“How’s that working for you?” Keefe asked.
“Well, the ducks are coming around again,” Queenie said.
“Now don’t you be so hard on yourself,” Lynnie said, going to the old-fashioned bread box and pulling out a loaf of crusty bread. “Check this out!”
Lynnie sliced the loaf and passed it around. Summer caught a glimpse of her grandmother’s anxious face, but knew Queenie could read insincerity a mile away. Summer took a bite.
The bread was delicious!
Lynnie clapped her hands.
“Club soda!” Lynnie said. “Your grandmother is so smart! You know how so many gluten-free breads taste like cardboard? Well, Queenie figured out club soda would add some lightness to the texture! She could take over the gluten-free world, I tell you!”
The rest of dinner went by effortlessly. Summer knew her grandmother was on her way to figuring out her life.
Now, if only Summer could do the same. Now that she knew what was going on with Queenie, it just made one more tough decision she had to make. Could she leave Flat Top and the bakery to pursue her felting and purse-making? Should she? She needed to talk to Keefe. She needed to talk to Bale.
“I’m going to bed,” Summer suddenly announced. “Okay if I take my old room?”
“It’s not your old room,” Queenie said. “It’s just your room.”
“I need to get back to the road show tomorrow,” Summer said to Keefe. “But I can come take the morning shift at the bakery.”
“Don’t bother,” Keefe said, testily. “I wouldn’t want to hold you back—again.”
Keefe stormed out, the women and dogs looking after him in surprise. Summer stood up, but Queenie put her hand on Summer’s arm.
“It’s been a long day.” Queenie sighed and shook her head. “Leave it till morning.” Since Summer wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to say to Keefe, she took her grandmother’s advice. She scooped up Shortie, much to the confusion of Andre, and climbed the stairs to her room.
A storm woke Summer during the night. She reached out and pulled Shortie close, remembering the well. She thought about Bale and Keefe, and how they were both so dedicated to rescuing Shortie. Summer had always lamented that there didn’t seem to be any good men left, and here she was, deciding between two. It occurred to her that neither had pledged any sort of undying love for her, but knowing where she stood herself would probably be a big help in sorting out her life.
Step one: talk to Keefe and put the past to bed. With that settled, Summer drifted back to sleep on a lullaby of raindrops.
Summer woke before dawn. The rain had stopped and she could just make out the taillights of Keefe’s motorcycle leaving the farm. She hurriedly dressed. She tiptoed down the hallway and stairs, grateful that Shortie’s nails made no sound on the carpet. She fed Shortie, drank a quick cup of coffee and lathered some jam on the gluten free bread, which was still wonderful in the morning! Summer almost make a second cup of coffee, but realized she was stalling.
Summer needed to get on with her life and she needed to start now. She and Shortie got in the truck. Heading out of the driveway, she looked up over to Flat Top Hill. It looked forlorn without the caboose in the predawn light. She put Big Red in drive and headed to town.
The light was on in the bakery. She tried the front door, it was open. She heard voices in the kitchen. A man and a woman. Evie was here! Since Shortie had no sense of keeping quiet, Summer picked him up and tiptoed closer to the door. She tried to listen, but couldn’t decipher what was being said.
It sounded as if Evie was crying.
Summer’s mind raced. Was it possible Keefe was breaking up with her? Summer’s stomach flipped. Did she really want that? If she and Bale decided to give romance a spin, would it be fair to ruin Keefe’s relationship? She chided herself. Evie could be crying for any number of reasons. Shortie suddenly started squirming. Summer put him on the ground. He shot through the kitchen door. She tried to grab him, but the kitchen door swung open. She caught a glimpse of Evie in Keefe’s arms.
That could still mean anything.
“Oh, sorry,” Summer said, as Keefe let go of Evie. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, Evie. I thought I’d…”
“Oh, don’t apologize,” Evie said.
There was no malice in her voice. Summer tried not to feel disappointed.
“I’m just a little overwhelmed,” Evie continued.
You and me both.
“Oh?” Summer said.
She wasn’t prodding. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“We’re having a baby,” Evie said, bursting into tears again and resumed crying into Keefe’s chest.
There was more, but Evie’s voice was muffled in Keefe’s bakery apron. Summer thought Evie said, “We’ve wanted this for so long,” but Summer wasn’t sure.
“Congratulations,” Summer said automatically.
Summer felt sick. She knew she couldn’t burst into tears, but she felt bereft. She chided herself for being so egotistical as to think Keefe might be considering returning to her when and if she decided the time was right. Maybe she’d read Bale wrong, too. Maybe no man but Shortie loved her.
“You’ll just have to excuse me,” Evie said, trying to collect herself.
“It’s okay,” Keefe said. “Perfectly understandable.”
Perfectly understandable? Wow, Mr. Romance.
“I just couldn’t wait to share the news,” Evie said, wiping her eyes. She turned to Summer. “I can’t stand the smell of the bakery in the morning right now, so I’m not going to be much help for a while.”
“That’s okay,” Keefe said. “We’ll…I’ll manage.”
“I better be getting home,” Evie said. “Sherman is starting to think I live over here.”
“Sherman?” Summer asked.
“Yes,” Evie said. “Sherman Caleb, my husband.”
“Sherman Caleb is your husband?” Summer asked. “Shy Sherman?”
“He’s not so shy anymore,” Evie said, patting her still flat stomach.
Was Evie leering?
“So, he’s the father of your baby?” Summer said, before she caught herself.
“Of course, he’s the father of my baby,” Evie said. “Who else?”
Summer wished she’d never come into the bakery. Keefe was looking at his shoes as it dawned on Evie what Summer was implying. Summer’s cheeked burned with embarrassment.
“Oh!” Evie said, looking at Summer. “You thought….”
Evie looked over at Keefe and started laughing uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry,” Evie gasped between bursts of laughter. She turned helplessly to Keefe. “I just…I mean, you’ve been like a brother to me for years. So…you know…ick.”
“It’s not you,” Evie said affectionately to Keefe. “It’s just the hormones laughing.”
Evie kissed Keefe on the cheek and laughed her way out of the store. Summer was mortified. Keefe stared after Evie.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Keefe said.
Summer smiled.
“Sorry,” Summer offered.
“It’s not even six in the morning and two women have already apologized to me,” Keefe said. “You here to help?”
“Do you want help?”
“I wouldn’t turn it down.”
Summer grabbed an apron and started to work. There was so much she wanted to say, but had no idea where to begin.
Keefe put a tray of breads in the oven. He slammed the door harder than advisable, which made Summer face him.
“Why did you come back?” he asked.
“I told you,” Summer said. “Queenie asked me.”
“Well, now the Queenie mystery is solved, are you staying?”
The hostility in his voice shook her to her core. It didn’t sound as if h
e was saying, “please stay,” as much as it sounded like, “please leave.”
“I don’t really know,” Summer said honestly. “There’s a lot to think about.”
“Well, think fast,” Keefe said. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting for you to decide if you’re going to be part of this operation or not.”
“I didn’t realize this was all about you,” Summer said. “I’m the one who packed up her whole life to move here, you know.”
“If I remember correctly,” Keefe said, “You stopped by here on your way to ….God knows where, to do God knows what.”
She couldn’t really argue with that. Even her so-called solid vision of making felted purses needed to be rethought, especially since Queenie obviously knew a lot more about the process than she did.
“Do you want me to stay?” Summer asked. She lost her nerve and quickly added, “To help around here, I mean.”
Keefe started whipping cream with a vehemence that did not bode well for the éclairs. Summer started rolling out dough for sugar cookies.
“In all seriousness, Summer,” Keefe said, sounding tired, “I can’t run this place by myself. If Queenie comes back, fine, but if she can’t deal with…what’s it called…”
“Airborne flour,” Summer said, parroting Lynnie.
“Yeah, that,” Keefe said. “If Queenie is out of the picture, I’ll have to hire somebody if you decide to flake out on me again.”
“Flake on you again?” Summer slammed the dough on the counter.
Clearly the quality of the baked goods was going to suffer this morning.
Shortie scooted under one of the baker’s racks as Summer and Keefe squared off.
“You just disappeared,” Keefe said.
“You didn’t seem to want me around,” Summer said.
“You know that’s not true.”
“You didn’t put up much of a fight to get me to stay.”
“I didn’t want you to stay because I fought you or pressured you,” Keefe said. “I still don’t. Life in a small town isn’t for everybody. I wasn’t sure if was best for you ten years ago, and I’m not sure now. That’s all on you.”
Summer felt she’d been slapped.
“I think I better get down to the road show,” Summer said. “Come on, Shortie.”
“Fine,” Keefe said.
Summer picked Shortie up and headed for the door. She turned to Keefe, not wanting to leave things in such turmoil.
“Will I see you later at the show?” she asked quietly.
“I gave my ticket to Evie, so she could take Sherman,” he said without looking up.
“Why did you do that?” Summer asked, astounded.
Keefe looked at her.
“I’ve lost my taste for tiny houses, I guess.”
Chapter 30
Summer stopped for tea twenty miles from the road show. She’d cried so hard she’d scared Shortie, not to mention her eyes were almost swollen shut. She ordered two cups of hot water and gratefully accepted the tea bags, which she dipped in the hot water and then placed on her tender eyelids. Shortie sat in her lap, his tiny paws on her shoulders. He licked her salty cheeks.
“It’s okay, Shortie,” Summer said. “Your mom is just a jerk.”
Her harsh assessment of herself made her start crying again. She took a few deep breaths. She should be grateful to Keefe, she thought. At least the handwriting was on the wall. She should concentrate on Bale.
Bale never criticized her!
Summer looked at herself in the rearview mirror. The tea bags had done a world of good. If she could keep herself from bursting into tears again, she might fool Bale into thinking everything was fine. She added two coats of mascara—waterproof, just in case—and a swipe of melon flavored lip gloss. She settled Shortie in his car seat and gave him a quick kiss, which she instantly regretted as several sticks of his fur stuck to her gummy lips. She laughed, grateful that life with Shortie always managed to put things in perspective.
Arriving at the road show, Summer drove to the gate and waved to Chester, who was zealously safeguarding his iPad. She pulled up alongside him.
“Hi Chester,” she said. “I was here yesterday? I brought the caboose?”
“I remember,” Chester said.
Summer put the truck in gear, but Chester tapped on the hood.
“Hold on there, Miss,” Chester said.
“Yes?”
“Where did you say you were going?”
“I thought you said you remembered me.”
“I did say that. And I do remember you. But rules is rules.”
“I’m here to see Bale Bar…I’m here to see Bale’s Tiny Dreams.”
Chester scrolled through his list.
“Here it is,” Chester said. “Okay, you’re clear.”
Summer nodded and once again threaded her way through the rows of miniatures. The parking lot was full of tiny houses now, all lined up and ready for the big opening. She could see the caboose, blazing red in the late morning sun. She drove past it, watching passersby stop and admire it. She parked Big Red, proud that the showstopper was hers. She didn’t see Bale as she and Shortie walked up to the caboose. She stopped and studied her home. Something seemed wrong, but she couldn’t place it.
“Hi there, little lady,” Bale said, startling her.
She dismissed her unease. It was great to see Bale, with his handsome, nonjudgmental smile.
“Hey,” she said. “Everything all set?”
“Yep,” Bale said. “Are you hungry? I just made some soup.”
Summer realized she was starving. She followed Bale toward the Shiny Olive. Bale scooped up Shortie at the front steps and brought him inside.
Would Keefe do that?
Don’t think about Keefe.
Summer chatted effortlessly as Bale ladled out the soup.
This is how adult relationships should be. Easy and not full of drama.
“This is the last meal I can cook in here until the show’s over,” Bale said. “So eat up! No more home cooking until we pack up and head home.”
Summer wondered where home would be for Shortie and her.
Bale handed her a steaming mug of soup. She sipped at it. It was comforting; just what she needed. She looked out the window and took in the caboose again. She lost track of what Bale was saying. The caboose seemed to be trying to tell her something.
“What do you think?” Bale’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” Summer said, embarrassed to be caught zoning out. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Bale didn’t look at her. He stood at the sink, looking out at the sea of tiny homes. “How are thing going in Cat’s Paw?”
“Complicated,” Summer answered truthfully.
“How complicated?” Bale asked.
He turned to her. Summer felt her eyes welling up again.
Please don’t ruin this moment, she commanded herself.
Stalling for time, she looked back at the caboose. Her breath caught as she realized what the caboose was trying to say.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” she heard the caboose say. “I belong on the hill. Your grandfather knew I was coming and he laid down that foundation just for us.”
You’re a house. I’m not listening to you.
Summer stood up and walked to Bale. She threw her arms around him and kissed him. Hard.
“I’m still out here,” the caboose said.
Don’t listen, Summer commanded herself. This is worse than listening to Shortie.
“You have unfinished business,” the caboose said. “It’s not fair to—”
She tried to focus on kissing Bale and drown out the caboose.
The caboose was cut short as Bale gently guided Summer away from him, his hands firmly on her
waist.
“The time isn’t right, is it?” Bale asked.
Was he hearing the caboose too? Or could he tell she just couldn’t commit to that kiss?
“I…I really like you, Bale,” she said.
“I like you, too,” Bale said. “But sometimes that’s not enough.”
“It should be!”
“The world is full of should-bes,” he said. “Here’s the thing about these tiny houses…there’s no room to hide from yourself. They make you face what’s real.”
“If I knew that, maybe I wouldn’t have bought one,” Summer said. “Sounds like the house is smarter than I am.”
“I don’t know what exactly it is you need to face, Summer,” Bale said, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. “But I’m guessing it has something to do with Cat’s Paw, and Queenie, and especially Keefe. You need to settle up.”
Bale smiled at Summer. He let go of her and strode to the window, looking out at the caboose.
“I picked that spot for you,” he said pointing to the caboose without turning around. “Because I had a hunch you might need to make a quick exit.”
He turned to face her.
“My hunch is right, isn’t it?”
Summer couldn’t speak. Her hair fell over her face like a curtain as she hung her head.
“It’s okay,” Bale said, coming back and pushing the hair out of her eyes. “I’ll probably make a boatload of money on my hunches here in the next couple days.”
“I could leave the caboose here until the end of the show,” Summer offered.
Bale shook his head.
“I think that would just make matters worse,” he said. “Come on, I’ll open the back gate so you came hook her to Big Red and get out of here.”
Bale’s expert hands had the caboose ready to go in minutes. Summer put Shortie in his car seat and Bale ruffled the dog’s head.
“You take good care of your mama,” Bale said.
Bale closed the door and put his hands on her shoulders. He bent down and looked into her eyes.
“I have another hunch,” he said.
“Yes?” Summer said, barely breathing.
“I think you’re going to figure everything out just fine.”
Tiny House on the Hill Page 21