Nearby, the door to Zeno’s opened. Out wafted the sharp tang of wood smoke from the pizza oven, and it was October of senior year all over again. Sparks from the bonfire outside the stadium flew high into the night sky . . . an amplified voice announced a touchdown and the distant cheer of the crowd filled Jack’s ears. Atop the Pendleton blanket spread across his tailgate, he saw Harley’s thighs below her cutoffs.
“We’ll see,” said Jack, unable to tear his eyes away from the sway of her hips and the way her ponytail bounced.
After everyone was safely buckled into the truck, Jack withdrew a ten-year-old mixtape from the glove box and slipped it into the CD player. He’d assembled the playlist himself—a soundtrack from his high school years, the last time he’d felt truly free. He knew every word of every song by heart.
“Dad-ah,” the twins complained, yelling to hear themselves over their hands clamped to their ears. “Not that again. That music is so old school! Can’t we listen to our music?”
Jack’s first instinct was to say no. But he imagined what Harley might say. Soon the cab was filled with a Selena Gomez reggae-tinged number, the twins bouncing in the backseat.
Chapter Seventeen
The quiet was going to take some getting used to. In Seattle, the nonstop back-and-forth of traffic, the muffled snoring of Harley’s downstairs neighbor, and regular footsteps in the hallway and on the stairs of her apartment building were constant reminders that she wasn’t alone. Up on Ribbon Ridge, the silence was deafening.
She imagined what Jack’s house sounded like, ringing with his girls’ voices. She longed for the sound of children here, in her own house.
She was on the phone with Nora, her design team director, when she heard a car pull up. She ran to the window, but she couldn’t see the driveway from here, so she waited, eyeing the pen where her goats played.
“Harley?”
“Yes,” she said into the phone, peering out. “Sorry.”
“The greeting card collection. We need to talk about the direction they’re headed in.”
“Do we need to do it right now?” From the ground below came the voices of Jack and his twins.
“Now would be good. As you’re finding out, these things take time to develop. We’re halfway to the deadline.”
“It’s just that . . . I’m looking out my second-story window, and there are kids in my yard.”
“Kids?” echoed Nora from her office in downtown St. Louis.
“Kids. Of both the human and goat varieties.”
“Do you need to hang up?”
Harley laughed. “Can I call you back?”
“Call me tomorrow. It’s almost five here. We’re getting ready to close.”
She promised Nora she’d get back to her first thing next morning, then scampered down the stairs. When her eye landed on the box of diapers that had arrived in the mail earlier that day, she stashed them in the closet next to the powder room. Then she dashed out the back door to where the twins were sticking their arms through the holes in the fence toward the goats.
“We came to see the goats!” exclaimed Freddie. Or maybe it was Frankie.
Jack was wearing a white T-shirt and Levi’s, a tool belt riding low on his hips. “They wouldn’t stop bugging me,” he said.
“Aw! Look at her run! She’s so cute!” said Frankie.
“They’re both girls,” said Freddie, bending over at the waist to peer under a goat’s belly. “You can tell because they don’t have penises.”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “The twins have been studying reproduction in health class.”
“I see.”
“What are their names?” asked Freddie.
“They’re brand-new. They don’t have names yet.”
“I’m going to call this one Daisy,” Freddie said.
“And I’m calling this one Tulip,” said Frankie.
“Daisy and Tulip it is. Would you like to go in and play with them? They’re very friendly. Just don’t chase them, or they’ll fall over. They’re fainting goats.”
Harley opened the gate and the girls and Jack filed in behind her.
“Here!” said Frankie to Harley. “Give them one of Fang’s dog biscuits. They love them!”
“I keep a supply in the truck. Hope you don’t mind,” said Jack.
Harley held out a biscuit, and both goats trotted over and pressed their muzzles into her hand, tickling her palm.
Daisy reared up and came down on Tulip’s back, resulting in a tirade of squeals and maternal reprimands from the twins.
“How do they do yoga?”
“I’ll show you. Who wants to go first?”
“I do!”
“No, me!”
Harley laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll both get a turn.” Harley positioned Frankie in a downward dog and then went to lift Daisy onto her back, but Jack stepped in. “I’ll get her.” To a torrent of giggles, he placed Daisy on Frankie’s back, steadying her before letting go, while Fang looked on, barking.
“I wanted to follow up with you about the open house,” said Jack.
“Right. I’m thinking the second Saturday in October. Does that work for you?”
“Perfect. It’ll still be tourist season. The intent is to get people to stop at both our places. I’ll send one of our docents over, along with a sampling of wines to pour.”
Harley had been secretly hoping Jack would come and pour himself. She tried not to let her disappointment show.
“And I’ll have a supply of Honeymoon Haven brochures you can keep at your place,” she said.
Frankie turned her head their way, shouting, “Look! Are you watching?”
“We’re watching, we’re watching,” laughed Harley, clapping, just as Frankie tipped over and Daisy leaped out of harm’s way, Fang nipping at her heels.
“Now me!” said Freddie. “My turn!”
The girls had taken over. All the adults had to do was stand back and watch.
“No, no, no.” Frankie laughed, holding her belly, staggering around the pen till she almost lost her balance. “Not like that!” She shuffled back through the straw toward Daisy, who had skittered to the far side of the pen, and scooped her up.
“Here, I’ll help you,” huffed Freddie.
With a great deal of effort, the twins managed to carry the goat back to the center of the pen and set her down. “Now. Bend your front legs.” They physically folded the poor animal’s front hoofs under. It promptly collapsed.
“No! Keep your butt—” Frankie moved to the goat’s rear and lifted, “—up—nnn—”
Watching with her hands on her hips, Freddie got an idea. “Like this,” she said, demonstrating where Daisy could see her.
But Daisy simply lay there, Fang sniffing her suspiciously.
“Soccer’s not the only way for kids to get exercise,” said Harley.
Jack stood with his legs spread, his arms folded, watching. “Come on, girls. Time to get going.”
“But we just got here!”
“I just took a break from what I was doing. Now it’s time to go back.”
“I can watch them and bring them home later if you want,” said Harley.
“Pleeeeze?” The twins jumped up and down. “It’s not that far. You can practically see our house from here. Bonita Valentine walks to school every day and she’s the same age as us, and that’s farther than Harley’s house.”
“Thanks anyway. They need to get back to clean up. We’re meeting Mother later for dinner.”
Chapter Eighteen
Melinda sipped her wine and perused her menu while the twins chattered between themselves.
Jack opened his menu. “What looks good?”
“I was thinking of the hearts of palm with truffle salad,” replied Mother.
“I’m leaning toward the salmon.”
“I want a salad, too,” said Frankie, a challenging look in her eyes.
“You need meat to build strong bones and muscles,” said
Mother.
“I hate meat,” said Frankie, folding her arms. “It’s so gross. And the way they treat the poor farm animals. . .”
“Like the goats at Harley’s house,” said Freddie. Suddenly she frowned. “Do people eat goats?”
Mother looked at Jack and then Freddie. “You were at Harley’s house?”
“After school. She has the cutest little goats!” said Frankie.
“They know how to do yoga!” added Freddie.
The server arrived. “All set?”
“Yes,” said Mother firmly. She ordered meat and vegetables for the girls.
The server set down a plate of bread and dipping oil and Frankie tore into it, her attempt at asserting her independence subdued for the time being.
But later on in the meal, Harley’s name came up again.
“I like how Harley says people should be able to take any kind of lessons they want,” Frankie said. “Like modern dance, for instance.”
“You haven’t touched your meat,” said Mother.
“I told you. I don’t like it.”
“At least eat your vegetables,” said Jack.
“I’m full.”
“You ate too much bread,” said Mother.
When will this dinner be over? thought Jack.
The girls launched into an in-depth conversation between themselves about their new school and the friends they’d begun to make.
“Yesterday I had a meeting downtown,” said Mother. “One of the committee members is Sylvie Collins’s mother.”
“We just got back to Ribbon Ridge and you’re on a committee already?”
“Being involved is the best way to make connections.”
Why should he be surprised? Mother had always sought every opportunity to rub elbows with the hoi polloi. Even better if it was disguised as community service.
“You ought to become more active yourself. Have you thought about joining the Newberry Young Professionals?”
“When do I have time for that? Whenever I’m not working, I’m with my girls.”
“You would have more time if you had a wife. Back to Sylvie Collins. You remember her.”
“How could I forget? Sylvie was the drama queen of Newberry High.”
“That was eons ago. Since then, Sylvie’s been married and divorced, with kids. She’s a mother,” said Mother pointedly. “And”—she lifted a brow—“she happens to be a nutritionist.”
“Does she wear a retainer?”
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind.”
“I could put a bug in her mother’s ear.”
Jack envisioned his girls eagerly eating meal after meal of tasty yet nutritiously balanced foods. What could it hurt?
“Sure. Set it up.”
* * *
Sylvie sounded excited to go out with Jack. So that Pru didn’t hear about it, Jack thought it best not to take her to the country club. Instead, he chose Tart, known for its extravagant brunches.
The following Sunday, the two of them went up to the buffet and returned with their plates. Jack had loaded his with waffles topped with chicken and gravy and salad.
“I don’t consider that brunch food,” said Sylvie after they sat down again.
“This is a classy joint. It must be brunch food, or the chef wouldn’t be serving it,” he replied, tucking in.
“This,” she said, indicating her eggs Benedict with her fork, “is brunch food.”
“That’s more like breakfast food to me,” said Jack.
“No. Yours is more like lunch food. Actually, I don’t get why anyone would top waffles with a savory sauce. They’re supposed to be eaten with maple syrup, period. Not being a purist, I might make an exception for strawberries and whipped cream.”
“I disagree. Waffles are bland. They take on whatever flavor you put with them.”
“You’re wrong. They were first invented to be desserts, and desserts are, by definition, sweet. And another thing—technically, brunch should be served from ten till one, not eleven to two, the way they do it here.”
Somehow, Jack no longer had a taste for waffles. He set down his fork and scraped back his chair. “I’m going back up.”
He came back with a fresh plate of pasta and oysters Rockefeller. “Starting over,” he said, hoping she would get the hint.
“Thank God you seem so normal,” sighed Sylvie.
“What do you mean?”
“The men I meet online are crazy. I hate dating. It’s soul sucking, having to introduce yourself over and over again to new people. You know what the only good thing about it is?”
“A minute ago, I would have said meeting new people.”
“Wrong. Taking different dates to my ex’s restaurant, just to annoy him.”
Jack took a swig of his mimosa. “If it’s not too personal, who broke up with whom?”
“He dumped me. Why?”
“If you broke up with him, I don’t see what you would get out of rubbing your new dates in his face.”
“Are you implying that I’m not over him?” She huffed. “He wishes.”
There was an uncomfortable pause while Jack tried to think of a new subject. “Tell me about your job.”
“I work in the health insurance marketplace.”
“Mother said you’re a nutritionist.”
“I have a background in nutrition, but I fainted once when I worked in the hospital, and private practice is too demanding.”
“So you’re in customer service.”
“That’s what they call it when you interview. After you’re hired, you realize it’s selling.”
“You don’t like selling? People who have the personality to sell enjoy it and can do well.”
“Did I mention it’s commission only?”
After the Prudence debacle, Jack was determined to make the most of his date with Sylvie. So she wasn’t perfect. She might still be a stabilizing influence on his girls. He tore off a piece of his cinnamon roll and stuffed it in his mouth. “Think of it this way. You’re educating consumers. You’re your own boss. You can make unlimited income if you work hard.”
He held out his bread plate with the cinnamon roll on it. “Want the other half of this?”
“No, thanks. The Collinses have a strong family history of diabetes and bipolar disorder.” She leaned in. “Two of my cousins are institutionalized.”
That raised a red flag. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Recently, one was allowed to come back for a short visit, and they always come on holidays. You’ll meet them at family dinners.”
“Family—”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Your mother told my mother you’re looking to settle down.”
“Well, I—”
Sylvie sat up, her eyes fixed on a spot over Jack’s shoulder.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“My second ex-husband. And his new girlfriend.”
Jack turned around to see the hostess leading a man and woman to a table nearby.
“How many times have you been married?” asked Jack.
But Sylvie wasn’t listening. She tossed her napkin on the table. “We’re out of here.”
Jack had barely made a dent in his oysters. “You can’t eat in the same restaurant as him?”
“No. He has a restraining order against me.”
She was gathering her belongings as her ex passed by their table.
“Bastard!” Sylvie shrieked, then got up and strode out.
Jack hurriedly took another bite of pasta, slapped some bills on the table, and apologizing to the stunned hostess, followed Sylvie out to the parking lot.
“What was that about?”
“He must have found out I was here and followed me, just to ruin my date.”
“How could he have possibly guessed you’d be here?”
“He’s the devil! He has dark powers.”
“I don’t know. Tart’s a pretty popular place for Sunday brunch.”
Realization hit Jack. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“You’re the devil, too! All men are devils!”
There was a click as Jack pressed the button on his key fob. “You’re upset. Let’s get in. I’ll take you home.”
“Forget that,” said Sylvie. She whirled around and went back and stood beneath the building’s overhang, where she pulled out her phone.
“How are you going to get home?” he called to her from where he stood next to his open car door.
“Don’t worry about it.” She was already busily tapping away.
Jack’s phone pinged.
Why don’t you like me?
It was Prudence, texting him again.
Chapter Nineteen
The next day, Jack was taking inventory and the girls were sitting at an outside table visible through the picture windows when Mother came into the tasting room. “How did your date with Sylvie go?”
“Did you know Sylvie’s second ex has a restraining order against her?”
“What did she do to him?”
“I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know.”
“Maybe it’s something about him.”
“She believes he’s Satan. Actually, she thinks all men are Satan.”
Mother sighed. “Newberry is a small town. There aren’t that many suitable women to choose from.”
“Maybe it depends on how you define suitable. From now on, I’ll do my own date recon. Look. There’s Hank.” Jack raised a hand in greeting and went outside to meet his cousin.
Mother said hello to Hank and Jamie and then excused herself, saying she had work to do.
“We stopped by to see if you wanted to go to the open house at the Victorian with us,” said Hank.
“Got it covered,” said Jack. “I sent a docent.”
The twins’ ears perked up. They’d been hanging out with him at the tasting room for an hour and were bored.
“Come on,” said Hank. “Alex is meeting us there with Griffin.” Alex was the husband of Jack’s cousin, Kerry.
Hank glanced at his watch. “It’s going to be over soon. Come on. Can’t not stop by and wish your neighbor well.”
Frankie’s ears perked up. “Are you talking about Harley’s house?”
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