The Friendly Cottage

by Susan Hatler

  I had a better view of Brian from the coffee bar and I observed his face carefully. He had dark circles under his eyes and his short-sleeved button-down shirt was rumpled. But he was still oh so cute. Sigh.

  “Well we can’t have that,” Brian said.

  “No.” Mr. Jenkins gave his ears a final tug then shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m headed to the golf course now. I need to get in a few holes.”

  Well, that certainly explained the plethora of plaid he wore. I hid my smile until he left and then went to Brian, scooting behind the desk so I could give him a hug. I slipped my arms around him but his arms stayed at his side.

  “I haven’t seen you all week, so I came by hoping we could talk.” I released him, trying not to let my hurt show.

  He stepped back a little. “I can’t right now. I have to go talk to a woman about a parrot.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that. Do you have to handle it right now?”

  He took another step back, leaving me standing behind the desk alone. “Yeah, I really need to get to that. Mr. Jenkins isn’t the first guest to complain and the parrot’s been known to make a mess on the carpet.”

  “Brian. I want to talk to you about—”

  The front door swung open. A noisy family, who’d obviously been down at the beach, charged through, cutting me off. I paused, trying to think of how to get him to talk about this. They exited the lobby and I went on. “Fine, I’ll make it short. I was thinking we could do long distance until I get back from Italy. It’s only a year and we could fly out to see each other a couple times. We could have date nights on the phone. I can use the webcam to chat with you and—”

  “You want us to date long-distance?” he asked, incredulously. The pain on his face was real. His mouth turned downward and his eyes went glassy.

  “I know how you feel about long-distance dating, but it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  A guest came hurtling down the stairs. She carried a beach towel and a book and I bit my lips, hoping she’d move a little faster. Once she went out the doors, I said, “Brian? Don’t you want to date me long-distance?”

  “I don’t do long distance.”

  “But it’s the only way we can be together.” I took a few steps toward him, anxious and upset and desperate. The feeling in my stomach, an awful sinking feeling, just got worse with each second that passed.

  Brian raked his fingers through his hair. “I know you think that would work, but it wouldn’t. My folks always said they’d visit. They said they would keep in touch.”

  I planted my hands on my hips. “I’m not the same as your parents. I would never break a promise to you.”

  The door swung open again. What was happening? Were people just hanging out by the front door, waiting to burst into the place at the worst moment? What time did people go to bed around here, anyway?

  Brian watched the guests trooping over to the coffee bar then he took me by the arm. The tingles were still there but they were submerged under fear and heartache. “I read you my grandmother’s letter. You know she depended on me to run this place. It’s our family tradition. I’m needed here now more than ever, because Wendy’s so busy with her real estate stuff.”

  I fought back tears. “Did we read the same letter? Because it sounded to me like what she wanted was for you to find love. Love like what we have.”

  He shuffled his feet and eyed the people at the coffee bar. “I just can’t do long distance, Megan. It won’t work for me. Long distance never works out. Ever.”

  My eyes went to the guests at the coffee bar. What were they doing over there? Making a new strain of coffee? Creating a cup like no other had been made before? Why couldn’t they just take their coffee and go so my boyfriend could dump me in private?

  Brian rubbed his arms. He looked so unhappy that I wanted to hug him. But I was afraid he would just reject me again and my heart couldn’t take that. It couldn’t.

  Finally, the coffee drinkers moved on and the lobby was empty again.

  I took a deep breath. “When we were just friends you would always tell me how the guys I dated were wrong for me. Like the one who wanted his coffee money back and the pancake guy—oh, and the guy who thought I wouldn’t make a good wife because I didn’t know how to make gluten and nut free cookies for kids we didn’t even have yet.”

  Brian sighed. “They were wrong for you.”

  My hurt welled up and words rushed out of my mouth. “I had a point to make. You used to tell me that I deserved better. You know what? I do deserve better. I deserve a guy who supports my dreams just like I support his. A guy who could compromise a little for what I want, just like I would compromise for what he wanted, too. I thought that guy was going to be you, but it turns out you’re just like the rest of them.”

  Brian looked shocked. “No, not at all, Megan. I do support your dreams.”

  Did he? Did he really? I had to ask the question that had been on my mind ever since I’d hugged him and he hadn’t hugged me back. I didn’t want to ask because I was afraid of what his answer might be, but I had no choice. “Are you breaking up with me because I’m going to Italy?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I just said that long distance won’t work.”

  “If we can’t do long distance, then you’re breaking up with me.” A slice of pain cut through my heart. I wrung my hands together. I had to tell him. “It was a blue moon that night you first kissed me, Brian. Now we’re ending up just like your grandmother and that man she loved so long ago. You won’t bend your dating rule and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  His jaw tightened, but he avoided my gaze.

  “So I guess this is good-bye.” My throat tightened and I choked on my words. “I love you so much, Brian. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

  I walked out of the inn, got into my car, and sobbed.

  The cottage was bare. I stared around at the familiar walls and floors, trying to figure out how all of my things had ever fit into the place. It looked so different without my belongings everywhere. I walked along the living room slowly, remembering the parties I’d thrown there, and all of my friends laughing as they tried not to crowd each other on the furniture.

  The kitchen brought memories of baking sugar cookies for Brian like his grandma used to do, which was a tradition I had loved carrying on for him. The whole place rang with memories and leaving that cottage was so bittersweet.

  Aunt Bea would be proud of me for going to Italy. I really wished I wasn’t taking such a huge hole in my heart along for the ride. I loved Brian, even if he was a stubborn and impossible man. I deserved to be loved just as much in return. I regretted telling him he was just like the guys I’d dated before, but I hadn’t been wrong. He’d promised to support me, but in the end he’d deserted me. I guess he figured that was better than risking my deserting him.

  I heard the doorbell’s foghorn siren, and I smiled as its strident whoop filled the empty rooms. I’d even miss that crazy sound. I stepped past my suitcases, and opened the door to find Janine standing there. Her smile was wide as she glanced down at the suitcases by my feet.

  “You’re all ready to go?”

  “I’m not sure.” I let out a small laugh. I wasn’t ready. Not at all. Maybe I should’ve gone to see Brian one more time. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to get him to compromise. Heartache and regrets happened, but I was making my dreams come true. I was excited to start on that journey. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Thanks for offering to drive me to the airport.”

  “No problem.” Janine took one suitcase and I took the other, and then I grabbed the framed picture and we rolled them out onto the porch. I turned the key in the cottage door for the last time and then handed the key to Janine, who’d promised to take care of that for me.

  I wasn’t in the car five seconds before I started wondering why I let Janine drive me. My friend drove like a lunatic. She always said it was “defensive driving” and she’d learned to drive
in a big city, which she had, but I kept pressing my foot to an invisible brake and grabbing at the seat as she flew around the long road that curved away from the town and toward the airport.

  “Are you okay? You seem distracted,” I squeaked out as Janine took a sharp right without using her blinker—and without slowing down.

  “Hmm?” She looked over at me and I held my breath. Her eyes went back to the road and a little curl turned her mouth downward. “Yeah, I’m just a little frustrated.”

  No kidding. “Why?”

  Janine sighed. Her fingers clutched the wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. “I love Olivia. You know how much I love her.”

  I swallowed. “I do.”

  “You also know how she can be so much of a control freak.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  Janine lifted a hand off the wheel to gesture. “She gave me a party to do but she’s micro-managing me to death. I know she means well and wants it to go smoothly. I mean, I get that it’s her reputation on the line. But it’s driving me crazy and every day I want more and more to do something else for a living. I want to do something on my own, and not be someone’s assistant anymore.”

  “I understand both your sides,” I said, gripping onto my door handle. “I mean, Olivia just wants her business to do well and she trusts you. If she didn’t then she never would have assigned you the whole party. But she still wants to make sure it’s good.”

  “It is good.” Janine flipped on a blinker and cut across two lanes of traffic. I closed my eyes, waiting for death. “And I like her ideas, but I have ideas, too. It feels like every time I get an idea in place she comes in and adds to it or changes it into something else entirely.”

  She changed lanes and cut off a shiny blue sedan. I gave the driver an apologetic wave. “I’m sure if you just talked to Olivia it would help,” I said.

  “It would help with that issue, but not with the rest of it. I mean, there’s nothing she could do to make me want to keep being an assistant.” She let out an exasperated breath. “And if all that wasn’t enough, Cody keeps calling me. He’s not willing to accept we broke up! He actually told me I should reconsider because he’s always been the person who dumped the other person. His conclusion is that I’ve taken complete leave of my senses. I have no idea why he would think I should get back together with him, but he’s so insistent on it. Maybe he wants to date me again just so he can dump me and keep his track record intact.”

  I made a low sound in my throat as I thought of Brian.

  Janine gave me a sympathetic glance. “I’m so sorry. Here I am talking about Cody calling me nonstop and Brian hasn’t called, has he?”

  “No,” I said.

  Janine sighed. “Maybe he will. I mean, you’re going to have a phone and all. He’ll come around.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I knew he didn’t do long-distance relationships when we got together. I asked anyway, though. So, I think that’s pretty much that.”

  Janine pulled into the San Francisco Airport and managed to get the car into a tiny opening at the curb. We jumped out and began unloading my suitcases.

  “Do you need me to carry your painting?” Janine asked.

  “I want to ask you for a favor,” I said, as cars honked for us to get out of their way and people got in and out of cars all around us. “Would you give this painting to Brian for me?”

  Janine put a hand to her heart. “Of course! Is there a note?’

  A note? Oh, no! “No, but there should be. Do you have a piece of paper?”

  We scrambled through our purses, frantically looking for a pen and paper. A man pulled up beside us and yelled, “Hey, could you move already?”

  Janine shouted back, “Could you park somewhere else? Would that really be so hard? Can’t you see she’s trying her best to write a note to someone she loves?”

  He grunted something inaudible and pulled away. Janine produced a cute little notepad and pen. I took it and thought for a moment then wrote.

  Dear Brian,

  * * *

  I’m so sorry for the way it ended. I was hurt and I let that goad me into saying unkind things to you. I do love you, and I always will. I understand why you can’t do long distance or leave the inn. This painting is for you. I hope that when I return we can be friends again.

  * * *

  All my love,

  Megan

  Janine took the note and hugged me hard. We both sniffled and wiped tears then she said, “I’ll see you soon and in Italy!”

  I lifted a hand and watched her get in her car and pull away from the curb. Then I took my suitcases and headed toward the ticket agent.

  I stood in my workshop at The Rossi Art Gallery in Florence, Italy, a pleased smile on my face as I surveyed the painting taking shape on my easel. I’d painted the square just outside the gallery’s front doors, but along the sun-drenched street, in the tiny cracks of the old stones, I added little spheres that bobbed and danced. Each sphere was filled with extremely miniature vistas of ocean or the bluffs of Blue Moon Bay.

  The door to my workshop was open, and I could see the gallery. As usual it was bustling, even this close to closing time. People were drawn to its bright red door, embossed with shining gilt, and to the paintings carefully arranged near the window and protected from the bright sun by the colorfully striped awning that hung over the door. The gallery was cool and dim, and it had an air of mystery and excitement about it that I’d loved from the moment I stepped into it.

  My workshop had lovely stone walls, and a window with a shutter. The shutters were open and I could see the gardens planted in the yards of the houses behind the shops. In Italy, people planted flowers everywhere—in window boxes, on balconies and roof tops, and even potted plants and flowers on their stoops as well.

  The gallery had a lovely bench out front, just below one wide window and on either side of the bench there were flowerpots spilling fragrant blooms toward the sidewalk. It was something I never got tired of, all those flowers, and I decided that when I went back to Blue Moon Bay I was going to plant flowerbeds in my yard to remind me of Italy.

  I heard Dino saying it was time to lock up for the day and I stretched my hands and arms, still looking at my painting. It was my favorite so far because it spoke to where I was right then in my life. Part of me was still in Blue Moon Bay and part of me was in Italy.

  Dino stopped by my easel. “Hello, Megan. Is that the new work? Look Paolo. I told you she’s a genius!”

  Paolo? I turned and found myself face to face with a man who was smoking hot in a purely Italian way: all jet-black hair falling loosely over a high, tanned forehead, clear and very dark eyes and a lithe body below an impeccable suit.

  “I don’t know about genius,” I said, but the compliment made me smile.

  Paolo came closer. He looked carefully at my painting. “How do you get the scenes so small?” he asked, and even his accent was swoon-worthy.

  I cleared my throat. “I painted them first, then I painted the spheres and the larger scene.”

  “How’s your first week been Megan?” Dino asked.

  “It’s been a dream come true. I still can’t really believe that I’m here, actually.”

  Paolo smiled. “It’s a big adventure, no?”

  “The biggest.” I smiled back at him.

  His gaze went back to my painting. “Do you travel a lot?”

  “No, I never had the chance before so this has been just wonderful.”

  Paolo chuckled. “I know that feeling. Travel is always an adventure and I can never wait for the next one.”

  Dino cut in, “Paolo and I were going to a little place down the street to have a glass of the local wine. Would you like to join us?”

  Paolo was so hot, and I was clearly single now that Brian had dumped me, but my heart wouldn’t let me say yes to that invitation. Maybe it was too soon, but it was more likely that my heart still belonged to Brian. I wasn’t interested in going for a glass
of wine with hot and charming Paolo—not even with Dino along as chaperone.

  “No, but thank you,” I said. Besides, there was another place I wanted to be. The same place I always went, every night. The Boboli Gardens.

  I stepped off the main axis of the gardens and headed toward one of my favorite spots, a bench not far from a deep and gleaming grotto. Butterflies, adorned in jewel-like tones, rose and fluttered above the crimson, bright yellow, and cerulean flowers arranged in one long bed that I wandered past. The statues rose above the lush emerald grass and the competing primary and pastel flowers. The sun was not yet ready to set and it hung in the sky, sending long fingers of burnished gold and rose down onto the narrow walkway and the flowers.

  Usually, a feeling of peace settled over me when I arrived. But ever since Dino had brought Paolo into my workshop, I’d been besieged by thoughts of Brian and our relationship’s sad ending. Not even the Boboli Gardens could be an escape from the pain in my heart tonight.

  I sat down on a bench and opened my sketchbook. After so many years of painting the gardens from pictures and Aunt Bea’s vivid descriptions, I was finally able to sketch and paint the gardens from sight and experience.

  My hands stayed still, though, the pencil hanging loosely from my fingers. I glanced up at the sky. “You were right, Aunt Bea. This place is magical and beautiful. It might even be the place for love, but maybe not the place for love for me.”

  Sadness crept across my heart like the shadows growing along the tops of the flowerbeds. I shook it off. I opened my sketchbook and took a few breaths to calm my heart and mind so I could open myself to whatever wanted me to sketch it. The vision came and I started drawing.

  I was so deep into the sketch that I didn’t notice when the shadows got thicker and darker. Night birds began their refrain and I heard them and their songs, but didn’t register the passing of time. My fingers flew across the paper, the pencil shading, creating, and then blurring little lines to make shadows there on the white paper below.