by Tracy Donley
“Not another word until later,” Jack insisted.
Rosemary looked at the café sign, surprised. “Potter’s Café? Is this the same Potters who own the farm at the edge of town? As in, Mrs. Potter with the apple orchard?”
“The very same,” said Jack. “Don’t let their humble outward appearance fool you. The Potters are a very prominent family in Paperwick, with a very long history here. They own half the countryside. But you won’t meet any of their family members in the graveyard. They have their own ancestral burial plot out at their farm.” He followed this statement up with another eyebrow wiggle.
“So that’s why they weren’t on my list of names,” said Rosemary.
“But Mrs. Potter is a fount of information when it comes to village history,” said Jack. “She can definitely fill you in on the triumphs, trials, and tribulations hereabouts.”
Just then the door swung open, and a tall and handsome dark-haired man greeted them.
“Please tell me that’s Charlie,” said Rosemary under her breath.
“That’s the actual Charlie,” said Jack, smiling at his husband.
“Rosemary, we’re so glad you finally agreed to come and stay a while,” said Charlie. “Jack, you’re right. She’s gorgeous!” he said, giving her a warm hug. “I feel like I know you already.”
“Me, too,” said Rosemary, returning his hug.
“Cold front on the way,” said Charlie, eyeing the blue sky. “I got us a table inside.”
“Did I mention he’s a closet meteorologist?” said Jack, following Charlie through the door.
“No. Is he any good?”
“He’s never wrong. If he says a front is coming, button up your overcoat.”
Inside the café, they were seated at a sunny table near the front windows that overlooked the sidewalk diners and the village green. The front facade of Potter’s Café was made of what looked like very old, weathered brick, and inside, worn wooden tables and comfortable chairs were arranged around a cozy little fireplace that crackled away cheerfully on the back wall, which also housed a swinging door that led back to the kitchen.
“This building used to be a blacksmith shop, way back in the 1600s,” said Charlie.
“That explains the ever-so-slight whiff of coal I always smell on entering,” said Jack.
“Are you a history buff, too?” Rosemary asked Charlie.
“Definitely. In fact, the book I’m working on now is a mystery set in seventeenth century New England.”
“Really? My favorite time and place! And there’s nothing I love more than a good mystery. Is it possible you’re my soulmate?”
“Well, he’s my soulmate, but he can be your spirit animal,” said Jack. “He loves history and mysteries and spooky movies and candles and anything to do with stationary and good fountain pens.”
“Just like us!” said Rosemary, giving Jack’s arm a squeeze. “Oh, Jack, you did good.”
“My heart is all warm and fuzzy at this moment,” said Jack. “My two favorite people in the same room at last. We’re all cut from the same cloth, you know.”
“The good stuff,” agreed Rosemary.
“That’s why Jack and I have decided it’s time for you to settle down in these parts,” said Charlie, and Rosemary caught him exchanging a brief conspiratorial glance with Jack.
“Ah-ha. So, you’ve been planning my life for me, have you?” Rosemary looked from one to the other of them. “I just got here!”
“We’ll talk about all that later,” said Jack. “I’m starved. Let’s order.”
As if on cue, a young waitress, who looked very familiar, brought out a basket of warm brown bread with fresh butter, and three mugs of hot apple cider. When Rosemary smelled the fresh apple and cinnamon aroma of the cider, she realized why the girl seemed familiar. She was Mrs. Potter’s daughter Abbey, who Rosemary had met at the farm stand. Rosemary gave her a little wave, but the girl didn’t seem to remember her.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of having Gabby bring us a round of their special recipe cider,” said Charlie.
“Oh, my heart!” said Jack, smiling at Charlie across the table. “Just what we needed!”
“Perfect for a day that’s turning chilly,” said Rosemary, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Thank you, Charlie.” She looked up at the waitress, who was passing out menus. “Wait. Gabby? I thought your name was Abbey. We met earlier, at your farm?”
Gabby smiled. “We fooled you,” she said. “Everyone always mixes up me and Abbey.”
“Well, yeah,” said Jack. “Because you’re identical twins, and you always insist on dressing alike.”
“That might have something to do with it,” Gabby admitted with a wink, and left them to look over their menus.
The lunch special that day was the “Almost-Thanksgiving” sandwich: thick sourdough bread, toasted and topped with mounds of shaved turkey, cranberry sauce, sharp, melting cheddar, and herbed cornbread stuffing, smothered in gravy and served open-faced with homemade potato chips and a cup of smoky butternut squash soup. They ordered three specials and sat back, sipping cider and watching the people walking by on the sidewalk outside.
“Look, there’s Mayor Wright,” said Charlie.
“The mayor? Wow, this really is a small town. Isn’t he also your local celebrated pumpkin contest judge?” said Rosemary, chuckling at the memory of Mrs. Potter and her champion pumpkins. “I wonder if he’ll…” Rosemary’s words slowed and came to a complete stop when she laid eyes on the mayor, who came bustling into the café, giving a little wave to young Gabby, who pointed him to an empty table set for two in the corner near the fireplace.
As he made his way in that direction, he stopped to shake a few hands and glancing around, caught sight of Jack and Charlie. A broad smile spread across his face.
“Hello, my friends,” he said, coming to stand at their table, where he shook hands with the guys. Then his gaze wandered over to Rosemary. “Who is your lovely guest here?”
Rosemary had imagined that the mayor-slash-pumpkin aficionado would be a little old man with patches on the elbows of his corduroy blazer, and probably smoking a pipe. This man looked to be in his mid-thirties, was boyishly charming, handsome, well-dressed, well-mannered, and had an easiness about him that made him instantly likable. The perfect set of qualities for someone in politics. His smile was so genuine that Rosemary didn’t take it as a flirtation, but more as a sign that he was truly interested to meet a newcomer to his town.
“Mayor Wright,” Jack said with a smile, “this is my dearest friend, Rosemary Grey. She’s come to Paperwick to visit, and is, in fact, considering relocating here permanently. She’s a professor of history, an author, and a fabulous public speaker.”
Rosemary felt the heat rising to her cheeks for the second time in one afternoon.
“I’m here for a visit, and to help Jack at the town festival,” she said. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mayor Wright.”
“Oh, enough with all this ‘mayor’ business,” he answered, slapping Jack playfully on the back even as his eyes stayed on Rosemary. He extended a hand across the table to her. “I’m Samuel. Or usually just plain Sam. And if I’m honest, I think Jack here is onto something,” he said with a wink. “You should move here. We need more citizens like you in Paperwick.”
“See?” said Jack. “Now it’s official. Even the mayor thinks you should come and stay.”
“Well, he just met me,” said Rosemary through a slightly embarrassed smile. “He might change his mind.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I have a knack about these things,” Samuel assured her.
You and Mrs. Potter, thought Rosemary.
“Give us a few days. Paperwick’ll grow on you.” And there was that smile again. Genuine and charming at once.
“We’ll see,” Rosemary said, ready to change the subject to something other than herself. “From what I can see, Paperwick does seem like a wonderful town.”
“Join us for lunch, Sam?”
said Charlie, motioning toward the empty chair across from Rosemary.
“I can’t tell you how much I wish I could. But I have a meeting in…” Sam looked at his watch, “about three minutes.”
“Duty calls,” said Jack, giving him a little salute. “Maybe next time.”
“Definitely,” the mayor answered, smiling once more at Rosemary before turning to go to his own table. “Oh, and welcome home, Rosemary,” he added, briefly looking back.
“You’re too much,” said Rosemary, turning to Jack after the mayor had moved off. “How long have you been after me to settle down and live in one place?”
“Oh, let’s see,” said Jack, pretending to calculate on his fingers.
“Forever,” said Rosemary, giving him a playful shove. “How about this: I promise I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“Fair enough,” agreed Jack.
“Wow. So that’s the mayor,” said Rosemary, hoping her cheeks had gone back to their normal shade of pink. “He doesn’t seem all that . . . mayoral. Or he does, but he isn’t what I’d expected.”
“Yep, he’s a cutie,” said Jack, reading Rosemary’s thoughts once again. “But he’s also a good leader. Hometown boy. Already finishing up his second term, with no end in sight.”
“He’s up for re-election later this month,” added Charlie. “But no one is running against him, of course, so it’s a done deal.”
“Mrs. Potter said his is another one of the old Paperwick families,” said Rosemary.
“Oh yes,” said Jack. “They’ve been around here since the early days. Sam gave a talk at the Historical Society. He said the first Wright moved here just after the turn of the 18th century.”
“So early 1700s, then. Wow. So, I take it the Elias Wright on your list for the festival is Sam’s relative?” said Rosemary.
“Yep. Born in 1705. And the best part is, the mayor himself is going to bring him to life. A local celebrity in our little production!”
“We’re hitting the big time,” said Rosemary with a laugh.
Just then, a beautiful woman with gleaming blond hair entered the café and went to sit down with the mayor in the corner. Every head in the place turned—and with good reason, Rosemary thought. The two of them made a striking couple. The mayor, so handsome and charming, and his companion, dressed in the perfect New England fall outfit—long skirt, rust-colored shirt cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt, a soft, flowy cardigan sweater overtop, and leather boots peeking out at the hem of the skirt.
“Wow,” whispered Rosemary. “Who’s she?”
“No idea,” said Jack, glancing at Charlie, who shrugged.
“I thought everyone knew everybody in Paperwick,” said Rosemary.
“She’s not from around here,” said Charlie.
“Maybe she and the mayor are an item. She has First Lady written all over her, don’t you think?” said Rosemary.
“They do make an arresting couple,” observed Charlie.
“Magazine-cover beautiful,” agreed Jack.
Their attention was brought back to their own table when Gabby approached with a large tray heaped with sandwiches and soup. She unloaded everything, refilled their cider mugs from an oversized teapot, and left them to enjoy a wonderful meal, eating and talking about history and blacksmithing and life in small-town Connecticut.
“Let’s go home for coffee,” said Jack with a yawn about an hour later. “This food has made me sleepy.”
“Good idea,” agreed Charlie, giving Gabby a wave for the check. “And we need to get you all unpacked and settled in,” he said to Rosemary.
“You know what goes perfectly with coffee? Donuts and pie,” suggested Rosemary, remembering the box full of homemade goodies in her car back at the university.
“Perfection,” said Jack. “And since we’re already carb-loading, might as well finish on a high note.” He turned to Charlie. “Rosemary and I will take Holly Golightly and zip by school on the way. I can collect my things and we’ll get her car, and we’ll meet you at home.”
Gabby arrived with the check and a little plate with a selection of cheeses.
“Did I mention the Potters are also known for their award-winning cheeses?” asked Jack, popping a piece into his mouth. “They make these right on their farm. Did Mrs. Potter show you the special cows?”
“We never made it to the cows,” said Rosemary with a chuckle. “Guess I still have a ways to go before Mrs. Potter likes me that much.”
They gave Gabby a wave, left her a generous tip, and headed out into the late afternoon that seemed to be getting chillier by the minute, just as Charlie had predicted it would. Clouds were rolling in, and evening was already coming on. It had been a busy day and to Rosemary, it seemed ages since her morning Sleepy Hollow lecture.
She smiled at the thought of getting to finally see Jack and Charlie’s restored farmhouse. She’d seen photos from back before they’d started the renovations, and in them, the place looked pretty dilapidated. A drafty old house and a fallen-down barn. Even for a someone with Jack’s interior design know-how, this was quite a project, and Rosemary had prepared herself that it might still be a work in progress. Jack hadn’t sent her any photos since the beginning, though, because he wanted to keep the house as a surprise. She couldn’t wait to see what they’d done with the place.
As she waited for Jack to unlock Holly Golightly’s door, a sudden chill breeze blew Rosemary’s hair into an auburn swirl around her face and she shivered, happily looking forward to a cozy blanket and a piece of pie. This was shaping up to be the most relaxing, peaceful two weeks ever.
4
Jack and Charlie’s house was neither dilapidated nor drafty anymore.
On the contrary, it was decidedly one of the coziest places Rosemary had ever encountered. In the dusky light, she’d just been able to make out the trees along the little lane that led to the house. She could see the outline of what must have been the barn (and what appeared to be a silo next to it?) just to the side. The rest of the land had pretty well faded into the shadows of the brewing storm, but the house itself was glowing warmly, inviting a weary traveler to come and stay awhile.
A sturdy windowed door—painted a toasty shade of burnt orange and sporting a fresh, green, boxwood wreath—opened into a sweet little entryway room, where there were hooks for hanging coats and caps, and a long wooden bench for sitting down to take off muddy shoes. There was a basket containing Jack and Charlie’s slippers, another laden with umbrellas and snow scrapers, and a third was full of dog toys.
“What’s this?” asked Rosemary, gesturing to the dog toys in surprise. “Has there been an addition to the family that I’m not aware of?”
“As a matter of fact, there has,” said Jack proudly, as he hung his jacket on a hook, slipped into his warm, fuzzy slippers, and handed Rosemary a brand-new pair of her own. “A very recent addition,” he smiled, then called “Izzy! Come here, sweet girl!”
The fleece-lined slippers felt like heaven on Rosemary’s cold feet. Jack, true to his typical style, was definitely bent on spoiling her rotten during her stay in Paperwick. He led her through the wide opening, its French doors standing ajar, that connected the entryway to the main living area. Rosemary had to stop to take it all in.
“Jack, it’s perfect. It’s—wow.”
A huge stone fireplace with a rustic wooden mantle stood on the opposite wall. Charlie was already home and stoking a crackling fire, and he’d lit candles which flickered warmly here and there around the room. On either side of the stone chimney, which climbed all the way up to the high ceiling, there were double glass doors that overlooked what was either a huge pond or a tiny lake, the rippling water glistening in the last little bit of deep amber sunset that was able to push its way through the cracks in a growing wall of storm clouds. Rosemary could just make out the woods beyond the pond, as the dancing silhouettes of trees were barely visible in the background.
“It is wow, isn’t it?” said a beam
ing Jack. “Normally at this time of day, we’re out back, watching the sun set over the pond. You’ll love it.”
“It’ll be a clear day tomorrow. But colder,” Charlie piped in.
Just to the left of where Rosemary stood at the room’s entrance, a long wood farm table was tucked into the corner, surrounded by an eclectic collection of chairs that somehow made perfect sense together. Beyond that, on the wall to the left, was another large, cased opening, through which Rosemary glimpsed a cheerful farmhouse kitchen, glowing gold with the flickering light of a smaller fireplace. In front of the living room fireplace was a couch that looked like the kind you sink deeply down into when you sit, and on either side of the hearth were soft, comfortable chairs. Lamps gave the whole room a golden glow, and baskets brimming with rolled-up quilts and books scattered here and there made it easy for Rosemary to picture Jack and Charlie, sitting here by the fire in the evenings, reading or watching the television that was probably tucked away inside the old, burnished oak wardrobe cabinet that stood off to one side of the fireplace.
There were huge windows on the wall to the right, along with another cased opening that led off to the bedrooms. And there was yet another reading nook with bookshelves in the corner to the right of where Rosemary still stood, shaking her head in amazement.
“You guys have done an incredible job. I can’t believe this is the place from the photos you sent. Amazing!”
“We did do an incredible job, didn’t we?” agreed Jack.
“Wait until you see the rest of the place,” said Charlie, grabbing Rosemary’s suitcase and heading down the hall to the right.
“Later,” Jack called after him. “Rosemary and I are going to make the coffee.”
Just then, they heard the pitter-patter of little paws trotting up, and a small, very scruffy terrier sporting a tiny plaid scarf in fall colors, came sleepily over to stand at Jack’s feet.
“There’s our girl,” said Jack, scooping up the little creature. “Were you napping in the study again? Rosemary, meet Isabelle. Izzy, here is your Aunty Rosemary. She’s the one I’ve been telling you all about.”