Chapter 13
“We kill all the caterpillars, then complain there are no butterflies.”
― John Marsden
Charlotte scanned the ten long rows of tables in the school gym. In just over three weeks, Demetria had managed to organize a silent auction with almost a hundred items. Nico had told Charlotte not to worry, that his mother would make the fundraiser a success, but she hadn’t been prepared for what she was seeing. It seemed as if most of the town had stepped up to donate goods and the room was full of eager buyers.
“I can’t believe this,” Charlotte said, turning to Elise.
“I can.” She was busy checking and straightening signs next to the donated items. “The library is a central part of Arcadia Valley and this town knows how much the kids need the summer program. Plus, Demetria Delis knows how to make things happen, and fast.”
Charlotte reached out to gently touch a large vase on the table. A mountain scene wrapped around the vase, the home made pottery created in several shades of green under layers of bright blue. The tag read Violet Tam. Charlotte frowned, sure that she’d seen the name before. She turned to the table behind squinted at the tags. The same name was next a stack of prettily wrapped, homemade lavender soap. And then again next to several jars of dark amber honey, and again on a container of fresh pesto, and also on stacks of homemade paper with rose petals embedded in it.
“I feel I’m the least talented person in this valley.”
Elise looked up from her clipboard. “I feel that way, too.”
“But you made that beautiful stained glass piece and the mosaic stepping stones. You’re as talented as the rest of them.”
“No, there’s a difference. The others are useful.”
Charlotte frowned at the rows of tables. “I don’t understand.”
“Penny Gillman’s beeswax candles are useful. So are Mr. Young’s woven baskets and Old Joe’s picnic table.” Elise pointed out items as she talked. “Tommy Lawson’s birdhouses are darn cute, but they’re still useful.”
She looked at the items and saw what Elise meant. The beautiful Shaker quilt, the clock made from a polished slice of oak, the alpaca yarn, the maple burl wine stoppers, the chunky knit scarves, even the spinning wheel. Her glance caught on a case at the end. “What about the homemade beer? That’s not exactly useful.”
Elise snorted. “Depends on how bad you need it. But you’re right, not everything here is strictly useful. I just feel like my gifts aren’t on the same level somehow.”
Elise, so capable and sprightly in her seventies, had a touch of the same self-esteem issues Charlotte did. “I think they’re just as needed, if not more, than beeswax candles.”
“Thanks, dear.” Elise brushed back a stray lock of white hair. She nodded at the large basket in the middle of the table. “But I think we can both agree that my stained glass isn’t as useful as Delis Sausages. Or as tasty. Nico has made a name for himself. I heard they can hardly keep up with the orders since they got the website up and running last year. Even with the three new employees, they’re swamped.”
Charlotte tried to nod in a disinterested way, but the truth was that she hadn’t been able to resist looking up Nico’s business. It had only added a new layer of admiration for her, not because of success or fame but because the man was truly humble. He didn’t brag about his accomplishments. In fact, if Sahil had never mentioned it, Charlotte might never have discovered that the quiet, handsome butcher was a household name in gourmet food circles.
“Do you think people will bid very much for it?” Charlotte asked.
“My dear, that basket will pull one of the highest bids in this room, mark my words.” Elise started reading off the vouchers inside. “It’s got dry genoa salami and some cured ham, but the real goodies are the sausages you can’t pick up in the store. They sell out as fast as he can make them. Garlic andouille, sweet pepper and fennel Italian, chicken and apple kielbasa, cinnamon linguica.”
“Cinnamon linguica? Sounds different,” Charlotte said.
“Different, as in gross?” someone said behind her, the familiar deep voice holding a note of laughter.
Charlotte met his gaze and never wanted to look away from those dark eyes, especially as filled with humor as they were right then. Ever since that near-kiss at the fence, they’d danced around each other like some of Mrs. Black’s baby alpacas. Skittish and wary, they watched each other but never managed to get closer than a few feet apart. Sometimes during lunch or when they chatted at the fence, Charlotte got the impression that Nico was thinking of their near kiss. But then whatever had flashed in his eyes was gone and they were back to friendly banter. She knew it was the right choice, for both of them, but she couldn’t help wanting to see that look again.
Today was a different matter altogether. There was no shadow of regret. Nico looked down at her and the warmth in his eyes made her heart leap. Charlotte searched for something else to say. “Did you see… the home made beer? Doesn’t it look good?”
His brows went up. “Jack Barrie made that. I’ve tasted some before and let’s just say it was a little strong. My liver is dry heaving at the memory.”
“Don’t let Jack hear you. He puts a lot of time into that brew,” Elise said.
“And I put a lot of time into making sausage that won’t kill people.” Nico leaned against the wall next to them. “Seeing all of this makes me really proud of our town. I think there’s going to be more than a shoestring budget for your reading program.”
“I do, too. And I can’t thank you and your mother enough.”
“No, it was all my mother. She knows everybody.”
“It was both of you. I just talked to her and she told me how you spent hours calling people and asking them to donate items.” Charlotte felt suddenly shy. “It means a lot to me. You’re a good friend.”
Elise picked up an empty basket and walked away, her steps quicker than normal. Charlotte watched her go and wanted to make a joke about how Elise had the wrong idea about them, but she couldn’t.
Nico waited until Elise was out of earshot and turned toward her. “Charlotte, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?” Did she answer too quickly? She rested a hip against the table, willing herself to be casual. There it was again, that glimpse of something in his eyes that said he wished they could start over, or maybe change course from the one they had taken.
Ron Taylor appeared out of nowhere and waved to get her attention. “Charlotte, do you want us to put these baskets on the end table, or near the front?”
“I… at the end. Thank you.”
Nico seemed to have lost his momentum and frowned down at the table. “I’d better go find Elena. She’s helping her grandmother guilt people into making high bids. Oh, and she says she’s coming over to weed tomorrow whether you like it or not.”
“I like the company.”
“Do you?” he asked. “I hope you’ll let me know if she’s becoming a pest.”
Charlotte laughed at the comment. “Really. I mean it.”
He nodded and the look had returned in his eyes. “Charlotte, I wanted to ask you something. This may not be the right time, but―”
“Miss McGregor? Can we get a picture?” She turned to see a thin young man with a professional camera. He was already lifting the camera and looking through the lens. “Maybe a little farther left.”
“Well, I was just―” She glanced at Nico and he had already moved out of the shot.
“For the paper, you know. It’ll take just a few minutes. Maybe five.”
“Nico, I’ll be right back.”
“No problem. I’ll catch you later,” he said with a smile.
As Charlotte let the photographer take what seemed like a hundred photos, her heart continued to pound in her chest. She knew she hadn’t imagined it. What was he going to say?
After a few minutes, the photographer decided he had enough shots and she went back to straightening the baskets. Who knows what he’d bee
n intending to say. Something about Elena? Something about his brothers? It could have been anything, really. The summer flashed before her, weeks of them dancing around each other, never really clearing the air. She needed to focus on her job and her mother’s upcoming visit, anyway. The garden was growing like crazy and her little house was perfectly ready for visitors.
She lifted her chin and flashed a smile at an older couple in matching red shirts as they walked through the front doors. “Welcome to the summer reading program fundraising auction,” she announced, forcing a note of cheer into her voice.
As more visitors streamed into the gym, Charlotte slipped into her most professional demeanor. Help me focus on Your will. She could waste hours and hours simply trying to figure out what Nico wanted to say when he didn’t finish a sentence, when God clearly needed her to work on what had been set before her. Arcadia Valley’s summer reading program deserved her full attention and nothing was going to distract her, not even the turbulent emotion she felt for a certain tall, Greek man.
Chapter 14
“I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy.”
―Willa Cather
Charlotte filled a mug with fresh coffee and set it before her elderly neighbor.
“Thank you, dear.” Her blue eyes were cloudy with age and her hair was flattened down on one side, but Mrs. Martin’s sweet nature was intact.
“You’re welcome,” Charlotte said.
“That auction was a real success.”
Charlotte nodded. It had been three weeks since the auction and the summer reading program was in full swing. “Some great prizes lined up for the kids who read the most. A scooter, a toy store gift card, and a set of the Narnia books. The kids come for the crafts but then stay to look for more books. It’s going so much better than I’d hoped.”
Mrs. Martin smiled, sipped her coffee and looked out the window at the rows of sunflowers. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they just sat in companionable silence. Mrs. Martin reminded Charlotte a lot of Nico, the way she felt comfortable enjoying the moment without any pressure to entertain.
Charlotte settled into her chair and held the mug of hot coffee in both hands. The bright early morning sun streamed in the window and highlighted the little porcelain kitty cat salt and pepper shakers. Everything in Mrs. Martin’s house was charmingly vintage, right down to the red check table cloth and the Fireking mugs.
She wished she could really explain to Mrs. Martin how much she enjoyed their talks. Whenever she mentioned it, Mrs. Martin patted her hand and smiled, but Charlotte knew that her short term memory wasn’t the best.
“How’s the garden? I see you out there every day. Sometimes with little Elena, too.” The last bit was said with studied carelessness but Charlotte still heard the question in it.
“She’s a big help. Plus, I like to hear her stories about the rabbits and the chickens. I’m not sure if they’re all true, but it might even be better if they’re not.”
“Her father must trust you if he lets her spend so much time at your house.”
“Another wonderful thing about small towns, I guess. People are friendly with their neighbors.”
“I don’t think that’s a small town thing at all. From what I remember about Nico, he’s certainly not someone who trusts his daughter with just anyone.” She paused. “And perhaps not the friendliest person in town, either.”
Charlotte hesitated but then asked the question she’d wanted to ask several people but hadn’t had the courage. “Did you know his wife?”
“Laura? Beautiful woman. Had a laugh I could hear from my house. And she laughed a lot. So did Nico back then. They were so young when they got married. I think her family wasn’t happy about it but they didn’t listen and married right after high school.”
Charlotte tried to imagine Nico as a high school graduate and couldn’t.
“After she was gone, he told me he was glad they hadn’t listened to anybody. I know it’s been hard on him, raising Elena all alone, but she’s been a real gift to him.”
“She’s a wonderful little girl.”
“And she loves being with you.” That sly tone was back.
“My mom wasn’t exactly happy about how I quit my job in Fresno and moved here. I really want to show her how special it is to be able to grow food and support myself that way. Elena comes to help out, and Nico gives me advice. I don’t have any way of paying them back but I give them plates of cookies sometimes, which I know is stupid because his mother runs a café and I’m sure they have plenty of goodies. ”
She reached across the small table and patted Charlotte’s hand. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yes, it’s the age old story, isn’t it?” Mrs. Martin leaned back in her chair, the morning sun highlighting her silver hair. “You chose a different path than she wanted for you, and you need to prove yourself. Isn’t she coming soon?”
“This weekend. She wants me to meet her in Spokane so she can look around the city for a few days.” She’d told Mrs. Martin the date several times but the calendar didn’t seem to hold shape for the older woman. It flexed and contracted according to the weather or loneliness. “She keeps hinting that she might be bringing a special surprise and I think it might be my friend, Sahil. So, that would be really fun. I’ve never been there but my mom made reservations at a historic hotel called the Davenport.”
Charlotte heard the forced cheerfulness in her voice. Exploring the forested, charming city of Spokane with Sahil sounded like a great time. Shopping all day with her mother didn’t sound like as much fun.
“When you make it back here, I think she’ll be real impressed with what you’ve done. But it couldn’t hurt to give the garden a little boost. I’ve got some great fertilizer in the shed.”
“Oh, thank you, but I put some MiracleGro on it last week.”
“This is better. Got it from Mrs. Black. She puts the alpaca dung in a bucket, covers it with water, leaves it for a week. Great stuff.”
Charlotte tried not to make a face. It sounded like a terrible concoction. “Well, if you think so…”
“I know so. You get it anytime. The shed’s always open. It’s in the yellow container on the shelf to the left when you walk in.” She put a finger to her chin. “Or is it the blue bucket? No, no. It’s the yellow bucket.”
“Do I just pour it on?”
“Sure. Smells terrible. Amazing the stench that comes from just some dung and water in the heat.”
Charlotte pushed back her chair and stood up. “I really appreciate your help and thank you for the coffee, as always. I better get in to work.” She picked up Mrs. Martin’s empty mug. “Can I get you some more coffee on my way out?”
“No, dear,” Mrs. Martin said. “You better get before you’re late.”
With a smile, Charlotte left the house and trotted down the front steps of the old farmhouse. Sometimes Mrs. Martin was so confused that Charlotte was worried about leaving her alone. Then there were days like today. The older lady seemed as bright and together as a twenty year old. As strange as their friendship might seem, Mrs. Martin had brought a level of peace to her life. She brought perspective, something Charlotte had desperately needed.
It’s not just Mrs. Martin. The little voice whispered in her ear but Charlotte tried to ignore the niggling reminder that her happiness wasn’t all due to one elderly woman and a lot of time in the garden. Her library crew was a joy to have around and Demetria was as close to a loving mother figure as she had ever had. Nico’s brothers were a lot of fun to see on the weekends and Elena blessed her with cheerful companionship, that was true.
Not just Elena. She turned onto the main road and let herself think about Nico for just a moment. She loved their conversations, loved his laugh, loved the way he gently parented Elena while encouraging her to spread her wings. She loved his quiet, thoughtful words when it seemed like the world was a b
ig, yapping loop of angry critics. She loved the way he brought her books from his library that he thought she might like, and how pleased he seemed when she brought him a book that had made her think of him. He was a helper, a person who lifted up, the type of guy who kept his word and showed up when needed. He never talked about his own good deeds, but everybody seemed to have a story about how he’d helped them out at some point.
Charlotte realized she’d been sitting at a stop sign for a very long time. That was the danger of letting herself think of Nico at all. She said it was just for a second, but it never was. She was mature enough to admit that she was completely, totally infatuated.
It was a powerful feeling but it would fade away eventually. Her heart simply needed time and space to recognize that fact.
* * *
Charlotte let out another huge yawn and pushed open the door to Mrs. Martin’s shed. It was barely dawn and she had a plane to catch in a few hours. She’d like to think her sleeplessness was due to excitement over her mother’s visit, but she knew it was something else entirely.
Last night she’d woken from a dream so real that it took her breath away. In the dream there was a garden full of laughter and children, bunnies kept at a safe distance from the growing produce, and Nico. He’d stood there at the entrance to the garden and opened his arms to her. She’d walked into them without another thought, and he’d held her tight to him, whispering something in her ear. Charlotte had woken up with a start, straining to understand what he’d said, wishing she could fall back into the dream that had seemed so close to everything she’d ever wanted.
At the moment she’d blinked back the dream, realization flooding through her that she wasn’t infatuated with Nico. She was in love.
It had been impossible to sleep after that and she had finally gotten up, watching the dark night slowly give way to dawn’s pale light. She had never understood that it was possible to be in love and miserable all at the same time, but now she did.
Romance Grows in Arcadia Valley (Arcadia Valley Romance Book 0) Page 9
