Waiting for December, page 7
I swallow. When did it get hot out here?
Jesse shifts his gaze and nods in the direction of the driveway. “Looks like that first guest just arrived. Remember, if you need me, just . . .”
“Holler,” I cut in. “Got it.”
—
I check in the new guests—a young couple from Idaho—without a single computer glitch. An hour or so after that, a family from Upstate New York arrives, and I get them situated with ease. Once that’s squared away, I hurry to my room to make a sandwich for lunch, then return to the inn to get to work on the happy hour spread.
It takes some time, but when I emerge from the kitchen with the cheese platter, I must say it looks Instagram-worthy. Not that there’s a way to upload a photo of it to social media or even to text a picture to my parents or Zoe or Grace. Still, I feel pretty good when a couple guests snap photos of it when they arrive, even though they know there’s nothing they can do with the pictures at the moment either.
I’m feeling pretty proud of myself in general for acing all of my Day One duties. So proud that I pour myself half a glass of wine to celebrate once I finish filling glasses for everyone else. I’m just about to take a sip when one of the guests turns to me.
“Do you smell that?” she asks.
“Smell what?”
“Smoke,” she replies at the same time the fire alarm starts to blare.
Oh God. Please tell me I did not leave the baked brie in the oven for more than an hour.
Only I did. I most certainly did.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, addressing the room. “If you could all please head outside to the back patio for a couple of minutes.” I’m trying to keep my voice calm when the voice in my head is screaming: What the hell, Harper? How could you slip up this badly?
I hurry into the kitchen, and the second I open the door I start to cough because smoke is spewing out of the oven.
I race over and turn the oven off, then step back. There might be an actual fire inside there rather than just a very burnt cheese—the smoke is black. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to open an oven when there’s a fire inside. I’m not totally inept in the kitchen, despite current evidence to the contrary. But you know who will surely doubt that? My new coworker. I’m going to get fired when he tells his parents about this. Who starts a fire less than twenty-four hours into her new gig? Certainly not a good employee.
I reach for a dish towel and start to wave it near the fire alarm so it will stop going off, but eventually I give up because I realize it’s not a battle I’m going to win; it’s one I have to wait out.
I open the window to let in fresh air, hoping it’ll speed up the process. Still coughing, I turn to head back into the parlor and run right into Jesse.
He catches me. “You okay?”
I don’t say anything because I’m crying. The tears started when I was futilely waving the dish towel at the fire alarm. I can’t believe I’m crying in front of him, but I can’t stop. It’s been a big week. Coming here was a big change. And now I messed up, and I wish I hadn’t because I don’t want to go home. I really don’t want to go home.
“Who said anything about you going home?”
It’s not until Jesse speaks that I realize I said half those thoughts out loud in between coughs.
“Jesse, I’m not normally like this,” I say, pulling back and wiping my eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m a crying, babbling arsonist.”
He ushers me out of the kitchen and sits me down at a table in the parlor, bringing over a glass of water and waiting beside me until I stop coughing and my breathing settles down.
“What are you normally like?” he asks once it’s quiet.
At first I think he’s asked an interview question and my answer will determine whether or not he tells his parents to give me a second chance. But when I look up, I don’t see judgment on his face. He’s watching me with genuine curiosity. It takes the pressure off my response.
“Six months ago, my fiancé left me for his first love the day before our wedding, and then I got let go from my job a week later,” I confess. “Prior to that, I’d say I was responsible, put together, fairly predictable, and routine. I mostly did what was expected of me. I’m not sure who I thought expected me to be all those things—society, I guess. Maybe my parents, to some degree. But I came here because since that moment six months ago, everything has changed, and I want to try and figure out who I’m going to be going forward.”
Jesse folds his hands on the table. A beat later, he looks up from his hands and meets my gaze. “I think that’s brave.”
I have a flashback to Sky’s response after I told him a similar version of this story: “I think that sounds fun.”
I thought I liked the idea of seeing my time here as a fun adventure, but I like the idea of it being a brave one even more.
“Thank you.”
I allow a second or two of silence before I blurt out, “So you’re not going to tell your parents to fire me? Believe me, from now on I will be someone who puts out fires, not starts them. Figuratively speaking, of course.”
I see a smile creep onto Jesse’s lips. I can’t quite believe it because he has every right to be pissed at me right now. The fire happened under his watch on his first day and so will make him look bad to his parents. But he seemingly couldn’t care less that it happened.
“I get it now,” he says.
“Get what?”
“Why my parents hired you.” He still has a faint grin on his face when he gets to his feet.
“Why?”
“Nothing,” he says, with a shake of his head.
“Seriously?” I get to my feet as well. “You can’t say that and then say ‘nothing.’”
I follow him out to the lobby, where he opens the door and welcomes the guests back in, assuring them that the space is safe and apologizing for the inconvenience. I nod to the guests and do the same, but rather than lead the guests back to the room, I stand in the doorway, waiting for him.
Once the last guest is inside, he drops his head, seeing that I’m not going to let him leave me hanging. When he looks back up, he meets my eyes.
“This place has been missing something for a while,” he says.
I cross my arms, waiting to hear the rest. “And that would be . . .?”
“Life,” he finishes. “And spunk. And passion.” He pauses, then adds, “You changed your whole life because it wasn’t enough to stay the same anymore. Whether you realize it or not yet . . . I’m pretty sure Harper 2.0 has enough determination to do anything.”
The flush that worked its way up Jesse’s face earlier is doing a number on my face now. That was quite the compliment. Especially since I’d been feeling so lifeless before I got on the plane yesterday morning. I do feel more lit up here. I’m glad Jesse can see that. It helps me see it even more in myself.
He starts down the stairs, then spins back. “Hey, next time you need help remember just ring this.” He reaches up and sounds the dinner bell. “No need to be all dramatic and set off the fire alarm.”
I laugh.
Ten minutes ago I was crying and convinced I was getting fired, and now I’m laughing and convinced I’m the perfect person for the job.
As far as who I’m going to be working alongside during my time here . . . maybe I did get lucky after all.
eight
AS RESISTANT AS I was to the whole “no technology” aspect of this place earlier this morning, I’m starting to think that sitting here at ten o’clock at night wrapped in blankets in a rocker outside my cottage is exactly what I need.
It’s the stars that seem to be convincing me. Sorry—stars are what I saw on clear nights in Atlanta. These are so much brighter; they deserve to be described as something else entirely. Stars 2.0.
I smile as I remember how Jesse referred to me earlier this evening: “Harper 2.0.” I like that name for myself. We all probably have a 2.0 version of ourselves somewhere inside us. The trick is to figure out how to be that person more often.
Which is precisely why I’m out here reading this self-help book. It’s my first of fifteen in this genre that I’m hoping to get through while I’m here. Reading them is on my Vermont Bucket List, and now that there’s no TV at night to distract me, I might knock them off the list faster than I thought.
Then again, there’s also a chance I won’t be alone out here every night. I just heard Jesse’s front door open and swing shut a moment ago. If I look over, he’ll probably say something to me, so I don’t.
It’s not that I mind talking to Jesse. I’d go so far as to say I enjoy it. It’s just that as an introvert, I often get in these moods of just wanting to be—I don’t want to talk to or engage with anyone—and I happen to be in one of those moods right this moment.
Jesse must be an introvert too because he doesn’t say anything for the first couple of minutes he’s outside. When he does eventually look over and address me, I get the sense he’s just trying to be polite.
“Not too cold out here for you?” he asks.
I regard him for a moment. He’s in a sweater and jeans and his hands are seeking warmth inside his pockets.
“I took a bath before I came out, so I’m still nice and toasty.”
“Ah,” he replies, and the conversation drops. It drops because it’s my turn to speak, and I’m not sure how to talk to Jesse when we’re off duty and at our cottages. On the one hand, we’re coworkers. On the other hand, he’s my neighbor.
These different hats make our relationship confusing. At least to me. Jesse’s not making it weird. Maybe it’s not weird, and I’m just making it that way in my head. Less thinking, Harper. More speaking.
“How about you?” I ask. “Cold?”
“I run warm, so I’m fine,” he says.
That explains why his shirt was off earlier when he was chopping wood.
Barely any emotion stirs in me when I think of that now. Good.
He nods to my book. “What are you reading?”
I hold it up to show him the cover.
He wrinkles his nose as if he doesn’t approve.
“Do you have something against self-help books?” I ask.
“Not at all. I’ve read a few.”
“Then what’s with the look?”
He walks toward one of his porch pillars and leans his back against it, facing me.
“I just prefer novels. Someone spouting advice from the comfort of his or her home just doesn’t do it for me. I think living teaches us the most about life. Followed by books about other people living.”
I hadn’t really thought of that before. But I see his point. I glance down at the book in my hand. I won’t immediately rule it out as a tool that might help me, but I’ll consider reading a novel or two while I’m here.
“Was your first day okay? Minus the fire, of course,” he asks.
I smile. “It was great, thanks. I like it here.”
“Good.”
He turns, then, toward the view and gazes upward. I wait to see if he’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t.
Definitely a fellow introvert. There’s something comforting about that.
Since he seems content just taking in the night, I go back to reading and get through a few more pages before he turns back toward me and interrupts.
“Do you think we all go up there when we die?” He nods to the stars.
I study him, wondering if he was smoking weed in his cottage or if he just likes philosophical conversations. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. Though I don’t smoke, I’m not against it, and I also don’t mind going deep. In fact, I wish people wanted to have conversations about this kind of stuff more often.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I hope so. It sure would be a pretty place to hang out.”
He smiles as if he likes my answer. I don’t know why that makes me happy. I don’t care what he thinks of me. Well, I care to some extent, of course. I need him to like me enough to tell his parents to keep me around and to operate the inn smoothly with me. But I’m pretty sure I have great job security if he didn’t tell them they should fire me after the fire-in-the-kitchen mishap.
“What about you?” I ask as he sits on his porch step.
“I’m with you, I guess.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t look like a bad spot. Although sometimes I wish we had a choice between going up there and staying down here forever.”
“It’s nice you feel that way about life,” I say. “Not everyone does.”
He smiles but doesn’t respond. He raises his eyes to the sky again instead. Then, after another minute or so, he gets back to his feet. “I should head in.”
“Time for bed?”
“No. I have more work, actually.”
“Anything I can help with?” I would have felt bad not offering, although I really hope he doesn’t say yes. I’m enjoying being out here and don’t want to head in yet.
“It’s not for this job,” he explains. “It’s for the one I was working at prior to this.”
“Where was that?”
“A consulting company in town. I didn’t want to leave them hanging since I made the decision to jump ship so quick, so I’m finishing up some projects until they can find a replacement for me.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“They were good to me. And I’m big on commitment. It matters to me to see things through.”
Huh. I like that. It’s so solid.
“See you in the morning?” he says.
“Yeah,” I nod. We already discussed earlier that we’re meeting at the barn at six to collect eggs from the chickens to make breakfast for the guests.
“Goodnight, Harper,” he says.
“Goodnight,” I reply.
Hearing the door swing shut behind him, I go back to reading, getting through another couple of chapters before I start to feel cold and decide to head back inside. My bed is calling.
Luckily, I’ve already brushed my teeth, and I’m wearing my pajamas, so I climb right in. Once I slip under the covers, I roll over onto my side, and when I close my eyes, the strangest thought pops into my head: I miss Sky’s snore.
I almost laugh out loud because it’s such an odd thing to miss. It’s even odder that I miss it after only sleeping beside him for one night. I guess it means my crush is even bigger than I thought. I might have to mention this to him in the first email I send.
Which reminds me . . . I need to get to town tomorrow. It’s killing me that I haven’t been able to look at what he wrote me in the first email he sent.
Then again, I guess there’s no need to rush things.
After all, I have a feeling our story is just getting started.
nine
“WHAT DO YOU mean they don’t have names? We need to name them right now!”
Jesse laughs as he reaches into the nest box. He’s collecting the chickens’ eggs while I stand in the coop picking up one chicken after another.
“There are twenty-six chickens,” he says. “Even if we can come up with that many good names, how would we keep them straight?”
“What if we each name three, then? Our favorite three! Oh, but then won’t the others be sad? You’re all our favorites,” I coo as I set down the one I’m holding and pick up another who seems to want to be held.
Jesse laughs and shakes his head. “Maybe you were a farmer in a past life.”
“You think?”
“You’re good with the animals.”
“Well, they make it easy. They’re all so cute.” We fed the goats before we came over to the chickens, and they were just as endearing.
“What else is on the agenda for today?” I ask as I follow Jesse out of the barn.
“Two guests are checking out at eleven today. But after that, the next two aren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow afternoon. Which means you’ll be free to do as you please from eleven till happy hour.”
That should give me enough time to walk into town this afternoon. I smile at the thought of getting to read Sky’s letter.
“Perfect,” I say as I spy the rising sun start to pinken the sky behind the golden trees. Last night I was convinced the evening was going to be my favorite time of day here, but morning is giving it a serious run for its money.
“What are we doing with all these eggs?” I ask as Jesse opens the door to the inn for me.
“What do people come to Vermont for?” he replies, trailing behind me.
“Maple syrup?”
“Correct. This morning, we’re going to give these folks the best thing to pour it on: pancakes.”
—
Jesse tells me I’ve officially redeemed myself in the kitchen for my fiasco yesterday evening as we carry the first tray of golden brown pancakes to the parlor at seven-thirty, along with bowls of fruit and six varieties of syrup.
“I told you I’m not normally an arsonist,” I say. “I do know how to cook.”
He steals a pancake right off the top of the stack and takes a bite. “These validate your statement.”
“Hey, I thought those were for the guests.”
“You snooze you lose,” he says, just as a couple of early risers walk in. “Oops,” he whispers, gobbling up the rest of his pancake before smoothing down his shirt and shifting back into professional mode.
“What do we do now?” I ask, examining my shirt to make sure there’s no flour on it.
“We pour coffee and mingle,” he says. “Replenish the pancakes as needed and answer any questions guests may have about Vermont in general, Stowe in particular, or the inn.”
“I did some research, but I don’t know that I’m enough of an expert yet.”
“Just hang by me. You’ll catch on quick.”
I do hang by Jesse, following him around the entire morning as we talk to the guests that stop in. The whole time I make mental notes of recommendations he gives for places to eat and attractions to visit so I can refer the next round of visitors to the same spots. Not that I’m going to be able to sound as enthusiastic as Jesse when I’m giving the recommendations. He’s really selling guests on the places he mentions. And not in a salesy way. It’s just clear that he’s passionate about his hometown and Vermont on the whole. Strike that—passionate doesn’t seem to be a strong enough word to describe how he feels about this state. Love is a better one.
