good mentor for Elena and a good neighbor to the two of them. It had been a lonely transition to living in a small town and she treasured their friendship. Nothing more.
That was what she told herself as they walked across the lawn towards Nico’s farmhouse, but her stomach was full of butterflies. Nico opened the door and stood aside as everyone filed inside. Elena went first, then his mother, who was talking to Elena about her baby chicks. As Charlotte stepped forward, Nico put a hand on her arm. She couldn’t help glancing at where his fingers lay against her skin.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Whatever she says, don’t take it personally.”
She tried to smile, but her stomach had dropped into her shoes.
“I won’t,” she said. But she desperately wanted to make a good impression. Somehow the idea of being something more to Nico had made its way into her heart and there was nothing she could do to force it out.
Chapter 10
“I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.”
― E.B. White
Nico dropped his hand and let Charlotte pass through his front door. He hadn’t been prepared for the jolt he’d felt when he touched her skin, but it wasn’t a surprise. He’d known from the first moment he’d met Charlotte that there was a connection between them, one of those ephemeral, impossible-to-define things. Of course, there was that minor problem of the boyfriend back in Fresno. She clearly wasn’t looking for romance. Just his luck. The first woman to catch his interest in years and she was already taken.
“I’ll get some plates,” he said. He was taking a chance by leaving them altogether, but the faster they had that cake, the faster he could separate those two. His mother didn’t have a subtle bone in her body. He hoped his warning would keep his new neighbor from running away and never coming back.
Taking a few small pieces of Laura’s best china from the cabinet, Nico could hear his mother talking and prayed she hadn’t said anything too outrageous yet. She’d been the rock his family had needed when he’d lost his wife, but she didn’t have a filter. Everyone was a friend, and Demetria Delis told her friends everything, including embarrassing stories about her oldest son.
Stepping through the doorway into the living room, Nico saw his mother holding a picture of Laura and a newborn Elena, and Charlotte was listening intently to whatever story she was telling. He tried to catch his mother’s attention but she wouldn’t look his way. He knew what she
was doing. She was testing Charlotte. If the pretty new librarian seemed dismissive of Laura, she’d be scratched from the list of potential romantic partners. Nico was torn between wanting to scold his mother for interfering, and wanting to give her a big hug.
Setting the plates on the table, he glanced at Charlotte’s face, trying to gauge her expression. Despite himself, he wondered how she’d react.
Charlotte’s lips turned up as she gazed at the photo, then she reached out and touched the surface, saying something Nico couldn’t quite catch from where he stood. He saw his mother smile, almost to herself, and take the frame back, placing it on the wooden farmhouse mantel. For just a moment, he saw the brightest of possibilities stretch out in front of him.
“Papa, come sit in my fort,” Elena called, jolting him from his thoughts. She waved at him from across the room where she’d piled all the couch pillows into a stack against the coffee table.
“Sure, baby,” he said.
“I’m not a baby.” Elena scowled at him.
“Sorry, sweet pea. Old habit.”
Charlotte and his mother had moved toward another row of framed photos so Nico didn’t stop to chat as he made his way to the little pillow fort. Settling inside, he nodded as Elena described the layout of her little castle, and he forced himself to listen closely.
* * *
Charlotte took a deep breath of wonder at the sight of Nico’s living room. Demetria had excused herself to the kitchen and told Charlotte to make herself at home. That meant looking at the books, of course. The wall to wall bookshelves were packed with books, vintage and modern. The mantle was covered with framed photos of Nico, Elena, and all their family. Even Bunnicula was there, looking dignified and thoughtful in a silver oval frame. The curtains were simple white sheers, the old oak table was scarred but polished, and the whole place seemed to echo the love of a happy family.
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