While she was upstairs doing whatever it was she was doing, he got his laptop out and set it down on the kitchen table. He’d been itching to check his e-mail all afternoon but hadn’t wanted to leave the sitting room before the painting was done.
Sawyer pulled up his browser and navigated to his e-mail account.
His smile grew wider when he saw the new e-mail from Emma. He whispered it to himself but not too loudly, just in case she came in the room.
Dear Jackson:
Tuesday will work just fine to reschedule our showing. The pecan trees have already been pruned for the coming year, so that will mean less work for the buyer. What time should I expect you? –Emma
Sawyer chuckled. The pecan trees had been pruned, all right—just the way the buyer wanted them. And the rose bushes, and the paint colors too.
She’d been far too comfortable parting ways to do the renovation work when she thought she had three weeks, so he had to take drastic measures to be near her.
Of course, the downside was that he now had seven days to remind her of the life she used to love. Seven days to fill with pecan pie and sunsets, and the slow pace of winding rivers.
Seven days before she went back to Boston forever.
Man, was he excited to see the look on her face when she put it all together. She would either fall into his arms, or she would hate him. But she already kind of hated him, didn’t she? So what did he have to lose?
Sawyer logged out of his e-mail before Emma had a chance to return and ask what he was doing. He was nervous enough as it was. Thought for sure she was going to recognize Jackson, his middle name. Amazingly, she had not.
He was still trying to decide how he would pitch his proposal for turning the farmhouse into a bed-and-breakfast. Technically, he could buy the property regardless of how she felt. But where was the romance in that?
He shut his laptop just in the nick of time.
Moments later, the old stairs creaked as Emma moved down them, and with each step, his anticipation to see her grew. He needed to temper his expectations. There was a very significant chance Emma Jane was going to choose Boston, just as she had last time.
Sure, he took most of the blame for their breakup. He handled the whole thing poorly. But he never meant for her to think she was less important than the farm. If he’d only realized that, things might have been different once upon a time.
Emma rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen, and his heart jumped like a pop of lightning in a thunderstorm. She carried several large bags from Target and had changed into a black sweater that was going to make it hard for him to play it cool. All he could think about was kissing her again.
“Em.” He stood from his chair and moved the laptop to the other side of the table to make room for her things.
“Sawyer.” Emma barely glanced at him. She set the bags down and began to remove new kitchen items. Two grey rugs. Several boxes of cabinet pulls. She held one of the boxes up for his inspection. “I thought these would be a nice way to update the hardware without spending a fortune on new cabinets.”
Sawyer took the box from her hand. The pulls were gold and shiny. “For white cabinets?” He grimaced. “Not exactly my thing.”
Emma snatched the box from him and raised her chin. “Luckily, you are not the prospective buyer.”
Oh really?
“I could be.” He leaned against the table and swept his messy hair back with one hand.
“Sawyer, we’ve been over this.” She turned and scanned the area for something. When she saw his toolbox on the bar, she went to work searching through it. “I appreciate your help around this place. I really do. But I’m returning to Boston in a week, and I need to get the full listing price for the property to help support my writing.” Screwdriver in one hand and gaudy hardware in the other, Emma crouched down and began replacing the drawer pulls.
Sawyer pushed up against the table and took the new rugs over to Emma. He ripped off the tags and set one by the oven, the other by the sink. “Why are those your only two options?”
Emma hesitated. A screw clanged to the floor. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that… I don’t know.” He shrugged. Maybe he should’ve planned this conversation out better. “Have you ever considered keeping the property?”
Emma reached for the screw and continued tightening the new fixture in place. “Of course I’ve considered it.”
Hope leapt inside him. Sawyer took a half step closer. “Have you?”
She looked at him, a blend of frustration and confusion in her eyes. Then an old, familiar passion sparked. Emma must’ve felt it too because she blinked and hurried back to the cabinet. But she held the fixture upside down.
Sawyer held back his grin. He reached for the drawer pull and flipped it right-side up. “I don’t mean to push you. But this is forever, Em. Once you’ve sold it, there’s no looking back.” Sawyer crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “This place has been in your family for generations, right? Wasn’t it Henry and Dorothea’s?”
Emma nodded. “The thought of my grandfather building this place for her and planting all those trees has haunted me, if I’m being honest. In many ways, the harvest is their legacy.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “I always thought it’d be my own legacy too someday.”
Sawyer waited until she met his gaze. He wouldn’t let her look away.
Seven days, remember?
He needed to set stage two of the plan in motion, and now was the perfect time to do it. A little plan he liked to call Operation Win Emma Back.
“Just wasn’t in the cards for me.” Emma stood and set the screwdriver down on the counter.
Sawyer brushed a trail of dust from her jaw. “What if it could be?”
He watched her gaze flicker then fade. She had truly given up hope, hadn’t she? He needed to backtrack. Lighten the conversation and get her laughing.
He took a step back and cleared his throat. “So, I’ve got an idea for the breakfast nook since that wallpaper belongs in the original series of Full House.” He picked up the screwdriver and gestured toward the table. “My buddy is taking down his barn and has loads of wood to spare. How do you feel about shiplap?”
How did she feel about shiplap? Seriously?
Well for starters, she had seen Fixer Upper, like every other woman in the continental United States. So, yeah. She nodded. “Shiplap sounds great.”
But her heart groaned. Had Sawyer Hammonds just alluded to their old plan to live here in this farmhouse together and then changed the subject with shiplap?
What if it could be? What did that even mean? Did he expect her to live here alone? These walls, a constant reminder of the life that could have been? And what about her life in Boston?
Sure, she hadn’t missed riding the T, or her bare-bones apartment, or her winter jacket. Truth be told, she hadn’t really missed anything about her life back in the city. But that was probably because she knew she was returning.
And now, apparently, in only one week’s time.
She wanted to tell him thanks a whole lot for the reminder of how she’d disappointed her grandmother. The love stories had always seemed so simple in the fairytale book she’d read repeatedly as a girl, and in the real-life romances of her parents and grandparents. But her own life was different.
Surely… surely… Sawyer didn’t mean he was still interested in a relationship with her. Not after all that had happened. He was just hoping for her to cut him a deal on the property. Trying to get in her head. But she wouldn’t let him.
Before she could say anything else about the shiplap, the front door opened. Mama and Grandma Dorothea’s voices filled the entry.
“We’re back!” Mama said.
“We’re in the kitchen.” Sawyer tightened the screw of the last drawer pull as they entered.
Mama set several bags of takeout and a gallon of sweet tea on the kitchen counter and took Emma by both arms. “Don’t you look just
darling. The sweater could’ve been made for you.”
Emma braced herself for what her mother might say next. “Thanks, Mama.”
Her mother gave her a gentle squeeze. “Come upstairs with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
At this point, I can only imagine.
But Emma knew better than to argue. She followed her mother up the stairs, gliding her hand along the wooden rail as she’d done for years upon years. My, she would miss this place and all the memories it held. She hadn’t realized the extent of it until today. Being here, in the thick of it all, had changed something.
Mama opened the door to what used to be her and Daddy’s bedroom. Now, all that was left of the familiar space was the old bed with a quilt Emma had admired during her childhood.
Her mother sat down and motioned for Emma to do the same. She smiled, folded the quilt into thirds, then set it in Emma’s lap. “Grandma Dorothea made this for me when you were born. I want you to have it.”
Emma traced the intricate stitching with her thumb. Each tiny square of the quilt was a different color, a different fabric. She couldn’t imagine how long it must’ve taken her grandmother to stitch together without a sewing machine. “Are you sure?”
Mama nodded.
Emma looked down at the quilt. “I wish I could get back in her good graces.” She glanced up toward her mother and blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “I don’t think she ever forgave me for moving to Boston.”
Mama put one hand on Emma’s knee. “I don’t think that’s it.” Those were the only words she spoke, as if she were choosing them with care.
Emma slowly swung her feet back and forth from the side of the bed like she used to do when she was a kid. “What do you mean?”
Mama took a deep breath. “Just that… well, this house means a lot to your grandmother, is all. The whole property does. And I imagine it’s hard on her to be at a stage of life where she’s lost her husband, is losing her independence, and she sees her granddaughter giving up the one thing she wants so dearly.”
“But, I—”
Mama stopped the thought with a wave of her hand. “Now, you don’t need to explain yourself to me, Emma. I understand completely. You’ve got big dreams, and Boston offers certain kinds of opportunities.” Mama nodded slowly. “But I think your grandma would say Alabama offers different kinds of opportunities.”
Emma moved the quilt from her lap to the bed, then shifted to face her mother more directly. “Sawyer.”
“Precisely.” Mama leaned closer, as if the walls were listening. “Now, I swore I wouldn’t mention anything. But Emma, I think you should know.”
Mercy, what was she going to say? Emma fidgeted with her earrings.
“When your granddaddy passed, Sawyer promised him that he would take care of you.”
Emma couldn’t breathe. “He said he would what?”
Mama shook her head and straightened the collar of her blouse. “You have to understand, sugar. Your granddaddy was worried about you. About the farm. Sawyer gave him his word so he could pass in peace. And Sawyer’s kept his word, too. Did I tell you the trees had scab last year?”
Emma forced herself to breathe deeply. How did she not know last year’s harvest had been threatened by that horrible fungus?
“Your daddy’s getting to be where he’d rather relax at the beach than tend to the farm every morning. It’s hard labor, keeping the crop going. So Sawyer handled the whole thing.” She shrugged. “That’s one of the reasons we encouraged him to stay at the farmhouse.”
Emma sat silent, processing her mother’s words. Had she misjudged Sawyer after all? Why didn’t she know this dependable side of him that Mama was describing?
Several moments passed before she looked back to her mother. Her pulse was still racing. “But what did he mean that he would take care of me?”
Mama patted Emma’s knee and stood from the bed. “I suspect we’ll see.”
8
After another night in the company of BBC reruns, Emma dabbed concealer under her eyes until the dark circles color-shifted into more of a creamy toffee. She sighed. With only a few hours of sleep to go on, this was as good as it was going to get.
Emma fastened her crystal earrings and tied a small blue ribbon at the back of her ponytail to add a vintage flair to her cobalt skirt. She could hear Grandma Dorothea and Mama down the hallway and knew she’d get a talkin’ to when her grandmother realized she was only now getting dressed at ten thirty.
Emma needed tea. Fast. And not just any tea would do.
Her copy of Finding Ever After still sat where she’d left it on the nightstand, so she reached to set it inside her purse. Then she pulled the bag over her shoulder and slipped past a pile of boxes in the hall as quickly as possible.
Grandma Dorothea and Mama were distracted by the upstairs closet, rummaging through the few items left inside. Maybe if she could just slip past them before—
“Emmaline Jane! Heavens child, are you only now getting up at this hour? Have you fallen ill? Let me look at you.” Before Emma could protest, Grandma Dorothea reached for her forehead to check for a fever.
“I’m fine, Grandma. Thank you for your concern.” Emma tried to pull away, but her grandmother had the grasp of a lobster.
Satisfied Emma wasn’t running a fever, Grandma Dorothea looked her top to bottom. She dropped her hold on Emma but leaned closer to see the bags under her eyes. “Darling, you really should find a better under-eye cream. I know you think you’ll be eternally youthful, but trust me when I say the clock is ticking.” She pointed to her broken watch.
Emma frowned. Mama reached to touch her chin and looked straight into her eyes. “Don’t you listen to that nonsense. You’re pretty as a peach, just as you always have been.”
“Nonsense?” Grandma Dorothea huffed. “Well, I declare. Have you ever heard such a thing? I’m simply trying to help the girl so she doesn’t look like a raccoon around her dreamboat. We don’t want to frighten Sawyer off now, do we?”
Dreamboat? Emma fought hard not to roll her eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. In my experience, he doesn’t frighten easily.” She pressed the waistline of her dress. “In fact, I rather wish he would leave me alone.”
Mama and Grandma Dorothea both watched her for a long moment. Then Mama raised a suspicious eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all.” She rummaged further into the closet. “Oh goodness me! Look at this treasure I nearly forgot.” Mama reached for the crystal candlestick holders and her favorite hand-dipped candles.
Emma smiled. She patted the bag at her hip, double-checking for her book of fairytales. “If y’all will excuse me, I’m going to get a strong cup of tea and will be back shortly. Mama, is it okay if I take your car?”
Mama set the candlesticks back where they belonged. “Of course. Keys are on the kitchen counter.”
“See you in a bit, sweet girl. Just remember, you’re always welcome to my own concealer if you ever want to give it a try.”
“Thank you, Grandma, but I think I’m all right.”
“Suit yourself, Raccoon Eyes. But let the record state I offered.” Grandma Dorothea wiped a smudge of dust from the candlestick holders.
Oh, she would remember all right.
Emma hurried down the stairs but stopped short in front of the door. Before heading to The Wistful Teacup, she needed to pour a bowl of cat food for Beastly. He’d devoured the canned food she got him yesterday and had nearly let her pet him.
She got the food then opened the screen door and set the bowl down next to the geranium planter. She tried calling to him but couldn’t figure out where he was hiding. Though she couldn’t see him, though, she heard the stray meowing loudly.
What would happen to the little guy when it came time for her to leave?
The bell above the door at The Wistful Teacup chimed as Emma stepped under the twinkle lights framing the entry. She stepped up to the c
ounter, and her skirt swooshed with the movement.
She took a deep breath, trying to put Grandma Dorothea’s words from her mind. Everything would be better with tea. Everything was always better with tea.
Sawyer’s mom darted back and forth behind the counter, dropping a stack of napkins over the floor in between hurried steps. She glanced up to see Emma and threw her hand to her chest. “Emma Jane, thank heavens! I’ve spilled a gallon of sweetened oolong all over the hardwood and have got to clean this place up before the brunch crowd hits. Could you read to my story time group over there?” She titled her head toward a group of preteen girls holding tiny teacups around two tables in the back of the shop.
Emma smiled. “You’re still holding story time here?” Warmth filled her heart as she thought of Mrs. Hammonds reading fairytales to her as a girl. They were some of her fondest memories.
“Yes, but I’m afraid today is a disaster. Would you be a dear and read to them?”
Emma bit down on her bottom lip. “I suppose I could do that.” She didn’t exactly have much experience leading a group of young women, but how hard could it be? “What should I read?”
Mrs. Hammonds grabbed another stack of napkins and scattered them all over the floor. “Did you bring Finding Ever After?”
Emma patted the satchel at her hip. “How did you know?”
Mrs. Hammonds smiled a long moment. “Because I know you, sweetheart.” She bent down to sop up the spilled tea. “Any story from the collection will do. I’ll make your usual tea as soon as possible.”
“Thanks.” Emma started toward the group of girls, but a strange rumbling of nerves overtook her. What was she getting herself into?
Before she could think her way out of it, Emma approached the group with a wave of her hand. “Hi, everyone. I’m Emma Jane, and I’m going to do the story today because Mrs. Hammonds is dealing with a big mess over there. I always used to attend these story times when I was your age, so it’s fun to be the one reading.” She reached inside her bag for the book and took an open seat at the front of the group.
Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas Page 26