Tiny House on the Hill

by Celia Bonaduce

  “I’d love to,” Summer said.

  “And you too,” Bale said to Keefe, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Here’s a ticket for the road show.”

  Summer felt she’d been slapped. When would she learn? She really needed to give up on fantasies.

  “I think you’ll get some ideas,” Bale said to Keefe.

  Ideas? What kind of ideas? Did Keefe confide to Bale he was planning on leaving?

  “Sounds good,” Keefe said. “We’d have to come in the evening after the bakery closes.”

  “No problem,” Bale said. “Floor is open till nine.”

  “Alright then,” Keefe said. He turned to Summer. “Bale was going to the campground for the night, but I figured he might as well park up at Flat Top Farm. We’ve got plenty of land.”

  “It’s no problem to head over to the campground,” Bale said.

  “I told him I couldn’t really invite him myself, since it’s not my property,” Keefe said, scowling at Summer’s perceived lack of hospitality. “But I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

  “No, of course it’s fine,” Summer said. “We’ve got plenty of room and I’m sure Queenie would love to see the bus.”

  Would she?

  Evie sashayed up to Bale.

  “That bus is just awesome,” she gushed.

  “Thanks,” Bale said. “I’m still road testing it, but it’s getting there.”

  “I’d be happy to help you road test it!” Evie giggled. “I could give you lots of feedback.”

  Summer rolled her eyes. Keefe might be a local boy, but Bale was a man of the world. Evie would have to up her game if she hoped to get his attention.

  “Hey,” Bale said, again reaching into his jacket and pulling out another ticket. “I was just telling these two that they should drive down for the show. You should come, too.”

  Or not.

  Chapter 21

  Keefe, Summer, and Bale caravanned to Flat Top Farm. Keefe, the most nimble on his Fatboy, led the way. He was followed by Summer in Big Red with Bale’s school bus bringing up the rear. People along the road waved to them as if they were their own parade.

  Summer chewed on her bottom lip. It occurred to her that perhaps she should have asked Queenie if Bale could park on the farm. It was, after all, her property.

  She shot a look in the rearview mirror. Bale had the window rolled down, his left arm casually propped on the window ledge. Queenie isn’t shy, Summer thought. She’ll just throw Bale out if she doesn’t like the looks of him. This thought did nothing to reassure her.

  The cavalcade pulled into the winding driveway. Keefe drove on to his apartment over the garage, but Summer pulled up in front of the Victorian. She didn’t think it fair to leave Bale on his own while she retreated to Flat Top Hill. Queenie came out on the porch immediately, pulling open Big Red’s door.

  “You have a visitor,” Queenie said.

  “I know,” Summer said. She shouldn’t have been surprised that news of Bale’s arrival had preceded her. It was a very small town. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if he could stay.”

  “He?” Queenie looked puzzled.

  Bale had walked up and extended his hand.

  “Hi there, you must be Queenie,” Bale said. “I’m Bale Barrett.”

  Summer released Shortie from the back of the cab as Queenie looked over her shoulder at the Shiny Olive.

  “You live in that thing?” Queenie asked.

  “Yes. It’s a long story,” Bale said, “but a tiny house.”

  “How many times have you used that line?” Queenie asked.

  Summer gasped.

  Bale laughed.

  “Now, about your visitor,” Queenie turned to Summer, ignoring Bale.

  “I…” Summer started, more confused than ever.

  Shortie started barking and ran toward the front of the house. A woman came out onto the porch, Shortie’s tail wagged furiously as he crab-walked toward her. Shortie seemed to know this visitor, but because the woman was in shadow, Summer couldn’t make out if it was someone she knew.

  “Hey, Shortie,” came a voice Summer knew instantly.

  “Lynnie?” Summer squeaked.

  Queenie arched one eyebrow.

  Summer was gobsmacked. How did Lynnie have the nerve to show up after stealing all Summer’s possessions?

  Well, okay, not stealing…

  “Admit it,” Lynnie commanded as she came off the porch, Shortie at her heels. “You can’t believe your eyes!”

  “I admit it,” Summer said, grateful for a polite way to phrase her feelings.

  “I was just telling your Grammaw,” Lynnie said.

  “Queenie,” Queenie said, adding in a stronger voice, “please.”

  “I was just telling Queenie,” Lynnie said, “that I took all the stuff you left at the apartment and put it on eBay!”

  Summer wasn’t sure what to make of this confession. Lynnie was beaming smugly, not acting contrite. Was Lynnie asking forgiveness or bragging?

  “What do you know about that?” Summer responded.

  “I thought to myself, I’m going to sell all this crap online and buy myself a plane ticket to Washington.” Lynnie looked at Queenie, who was glowering at her. “I thought you might need to see a friendly face.”

  It was quiet as everyone looked at each other. Lynnie broke the silence.

  “Surprise!” she said, but her voice lost its confidence.

  Summer realized Lynnie’s heart was in the right place, even though it was a very weird gesture.

  “I’m Bale Barrett,” Bale said, joining the conversation.

  He put out his hand to shake. Lynnie took it excitedly.

  “The man who builds the tiny houses?” Lynnie gasped, as if meeting a rock star. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you,” Bale said, smiling. “Coming to visit without an invitation.”

  Lynnie seemed to think this was funny, rather than an awkward truth. She slapped at him playfully. Bale turned to Queenie.

  “Summer was kind enough to offer my rig and me a place on the farm,” Bale said. “But it looks like your hands are full. I can head down to the campground…”

  “Don’t be silly,” Summer said, surprised that she found her voice. “We have plenty of room. Don’t we, Queenie?”

  Bale, Lynnie, and Summer all turned to the matriarch of Flat Top Farm. She stared back at them defiantly. While Queenie was a stickler for niceties such as table manners, etiquette often went right out the window if she felt she was being challenged. Summer held her breath.

  “Over five acres,” Queenie said. “I’m sure we can spare a patch of earth.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Bale said. “I keep a small footprint, I promise.”

  “Not with those monster bus tires,” Queenie said. “But you’re welcome to stay anyway.”

  Summer exhaled.

  “Is that the caboose?” Lynnie asked.

  Everyone’s attention turned toward Flat Top Hill. The sun was just setting. The tiny house perched on the plateau with the blazing orange sun behind it looked like something out of a postcard. Bale took out his phone and snapped a picture of it. Even though he’d designed it, Summer felt a swell of pride.

  “Let’s go look at it,” Lynnie said, pulling at Summer’s arm. “I can’t believe I’m finally here!”

  “Me either,” Summer said, looking sheepishly at Queenie.

  “I’m going back in the house,” Queenie said. “The real house. There’s not enough room up there for all of us anyway.”

  “You can leave the bus here for now, if you want to see the caboose,” Summer said to Bale.

  Bale shot a look at Queenie, as if for permission. Queenie nodded slightly. Summer saw Queenie trying to suppress a smile. Bale clearly was going t
o fall into line.

  Queenie certainly had a way with people. Not a winning way, but she definitely had her own style.

  Summer left Big Red in the driveway and ushered Bale, Lynnie, and Shortie up the hill. Lynnie was out of breath by the time they’d reached the caboose.

  “We must be pretty high in the mountains.” Lynnie gasped. “The air is so thin!”

  “We’re only about six hundred feet above sea level,” Summer said.

  “That’s 550 feet more than Hartford,” Lynnie said, leaning against the caboose and gasping.

  Summer studied Bale as she waited for Lynnie to catch her breath. He ran his hand along the side of the caboose in a way that made Summer almost agree with Lynnie; the air seemed very thin.

  “Okay.” Lynnie’s chirpy voice broke into Summer’s thoughts. “Let’s see what you’ve got here.”

  As Summer approached the front stairs, Shortie shot in front of her. He may not have learned how to navigate the circular staircase inside, but he was a champ at getting in and out of the tiny house. Summer opened the door.

  “Wow,” Lynnie said as she followed Summer inside, “it’s tiny.”

  “That’s why they’re called tiny houses,” Bale offered.

  “I know,” Lynnie said, looking around. “But still…”

  “The grand tour doesn’t take very long,” Summer said, without moving from her spot. She pointed out the kitchen area, the bathroom, opened the door to the walk-in closet and the staircase to the loft. “Feel free to take a look.”

  Lynnie went into the bathroom.

  “It feels strange giving someone a tour of this place,” Summer said to Bale as Lynnie looked around. “It seems as if you should be doing the honors.”

  “Not anymore,” Bale said. “I relinquish all claim to the tinies once they’re off the lot.”

  Summer was vaguely disappointed in this answer. She was hoping they would bond passionately over the caboose. She wondered if all the women who bought one of Bale’s Tiny Dreams felt that way.

  “That bathtub looks like one of those things horses drink out of,” Lynnie said as she squeezed by them on the way to the walk-in closet.

  “It is,” Bale and Summer said together.

  They grinned at each other.

  “That’s just gross,” Lynnie said. “Why would you ever want to take a bath in a bucket slimed by a horse?”

  “It’s called a trough,” Bale said. “And it’s new.”

  “Then what’s the point?” Lynnie asked absently as she disappeared into the closet.

  “You either get it or you don’t” Bale said to Summer.

  “This closet is amazing!” Lynnie’s voice came drifting out. “Can I go up the staircase?”

  Bale opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  He gestured for Summer to field the question.

  “Sure,” Summer said.

  “Sorry,” Bale said. “Old habits die hard.”

  Summer shrugged her shoulders and smiled. She was secretly thrilled he hadn’t relinquished ownership completely.

  “You’ve done a great job,” Bale said. “Usually it takes a while to find your stride. Most people pack too much stuff into the place and it becomes claustrophobic.”

  “I did my research,” Summer said with some bravado.

  She didn’t remind him she’d been on the road and hadn’t really settled in. Let him be impressed with her restraint.

  Shortie had curled up in the bottom kitchen cubby which he’d made his own. He’d figured out early how to stay out of the way. Summer could hear the sound of Lynnie winding her way down the circular staircase.

  “Pretty tight up there,” Lynnie said, rubbing her forehead. “I hit my head.”

  “You get over that,” Summer said.

  Summer’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She picked it up. There was a text from Queenie.

  “It’s from my grandmother,” Summer said. “I didn’t know she even knew how to text.”

  “I showed her this afternoon,” Lynnie said. “She’s a pretty fast learner for a senior.”

  “It’s a very long text! She says…” Summer said. She started reading out loud: “I spent ten minutes trying to text this there should be a comma here but oh well period dinner is ready, and I should invert both of you.”

  “I think she means invite,” Lynnie said, looking at the text over Summer’s shoulder. “I taught her how to use that little microphone thingy.”

  “It’s called voice recognition,” Summer said.

  It annoyed her when people didn’t have the proper respect for technology.

  “You can count me in!” Bale said. “Everybody in town said Queenie is the best baker in the Pacific Northwest.”

  Summer’s heart ached. She didn’t want Bale to get his hopes up, considering what was going on. She switched gears.

  “Lynnie,” Summer said. “I forgot you’re gluten free! I have no idea what—”

  “We covered that too,” Lynnie said, waving her hand dismissively. “She said she’d make a nice enchilada pie. Corn chips are my new best friend.”

  Summer texted back that they would be down in a few minutes. She kept the text short, so her grandmother didn’t have to reply. Why tempt fate?

  Shortie, with his keen sense of smell, was the first at the door. Summer led the two guests down the hill. Lynnie stumbled a few times and Bale took her arm. Summer tried not to be jealous. She was fairly sure Bale had no interest in Lynnie, who was probably old enough to be his mother, but she envied Lynnie’s easy coquettishness. This was not a skill one would pick up spending summers with Queenie.

  Andre met them at the porch.

  “There’s my big boy,” Lynnie said, giving the dog a resounding smack on both ribs.

  “This is Andre,” Summer said.

  “Oh, we’re old friends,” Lynnie said. “Aren’t we, Handsome? I just love big dogs.”

  “Me, too,” Bale said, giving the Great Dane’s head a tussle. “Hello, Andre. You are one fine looking dog!”

  Summer felt defensive. She scooped Shortie up and kissed him on his needle nose. Even through the eyes of love, Shortie could never be described as fine looking.

  Keefe was already in the kitchen, the table set and the wine decanted.

  “Smells awfully good in here,” Bale said. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “I think we’re all set,” Keefe said, while Queenie pulled the casserole out of the oven.

  “Beer?” Keefe asked Bale, as if these two newcomers came to dinner every night.

  “Sounds good,” Bale said.

  “Queenie says you can’t have beer,” Keefe said to Lynnie, as he handed Bale a beer and a glass stein. “We have cider or wine…”

  “Bless your heart,” Lynnie said. “Wine is just perfect.”

  “I’ll have wine as well,” Summer said, feeling suddenly shy having a hard cider with Bale in front of others.

  “Everybody sit,” Queenie ordered.

  If Queenie had lost her mojo at the bakery, she sure still had it going on in the kitchen of her own home. The enchilada pie was perfection. Queenie had also fried up fresh tortilla chips and served them with homemade salsa and guacamole. Conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine. Summer was happy to see Queenie enjoying herself.

  “I think Bale and I should clean up,” Lynnie said. “I mean, all of you have been working so hard.”

  “Good idea, Lynnie,” Bale said.

  “Oh, that’s alright,” Summer said. “I don’t mind. Bale and I can do it.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Keefe put down his fork. She couldn’t read his expression. Had she hurt his feelings? She only meant to give him a night off. She knew Queenie had taken in the subtleties and turned to her imploringly.

  “I never have my guests clea
n up,” Queenie said.

  Summer thought back. Was that even true?

  “Summer and I will do it,” Queenie continued. She stood up. “I wish I had some dessert, but I didn’t get around to it.”

  “That’s okay,” Lynnie sighed. “Being gluten-free, I don’t eat much dessert any more. There’s flour in almost everything.”

  “But not in chocolate meringue!” Summer said, popping up from the table. “I forgot, I have a bag of them in the truck!”

  Summer stood up and headed out to Big Red, Andre and Shortie at her heels. She came back with a large white bag. Queenie shot a withering glare as Summer almost put the bag on the table. She’d forgotten Queenie never allowed beer bottles, soda cans, milk cartons, or bags from the bakery to be plunked down on the table. Summer put the meringues on a plate and presented them with a flourish. As the plate made its way around the table, Summer took pride in the looks on everyone’s faces as they bit into them. Summer knew she’d done a great job. The victory was bittersweet as she thought how proud she would have made her grandfather. And of course, Queenie now wouldn’t touch anything from the bakery.

  Summer watched her grandmother take a meringue from the plate and take a bite.

  Chapter 22

  Summer tried not to stare at Queenie as her grandmother chewed thoughtfully on the chocolate meringue. Didn’t Keefe say her grandmother never ate anything from the bakery?

  “Did you make these?” Queenie asked Keefe.

  “Summer did,” Keefe said.

  Summer noticed that Keefe said it proudly, without a hint of competition.

  “Not bad,” Queenie said.

  Summer smiled. That was high praise from Queenie.

  “Not bad?” Lynnie sounded astonished. “These are to die for! How many gluten-free desserts do you have down there?”

  “Gluten-free?” Bale asked. “That’s without flour, right?”

  “Right,” Lynnie said. “There’s more to it than that, but that’s the big one. I’m still getting used to it. When Summer was in Hartford, she made me…”

  “We really don’t have much call for gluten-free stuff,” Summer said, cutting Lynnie off.

  God forbid Queenie should hear about the automatic bread maker.