Sweet Fall

by Reina M. Williams

  “You’re buying a property and having it renovated without plans? Sounds like a potential disaster.”

  She was direct, for sure. “I like to experiment. Sometimes things don’t work, then I can scrap it and start again. A plan just...makes that harder. You get more attached to the results, the expectations.”

  Jena frowned. “Without a plan, you can’t get anywhere. You flounder and fail.”

  “Failure is necessary to succeed.”

  The waitperson brought their food. The heat Grant had felt toward Jena had iced, chilling him like the cubes in his glass of water. Just as well, all things considered.

  He dug into his vegetable soup. The thick broth warmed him again. “How’s yours?” he asked Jena.

  “Good. I come here a lot. I think I’ve tried everything on the menu now. This beef stew is the best. Want to try it?” She edged her bowl forward.

  “No thanks. I’m vegetarian.”

  She set her spoon down mid-bite. “A cattle rancher is a vegetarian?”

  Since she didn’t sound derisive, but just curious, he’d share more than he might with someone else. “I don’t consider myself a cattle rancher. We do more than that. But even still, it’s just a personal choice. We take good care of our animals, though, just so you know.”

  “I didn’t doubt it.” She took her bite and glanced at the window.

  They ate in silence for a bit. He slathered some butter on the still-warm multigrain roll. Jena ate her sourdough one.

  “Great bread, huh?” he asked. “It’s hard to get something with whole grains this light.”

  “Yeah. Mrs. G hired a new chef who specializes in breads. You bake?”

  “I do.” He shrugged.

  “You’re really running against type.” She raised her brows at him as she took another bite of stew.

  “I could say the same of you.”

  “Do I have a type?” She peered at him with a bit of a smirk.

  “Montana woman, right?”

  “Born and raised. But aren’t Montanans known for independence?”

  “Good point. Then how am I running against type?”

  “Fair.” He liked that she challenged him, called him out on what she disagreed with. He sure melted fast.

  She quirked her lips again, this time more in satisfaction than politeness, and more of the warmth returned. Or maybe that was just the soup.

  “I admit,” she said, “my grandparents weren’t too excited about my career choice, or some of my other decisions, so I guess for some, I’m not what’s expected of a woman.”

  He had some opinions about that, but this wasn’t about him. He ate another spoonful of soup. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Glad that everyone in my family didn’t agree with them, and that I had a plan and I’ve carried it out, and succeeded. No failure needed.”

  He liked her honesty, even if it might include a subtle dig at his lack of plans. But he’d give her the benefit of having good intent. “I admire that. Good that you had support, too.” He wished his brothers all supported him in his new endeavor, but at least Mrs. G seemed to.

  “Thanks. Not everyone feels that way is all. My last boyfriend didn’t.”

  He was glad his chewing hid the smile trying to burst out. Not that sharing something personal with him meant she was interested, but it was good to know she dated men and was maybe available. Not that he was going to ask her out. Not now, anyway. If ever. Still, he couldn’t help the bubble of hope that rose in him and had caused his smile.

  He’d been attracted to several people these last years, but he rarely acted on it. Sometimes just crushing on someone was satisfying enough. Now, he wanted an actual relationship, and most of the people he’d been attracted to hadn’t been compatible enough for that.

  “Too personal, huh?” she asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

  “No, I... That sounds rough.”

  “We weren’t that serious, so it was more disappointing than rough. But thanks.” She seemed about to say something else, but instead she popped the last of her roll in her mouth.

  He focused again on his food. But Jena’s presence made actual focus impossible. Even his toes seemed aware in the way they tingled that she was mere inches from him. But that wasn’t the biggest problem. It was that he wanted to be even closer.

  Chapter Three

  Jena glanced at Grant again. From his short brown hair to his slight smile, he drew her gaze over and over. The conflicting feelings that battled in her made her shift in her seat. Usually, she knew what she wanted, she made a plan, and she followed through and achieved her goal.

  But her feelings for Grant wouldn’t cooperate. She shouldn’t even consider him as a dating partner. His apparent disregard for planning and his silly statement about failure being needed for success should have turned her off him completely. But they hadn’t. They just made the attraction she felt toward his physical presence and his kindness and thoughtful words pointless. Because she wasn’t going to date someone just for fun, just because he was attractive and kind.

  One moment, she veered toward acting professional and the next she shared about her ex-boyfriend, wanting Grant to know that she might be interested. Not her finest hour.

  “Are you seeing anyone new?” he asked with a catch in his voice.

  “No. How about you? Some cutie waiting for you back at Manning Ranch?” She smiled to hide the pulsating strobe lights that seemed to be having a party in her stomach.

  His face colored, overwhelming his tan. “Uh, no.”

  “I’m embarrassing you.” Why was she stating the obvious? “Ah, excuse my Deanna Troi moment.” He probably wouldn’t get her Star Trek: The Next Generation geekery.

  He laughed. “Good one. Wouldn’t have expected to find a fellow Trekkie here.”

  Some of the tension left her, and that party slowed down to something more comfortable, though she wasn’t the partying kind. She’d only been cajoled to a few by her brother, John, and her friend Alice. But John was in Arizona with the family. And Alice, who’d been in Loving a lot during the summer working at Las Tres Hermanas and building the garden at Dolly’s bookshop, was now busy with grad school and her full life.

  “Me either. Especially not in one of the Manning brothers.” There went her mouth again. “I mean...I know you aren’t all the same. Sorry.” She didn’t like it when people assumed she was the same as her brother. The only thing they seemed to have in common, aside from their family, was that they both liked men and Dolly Parton. So why was she making assumptions about Grant based on what she knew of his brothers?

  “Thanks. Seven of us—we’re different.”

  She knew that. It’s why she said she was sorry. Getting on personal topics had been a mistake. “I should get going soon. But I’d like to hear more about your plans, I mean, hopes for the property.” She was trying to respect his views, but she really didn’t understand his lack of plans. “I could tell Luke and Tim, and that would give them a better idea of what to look for.” There, business lunch back on track.

  “Right.” He wiped his full lips on his napkin. Not that she was noticing his lips. They were just there. “How about dessert?”

  “I have time for that, so I can hear your ideas.” Not because she wanted to spend more time with him, this cute, available, kind, fellow Star Trek geek.

  The waitperson cleared their lunch and they ordered dessert: two apple pies a la mode.

  “Do you get special treats from Las Tres Hermanas?” she asked about the bakery that supplied many of the café’s desserts.

  “Not really. Being the brother-in-law of one of the owners doesn’t carry as many perks as you might think. This is the first time I’ll get to try one of their pies.”

  Three of his brothers were involved with the three women who owned the bakery, so Jena was a bit surprised by Grant’s statement, but then he hadn’t been into town since she’d lived here in Loving, and the bakery had been bustling since they�
�d opened several months ago.

  “Their pies are great,” she said. “I’m still trying everything, and they keep changing it up, so I haven’t chosen a favorite yet.”

  “Do you need a favorite?”

  “It’s good to have favorites to rely on.”

  “Why not just be open to trying new things, to change?”

  She leaned back and crossed her arms. “I am. But I prefer having favorites.”

  He nodded. “As to the property, I’m looking to build as green as possible, as I said. I have a lot of ideas for the land, but that’s not really relevant to Luke and Company’s bid. Mainly, I envision using reclaimed materials where possible, greywater systems, and I’m still researching using solar here. If you have any ideas on the electrical systems, I’d be happy to hear.”

  “I’ll do some research and give my report to Luke. Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Their pie came and they both took bites. The cinnamon and sweet scent eased the discomfort this lunch had brought, though it also reminded her of Grant’s scent, and how she’d felt so mellow and melty in his arms.

  “Anything else you think I should know?” she asked, half her pie demolished.

  “Nah. I’ll talk more with Luke or your uncle once we meet.” His tone was less friendly now, but still polite. “But thanks for meeting with me.”

  “Glad to. Thanks for considering Luke and Company for your project. We’ll be in touch by Tuesday. Are you staying in town?”

  He finished his bite of pie. “Yeah. I thought it would be easier. I’m at Mrs. G’s, but you can reach me on my cell.”

  She nodded. “Can I pay for lunch?”

  “No, thanks, I’ve got it. Thanks again.”

  “Thanks, then. Good to meet you.” So much for the friendly connection between them. But that was okay. This was supposed to be business, and as long as that wasn’t messed up, plan completed. She had a job to get to, anyway, and the rest of the ticks on her daily to-do list to check off. Same thing tomorrow, on her weekend schedule.

  “Are you going, Jena?” Mrs. G seemed to appear from nowhere to stand beside her.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “I need the two of you,” the older woman said, looking slightly frazzled, her short hair sticking up at odd angles.

  “Diego, one of my chefs,” she said to Grant, “just twisted his ankle. And an oven is on the fritz. Could you squeeze me in, Jena? And Grant, could you take over the bread baking early tomorrow morning?”

  “Sure,” Grant said. “Anything for you, Mrs. G.”

  Jena pulled up her calendar. “Would tonight be soon enough? Is it not working at all?”

  “It’s working, for now. Tonight will be fine. Grant and I will meet you here. What time, dear?”

  “Uh, nine? I’ve got two jobs to finish, and spending the evening with my cousin Clara so Uncle Tim and Aunt Denise can have a date night. If it’s urgent—”

  “No, no, nine will be fine. We’ll see you then, won’t we, Grant?”

  “Uh, okay, see you.” He stood with Mrs. G, shifting his feet as awkwardly as Jena felt in her gut.

  She sure hoped this wasn’t some scheme on Mrs. G’s part. Jena, along with several others, had become aware of Mrs. G and her friend’s matchmaking. She wasn’t sure if it were a real thing or just teasing from Luke and some of the Manning brothers, but she didn’t want to be subject to such an experiment if it were true. No experiments for her. She’d leave that to people like Grant Manning, who could afford to fail.

  Chapter Four

  Grant checked the supplies for tomorrow morning against the recipes Diego had left. “You know I’m not a professional,” Grant said to Mrs. G.

  With a nod, she turned to him from the back door where she’d been keeping watch for Jena. The cold night air had taken the warmth out of the kitchen, which now smelled like evergreens and rosemary from the pots outside, rather than the pie and coffee scents that had greeted him when he’d met Mrs. G ten minutes ago, after an evening visiting his brothers and their significant others. Dinner out at Middleton Ranch had been good, but he was glad the evening was coming to a close. Socializing in groups wore him out a bit, so he needed to recharge. Baking could help with that.

  “There she is,” Mrs. G said, opening the door wide for Jena.

  How did she look so pretty in her coveralls after a long day? Her hair was up in a ponytail, highlighting her oval face and determined eyes.

  Mrs. G continued, “Thanks for fitting this into your day. How’s the family?”

  Jena returned Mrs. G’s hug, then raised a hand to him in greeting. He did the same. “Good. They send their love.”

  “I’ll see them in the morning, so I won’t ask you to return it this time.” Mrs. G walked Jena to one of the industrial-size ovens. “Here’s the one that’s been blinking out.”

  Jena set down her toolbox and pulled on work gloves. Then she started tinkering with the unit.

  Mrs. G yawned. “Could I leave you two to get this done and then lock up? I’m beat, and tomorrow’s a busy day, what with the Saturday crowd and a meeting in the evening.”

  “If it’s okay with Jena, I’m fine doing whatever you need,” he said.

  “Sure,” Jena said without taking her attention off of her work.

  Mrs. G gave Grant a side hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She handed him the set of keys.

  “Thought maybe I’d get some breads proofing tonight. That okay?” It wasn’t following Diego’s plan, but seeing Jena had gotten Grant kind of wound up again, and he knew he’d sleep better if he did some dough work tonight.

  “I trust you.” Mrs. G waved as she walked out.

  He turned to Jena. “I’m going to get started. I should be out of your way.”

  “You won’t need this oven tonight?” Jena asked from her position in front of the oven.

  “Nah. There’s the other one. I can wing it.”

  “Huh. Diego’s pretty precise.”

  He didn’t comment. Obviously, Jena didn’t approve of his experimental nature, but he was fine the way he was, so why bother with any defense?

  Pulling forward the flour and yeast, he grabbed his phone and found his favorite bagel recipe online. Those also weren’t on the plan, but he wanted some, and Mrs. G had reminisced about the small breads earlier, so why not? He’d just make a batch and then do a couple of the breads Diego had planned. The doughs could proof overnight in the fridge. He wouldn’t mind trying some sweet breads, but Las Tres Hermanas bakery provided those, so he wouldn’t go completely off-script.

  “Mind if I put on some music?” he asked.

  “Depends.”

  “Kenny Rogers?”

  “Sure. Wouldn’t have expected something so old-school from you.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  She made either a noise of affirmation or derision.

  His chest tightened, like it did when his brothers ribbed him. There was no point confronting her about it. She’d probably just been acknowledging what he’d said. “My parents used to listen to Kenny.”

  “Fair enough. So did mine. Kenny and Dolly were favorites in our house.” She continued to keep her head and hands inside the bowels of the stove, but her tone had mellowed to a wistfulness that seemed to ask him to be tender. His heart answered with a softening he hadn’t felt in too long.

  He started up his Kenny playlist and got the yeast going. Then he measured the flour and other ingredients, only sometimes referencing the recipe. He added a few ingredients out of order, but he’d done that before, and it always turned out. Getting into a rhythm, he didn’t notice that Jena was done until she stood next to him in jeans and a loose sweater over a tight tee. He stopped, placing a towel over the rounds of dough.

  “Oven working?” His voice had that embarrassing catch in it again.

  She nodded. She was pretty in her coveralls, but out of them, she nearly stole his breath. “The Gambler” came on so he took it as a sign to take a r
isk.

  “Want to help me?” he asked.

  “Nooo, I don’t bake. I’d just make a mess of it. And I should get going.”

  “It’s not baking. It’s shaping bagels. Sure you don’t want to?” He turned to her, clapped in time to the song, and sang his own words, “You got to know when to roll em, know when to fold em...” He patted the resting dough balls and waved her forward.

  She laughed. “All right, I won’t walk away from that. I’m all washed up and ready to go. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She peeled off her sweater and showed him her hands. Her long, thin, callused fingers seemed to call to him to clasp them in his, but he wouldn’t do that. Not now, anyway.

  He glanced at the time. The dough should be ready. “So, we roll it into a rope,” he said as he demonstrated, “then fold it into a ring.” He held up the finished product before placing it on the cornmeal-covered baking sheet.

  “Geez, I’m nervous. What if I can’t do it?” she asked.

  “Just try. It doesn’t matter, it’s just for fun. I’ll eat yours no matter how they turn out.”

  “Okay, as long as you’re not foisting them on customers.” She followed his lead, cringing at the misshapen circle she ended with. “I should do that over.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He placed his hand on hers. An electric sizzle went through his fingers and up his arm. Noticing her willowy figure and strong arms, both more obvious in her short-sleeved tee, didn’t help dampen the feeling. “No good overworking the dough.” Now his voice came out kind of low and rough.

  She looked away and placed hers on the sheet. He’d done two more.

  They kept going until all the dough was shaped.

  “That was fun,” she said, sounding almost disbelieving.

  “Stick with me,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel, but his brothers had drilled into him to at least fake it until the feeling came. He often didn’t agree with his brothers, but sometimes they had good ideas.

  “Islands in the Stream” played, and she bumped his hip with hers. He glanced at her with his brows raised.