Blue Hollow Falls

by Donna Kauffman

  They squirmed and laughed, and there might have been a few more pillow swats, but eventually she gave up, breathless, and lay limp in his arms. She flung an arm dramatically over her face and turned her head away. “You win. Have your wicked, wicked way with me.” She slid her arm up just enough to open one eye and look at him. “Really wicked.” Then closed it again, and assumed her much aggrieved, supplicant pose.

  If he hadn’t already figured out he was more than half in love with her, he knew it at that moment. They’d had a fair share of deep and serious conversations in the time they’d known each other, and he liked how her mind worked, how she saw the world. They’d also never gone more than a few minutes without shared laughter, even amidst the harder topics. It had been that combination that had drawn him in. Now they added a physical conversation to the mix, as intimate a conversation as two people could have, and at times, it had been just as deep and serious . . . at others, light and playful. And all of it had been as exactly right, as natural, as what had gone before. He didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose her.

  “Sawyer?”

  He realized he’d gathered her tightly against him. Too tightly, perhaps, as she pushed gently at the arm he’d banded around her waist.

  He turned her toward him instead, then tucked her into the shadow of his body as he drew his fingers down the side of her face, smiling as he wiped away a smudge of mascara that was now down below her cheekbone. “Next year, I’m thinking Indomitable Snowman for me. Raccoon for you.” He leaned in, kissed her mouth when it formed an indignant “O” before she could swat him again.

  He continued kissing her until the fist she’d pressed against his back relaxed, then slid gently around to cup the nape of his neck. They continued to kiss, unhurried, exploring, simply enjoying each other. In some ways, that felt more intimate than the way they’d been joined just minutes ago.

  He lifted his head, waited for her to open her eyes. Her lips curved when her gaze met his. The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue. It was only because some distant part of his brain was still tied to a shred of reality that he held them back.

  “Hi,” she said quietly, her voice slightly hoarse, from lovemaking, from laughing. Her expression grew more serious as she reached up to lightly trace his face with her fingertips. And everything she was feeling, the affection, the confusion, the lust, the sense of connection, was all laid bare for him to see.

  He understood exactly how she felt.

  His lips parted and he knew he’d lost any ability to not tell her, but before he could utter the words that would irrevocably change things—for better or for worse—his phone rang. It was loud and jangling, the ringtone he’d assigned to Seth.

  They both startled at the sudden barrage of sound and he instantly rolled to his back and reached down to the floor, groping for his phone, knowing the moment was shot to hell, and wondering if he should kill Seth, or kiss him. As signs went, at this point, whatever it was the universe was trying to tell him, he really wished it would just spit it the hell out already.

  He found the phone, clicked if off, but it buzzed right back to life again. Still Seth. He looked at the screen and saw there had been texts coming in while they’d been . . . otherwise engaged. The last one read “911.”

  Sawyer immediately sat straight up and answered it. “What’s wrong?”

  His grave tone had Sunny scrambling to sit up next to him, her expression full of concern.

  “Hello, friends and neighbors, this is your friendly early warning service,” Seth said, quite jovially.

  Hearing that, a large part of Sawyer immediately relaxed. Thank God. Nothing had happened to anyone or anything he cared about. The remaining part of him scowled at the unwanted intrusion and thought not yet anyway. “Warning about what?”

  “A contingent of well-meaning folk should be arriving with snowplows any—”

  “Shit.” Even as Seth spoke, Sawyer heard the sounds of heavy engines and loud scraping noises coming from a short distance away.

  “I know this because they’ve already been here to dig me out. I couldn’t think of a prudent way to ask them to leave you and your lovely houseguest snowbound. I’m sure they think she’s up at Addie’s, given how you all lit out of the party at the same time last night.”

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “I tried to be discreet and text. But when those went unanswered, I went with phoneus-interruptus. Sorry if I interrupted anything,” he said with a chuckle. “But better me interrupting than—”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “Anytime. Please extend my hearty morning hellos to—”

  Sawyer hung up on his friend’s overly amused self, then looked at Sunny, whose attention had already shifted to the window and the noise that was drawing ever closer. Not exactly the way he’d hoped this interlude would end. “Seth says hi. We need to get dressed.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Do you know the only thing more mortifying than dressing up in a Bo Peep costume?” Sunny asked as she and Stevie continued carefully packing a selection of rare and endangered orchids for transport to the conservatory. “Wearing a Bo Peep costume while doing the walk of shame. In front of half the town.”

  To her credit, Stevie gave her a consoling look . . . before bursting out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, unable to stop. “But the visual alone . . .” She waved a gloved hand in front of her, and covered her mouth with the other, but the spluttering laughter didn’t stop.

  Sunny couldn’t blame her, and ended up having to squelch a snicker or two herself.

  “So, then what happened?” she asked. “How did the two of you leave things?”

  Sunny had told Stevie about the party, about Bailey’s reaction to the lamb, which Stevie had known about beforehand, and about ending the evening with a drive up to Sawyer’s partially renovated cabin. She hadn’t gone into any great detail about the night itself, other than to say that it had been quite possibly the best night of her entire life, had left her even more conflicted about what she should do, but that she had absolutely no regrets. Every part of which was true.

  “He drove me down to the mill, to my car. They hadn’t gotten quite as much snow there as we did up at the cabin, but there was still a good five or six inches. It’s funny, but up there where they are used to that kind of snowfall, it was like no big deal.”

  Stevie nodded. “Here we got little more than a dusting and it’s a total media freak out.” She smiled, then sighed. “I bet it was pretty.”

  “Utterly breathtaking,” Sunny said with a sigh, wishing she’d thought to take a photo on her phone to share with her friend. And maybe to have for herself as well. A keepsake. Just in case. “He really does have a beautiful spot in the world. When we were driving out, I was thinking that waking up to that every morning, all year round, has to help him put all the ugliness of war into at least a little perspective.”

  “Probably why he bought it,” Stevie said, carefully wrapping batting around the next planter.

  Sunny nodded as she took the Dragon’s Mouth orchid from Stevie and cautiously stowed it in the large travel container.

  “So, what now? What next?”

  Sunny wiped the bare wrist above her gloved hand across her forehead. Nerves regarding the upcoming presentation, along with the humid conditions in the greenhouse were causing beads of perspiration to pop up. At least that was the convenient excuse. “I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “He’d mentioned earlier that he’d be willing to come here to help me transport the other two lambs Addie said she was going to get. He wants to see the town house, see where I live.” She lifted a shoulder, smiled weakly. “So, I guess we’re starting a long-distance relationship.”

  “You don’t look overly enthusiastic about that. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Sunny stopped what she was doing, and looked at her best friend. “I honestly don’t know. Sawyer belongs in Blue Hollow Falls. His
life is there. Not just his work. That’s the smaller part of it, actually. It’s so much bigger than that. He belongs there, it’s where he should be, and where he needs to be. For so many reasons. I mean, even looking at it as objectively as I can, big picture, once Addie’s gone and Bailey has grown up, who knows . . . maybe he’d want something else for himself. But for the long-term foreseeable future, he’s exactly where he should be. I would never want him to change that.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “So, that means I end up in a long-distance relationship. I don’t want that, but I also don’t want to stop seeing him.” She looked at her friend. “So, what choice do I have?”

  Stevie smiled and shook her head as she went back to work.

  “What?” Sunny asked, seeing that Stevie clearly had a definite opinion on the matter, given the look on her face.

  Stevie glanced up, but didn’t stop what she was doing. They had to get the orchids transported by noon so they could do all the unpacking at the conservatory before the end of the day. “We all have choices,” was what she said, kindly, but pointedly all the same.

  “So, what, I give up everything and move to the mountains to be with him . . . and do what?” She lifted her hands. “My work is here. And I know it’s ‘just a job,’” she said, making air quotes, “but it’s not just a job to me. It’s work that I love and am passionate about. I also happen to think it’s important work. Collectively, we’re helping to preserve and promote the ongoing survival of the better part of two hundred species of orchids. I’m just now starting to make headway with my work on germination, . . . aaand I’m preaching to the choir,” she said, trailing off as Stevie simply smiled and nodded. Sunny let out a heavy sigh. “I care about what I do and I want to do it here, but even if I was willing to change employers, Blue Hollow Falls is not commuting distance to anything having to do with my work, my studies. Heck, I’d just as soon commute to here and back, but then I wouldn’t have any time left to spend with Sawyer.”

  “So, you have thought about it,” Stevie said, sounding satisfied. “That’s good.”

  “No, good would be finding a solution that would let me have my cake and eat it, too.”

  Stevie handed her the Showy Lady’s Slipper she’d finished wrapping up and smiled. “Well, then, I’d say that right there is your starting point.”

  * * *

  “Thanks, Hattie,” Sawyer said when the older woman slid his platter of lost bread and eggs over easy in front of him.

  Henrietta Beauchamp was a tall woman, with an ample bosom and a posterior to match. Advanced age had not seemed to affect her posture or her belief that women simply weren’t seen in public “without their face on.” Her pale, wrinkled cheeks always sported a faint sheen of translucent powder, with a hint of blush—she called it rouge—adding a bit of color to her high cheekbones. The lipstick of choice was always some shade of red, and even the most talented artist would say that her penciled-on eyebrows were a work of art. He had no idea what her natural hair looked like or even if she had any at this point, but the wig she favored most often was Lucille Ball red in color and style, including the starched little scarf tied around the middle.

  Despite the fact that she owned the place, she wore a traditional waitress uniform, the style dated sometime back in the fifties. The color of the shift style dress changed, but there was always a white apron tied over it, the kind with a pocket on the front to hold her ever-present order book. A book he’d never once seen her actually use while taking an order, along with the pencil that was perennially tucked behind her ear. There was a matching white kerchief, starched and folded into neat little points, tucked into the bosom pocket. She wore thick hose and thicker soled nurse’s shoes, also circa 1950, and a no-nonsense, wind-up Timex watch strapped around her age-spotted wrist that was probably as old as she was.

  She refilled his coffee, and nodded to the heavy white plate stacked high with the freshly toasted, golden brown, Cajun version of French bread. “Need more syrup to go with that, cher?” she asked, setting a little porcelain pitcher full of maple syrup next to the plate.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, opening up the linen napkin and spreading it on his lap. Miss Hattie believed in dining room manners, and he’d long since learned that if he didn’t know the proper use of table linen, she’d be happy to give him a demonstration. “I believe this will do the job just fine, thank you.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, clearly disagreeing.

  He looked up and saw pity in her dark brown eyes. “I’m good,” he assured her.

  “Far be it from me to offer advice where it’s not appreciated,” she said, which indicated she was about to do that very thing. “But all the maple syrup in the world isn’t going to replace the kind of sugar you’re missin’.”

  Good thing he hadn’t taken a bite yet, or he’d have surely choked on it. “I—appreciate that,” he finally managed. “But I’m fine.” He smiled. “Truly.”

  She made a little noise that let him know what she thought about that, and moved on to fill the coffee mugs of her other regular morning patrons.

  Sawyer had no more breathed a sigh of relief and taken the first bite of perfectly cooked egg, when Bailey slid in to the booth seat across from him, looking quite serious. He couldn’t hide his surprise, but he swallowed the bite, smoothed his expression, then casually said, “Shouldn’t you be in school right about now?”

  “School is boring,” she said, then folded her arms on the table, continuing to stare at him with serious regard.

  “And yet,” he said, taking a sip of coffee, trying to figure out the best way to handle this, “they kind of get a little upset when students just up and head out.”

  “Did you ever play hooky?”

  He’d just started to wipe his mouth with a napkin, and tried to cover the sudden cough with a clearing of his throat. “Well, I don’t know that that has anything to do with—”

  “I had to talk to you,” she said, her blue eyes radiating urgency. “I’m ahead in all my schoolwork and we were just having some dumb assembly today. I’m not missing anything important. I swear.”

  “How did you even get back up here from the valley?”

  “Seth came and got me.” She put her hand to her forehead, clearly playacting, yet remaining soberly serious. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Right.” Sawyer glanced out through the window and saw a smiling Seth leaning against the side of his Range Rover. He lifted his hand in a short wave.

  Sawyer did not wave back, but looked back at Bailey. “You should probably tell me what’s going on.” He put his knife and fork down carefully on the edge of his plate. “Now.”

  Bailey sat up straighter at that, and her calm demeanor flickered briefly. She glanced out the window at Seth, then back to Sawyer. “We have to show you something.”

  “We? And it couldn’t wait until after school?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re going to screw this up.”

  He frowned. “Screw what up?”

  She lifted her hands from the table, then let them fall to her lap. “Everything.” She’d said it with the kind of heartfelt emotion only a ten-year-old-going-on-thirty could muster.

  Given Seth was standing outside and therefore also involved in whatever this little drama was about, and Sawyer knew Seth wouldn’t have encouraged Bailey to do something irresponsible that would get her into trouble, he opted to sit there calmly and listen to what Bailey had to say. “Can you be more specific?”

  He assumed this must have something to do with the lamb, maybe the snow, though who the hell knew what that could be, exactly. He also knew from her past history that Bailey was far more a rule follower than a rule breaker, so this was definitely out of character. Still, despite her wise-beyond-her-years, solemn exterior, she was still just a little kid, and as such, potentially given to overexaggerated worry.

  “It would be better if we just show you.” She looked at his plate of food, then at him, a
s if asking him to decide which was more important.

  He sighed, and considered whether he should ask for a to-go box. He hated to waste food. Hattie was a step ahead of him, though, and arrived with a carryout container for the French toast and a small plastic container for the syrup. “Here you go.” She slapped his tab on the table and gave Bailey a look.

  To her credit, Bailey smiled angelically as if she did that all the time. “Hi, Hattie,” she said with a little wave.

  Hattie just nodded. “All kinds of trouble when that one comes of age,” she told Sawyer under her breath. “Mark my words, cher.” Then she strode off.

  Bailey had already poured the syrup in the clear plastic container and snapped on the lid, then busied herself with transferring the toast to the other container while Sawyer got out his wallet and pulled a few bills out to cover his tab. She added a few foil-wrapped packets of butter, then tossed in a few jelly packets.

  She looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “You don’t want to save the rest of the egg, do you?”

  He’d broken the yoke with his single bite of the delicious, brown sugar–laden breakfast he rarely allowed himself to have. He refused to admit that Hattie might have had a point about why he’d chosen that particular morning to indulge. He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He slid out of the booth. “Come on. You can show me what needs showing, then Seth can take you back down to school by the lunch bell.”

  She made a face at that, but one look at him had her grabbing the to-go box and sliding out of the booth without another word. He didn’t know if it was her attempt to hedge her bets, or just the urgency she clearly felt, but she took his hand and all but dragged him along in her wake.

  He remembered the first time she’d reached for his hand, and knew that whatever this was about, he was likely going to give in on it. She had that effect on him. Looks like you’re a sucker for all the pretty faces in your life.

  He probably shouldn’t have smiled at that thought, but he did. His night with Sunny might not have ended as he’d hoped, but he’d come to the decision that it was a good thing he hadn’t blurted out anything that morning. She’d headed on back to the city yesterday morning after they’d been plowed out and had texted him later that she’d arrived home safely. Fortunately, D.C. hadn’t been as affected by the surprise storm. He’d texted back that he was looking forward to his trip to see her, and she’d responded that she was, too.