by Liz Schulte
No. There was no time to cry. Business owners weren’t allowed to cry. That was a rule somewhere, or if it wasn’t, it should have been. I forced back tears and cleaned the kitchen instead. When I was finished I checked on Boone, not that his progress mattered much now. You will open. Just not when you planned, the more reasonable of my inner voices consoled me.
The bench was perfect. It stretched halfway down the wall and was inlayed with bead board. An arm divider rested between each two-person wide segment.
Boone stood up. “That’s just primer. The real color will be brighter.”
I nodded. “It already looks great. Thank you.” I considered asking if he could build a countertop and display case, but he was probably booked and another crushing blow would turn me into a weeping female. “I’m going to step out for a bit. I need some air. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He scratched his stubble that appeared dark next to his blond hair. “I heard your phone call.”
Holy crikey, he talks. I was so shocked it was hard to find my own words. “You were eavesdropping?”
“You were shouting.”
Fair enough. My shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Obviously, I’m not opening this weekend. I should have allowed time for disasters, I know, but I wanted…” I wanted everything to go perfectly. I wanted, just this once, for my life to work out as I planned.
His tongue ran over his bottom lip in a thoughtless manner that wasn’t at all unappealing. “I could help…if you want.”
I laughed sharply, and my eyes stung again. “Can you also work miracles? I need it by Saturday for crying out loud!” I stared up at the corner of the room until the new threat of tears once again passed. “Sorry. Thank you for the offer. It’s very nice. I’d love your help. Can we talk about what I need later and can you let me know when you’ll be available? Right now, I have to cancel all the ads I placed for Friday and Saturday and take down the fliers.”
“Saturday shouldn’t be a problem,” Boone said before I made it to the door.
I pulled up short. “Are you serious? Don’t toy with my emotions right now.”
“I can do it.” He was so quietly confident that I believed him.
“I just want you to know, I might hug you.”
He nodded once, no smile. “Consider me warned.”
“The look I’m going for is cozy and elegant. The company I ordered from was perfect. The pictures they sent were pretty much what I was looking for.”
“I remember the pictures,” he said.
Of course he did. I sent them to him, so he could match the bench he was building to them. “Can you make it look like that?”
He shook his head slowly.
My heart sank and a fat, hot tear spilled over my eyelid which I quickly wiped away before he could see its pinkish tint. I didn’t want to settle, but anything was better than nothing. I probably couldn’t get a refund on my advertisements and if the other company charged me $300 to cancel the order they couldn’t deliver then I couldn’t afford to redo my marketing plan without dipping into the money I needed to actually bake.
“We could do something different though.”
“Like what?” I asked, trying not to sound too depressed. I had wanted my own bakery since I was a kid. I had a very specific mental image of what I wanted it to be. One way or another, I would bring that image to life. Even it took me a few years. It wasn’t the end of the world.
“I have some drawings in my truck.” Boone walked out the door before I could question him. Why would he have counter and display case sketches when I only hired him for a bench? He returned a minute later, sketchbook in hand. “These are just drawings,” he said, not handing it to me. “But I think it’s something we could do by Saturday.”
I stepped closer to him. “Why do you have sketches? Are you working on another bakery?”
He pressed his lips together. “Do you want to see them or not?”
“I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but…”
He opened his mouth, then closed it shaking his head. Finally, he spoke. “I started them right after you hired me to build the bench. I guess I was inspired by your vision.”
There were a lot of things I could picture Boone doing, but sitting at home at night drawing a girly bakery wasn’t one of them. “May I?” I reached for the book.
He handed it to me open to the page he wanted me to see. It was of the counter. The drawing was nothing like the design that I ordered. Instead there were pale sage green glass-front cabinets that hung on the wall in front of the kitchen with matching cupboards below and a butcher-block top. Two glass display cases connected by a wooden counter stretched all the way down to the kitchen door. An antique cash register was positioned between the display cases. “This is amazing. It’s like you plucked the thought from my head.”
He reached to take the book.
I moved away, flipping to the next page. Two white-framed mirrors hung above the bench—my bench— which was filled with colorful throw pillows that looked perfect with the pale lavender walls. Wicker chairs sat around the white bistro tables pulled out as if waiting to be occupied. The mirrors and chairs were exactly what I had already bought. In fact, the drawing was so spot on to how I envisioned it looking that it could have been a photograph of my thoughts. I couldn’t have described it to him this well. It was my vision exactly—right down to the chandelier and the shades of paint. “Those are my chairs and I just bought those mirrors last week. You couldn’t have known…”
He yanked the book from my hand, jaw clenched. “No one will believe you.”
I looked up. “Pardon?” Who wouldn’t believe me about what?
“It’s just a coincidence. Maybe you mentioned you wanted mirrors or I saw them. You don’t know when I drew this. No one will believe you if you say otherwise.” Boone backed toward the door. “Maybe you should find someone else…”
I shook my head, holding up my hands for him to stop. “Why would I say anything to anyone? Who would I even tell? Those sketches are great. I love them. I like them better than what Combs and King designed. They’re exactly what I want. Don’t leave.”
He stopped, staring down at the floor.
I saw Boone with new eyes. He was quiet and avoided me, but he did so for the same reason I avoided my friends. He was some sort of supernatural something-or-other. But what could read minds? One thing was certain though, I was the last person he needed to be afraid of. “Look, I don’t know why we’re so in sync on the design, and I don’t care. You’re saving me. Do you really think we can do this by Saturday?”
He hesitated, then slowly looked up. Two dimples emerged. “I already finished the display case. It’s back at my shop.”
“What about the rest?” The sage cabinets were perfect.
He flipped his sketchbook open and scrawled something, then tore off the corner of the page. “Go here. They might have what you’re looking for.”
I glanced at the address. “Might?”
He shrugged.
Boone was quite the mystery, but it wasn’t like he was the only one with secrets. I was just grateful for the help. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I’ll swing by and pick up whatever you buy after I finish here.” He glanced back at the bench. “I need to get back to work.”
