The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  Florence hadn’t been aware of Jo following her, but when she stopped still in front of the curtains, she heard him say, ‘Are you ready?’ She looked over to him, a slight crinkle in her brow. This place was not for her, it was for George. Why was Jo asking her? She looked around nervously in search of her nanna and Jo’s grandad and spotted them walking towards her. Jo nodded at his grandad like they were both in on some sort of big secret.

  When Jo pulled on the long gold rope at the side of the curtains, they parted to expose a stage. An honest to goodness beautifully built and structured stage, with steps either side leading up to it and a glorious backdrop. Margot’s hands shot to her mouth. George smiled so bright his ears blushed and Florence could once again feel the tears brimming on her lash line. It was as if Jo had pulled her castle in the sky down to earth.

  ‘Jo, why?’ Florence stammered. ‘Why did you turn the barn into this?’ she asked, tracing a hand over the edge of the stage.

  ‘When I saw you that day looking up at it, there was so much passion, enthusiasm and delight in your eyes, and I knew you saw it for what it was meant to be. When I asked you how you envisioned it, you spoke in colours and other worlds. When we simply gave it a fresh coat of paint it didn’t feel right; you saw so much more than that. You saw it as a flying saucer, a pirate ship, a portal to kids and adults’ imaginations. You gave it many new lives, not just one,’ Jo expressed.

  ‘I love it fiercely,’ Florence noted, her hands shaking with excitement at what she was looking at, though she had no idea what it meant.

  Jo smiled shyly at Florence, that one bouncy lock falling over his eye. Then he took a stride over to his grandad, looked back at Florence and announced, ‘Someone had the rather brilliant idea of Camp Calla Lily being used for book trails, fairs and writing retreats. All such fabulous ideas, but what do you suppose Grandad to summer camps, acting workshops for kids, and filling this place with energy, making it warm and welcoming again?’ Jo asked, taking his grandad’s hands in his.

  ‘Well, I think that sounds like a marvellous plan. I could not be prouder,’ George said, shaking his grandson’s hand vigorously and giving Florence a mischievous smile. Jo beamed, his whole face lighting up with a smile. Cheers from the crowd as they listened to the news of what the barn and Camp Calla Lily would be offering broke into Florence’s thoughts. She too had taken in what Jo had just asked his grandad, but the words were getting jumbled in her brain and she was unable to make sense of them. Summer camps and acting workshops for kids would mean a lot of work and more staff. Suddenly Jo was in front of her, bending slightly to look into her eyes, that one curl forever astray.

  ‘The thing about the workshops is that I would need a teacher, someone who loves theatre, who has experience and might be interested in diving back into her passion and taking the lead with something like this,’ Jo said, his charming side smile perfectly in place but his hazel eyes showing a hint of nerves awaiting Florence’s response.

  Florence looked at the stage then back at Jo. Her brain was quickly trying to compute what he had just suggested. Which, if she was not mistaken, was that she come and teach here at Camp Calla Lily and oversee this project.

  The flutters in her belly made her feel as though she might take off at any moment. They were the happy excited wings that her nanna had been talking about earlier that morning.

  ‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Yes,’ she cried again, flinging her arms around Jo. The words were out of her mouth before she had even had a single second to overthink or let her anxiety wash over her. Another round of applause made Florence aware of the others in the room. She released Jo and went to wrap her arms around Margot and George while Jo went to address the crowd.

  ‘As you may have just heard, Camp Calla Lily are looking to host workshops and summer camps in the coming months, so we do hope you keep your eyes peeled for the latest news and that you will tell your family and friends and come along and see us in due time,’ he told the room. ‘I sincerely hope that you like the newly renovated barn and what it will soon be offering and once you’ve had a good look, if I can recommend making your way back to the main cottage, it will be time to get the evening’s campfire underway. Thank you all again for being with us today,’ Jo finished and was treated to a third round of applause and lots of congratulatory handshakes, as was Florence.

  As the crowd mingled a while longer, Florence floated around the barn. She had bumped into Bronte and Ella who squashed her in a giant bear hug, in lieu of actual words, before heading away to see to the tepees, but she mostly kept to herself, for with every step around the barn Florence took, she felt dizzy with joy. Every corner of the place her eyes landed on made them sparkle brighter and bolder than ever before and she wanted to soak it all in.

  When the crowd had dispersed a little time later, Florence could sense Jo was watching her. Ever since Bronte had encouraged her to listen to her heart, Florence recognised that it got very loud when thinking of Jo and louder still when she was near him. Right now, it was pounding in her chest and she knew it was her moment to speak up and let her heart do the talking.

  ‘Jo,’ she said, moving away from the window and making her way over to the stage. The stage – my gosh it was absolutely stunning – but she could not let herself get distracted. It wasn’t too difficult to pull her focus back to the to the man she had very much fallen in love with. Jo was leaning against the woodwork in a white tee and navy waistcoat, which he had changed into quickly after the book trail and he looked dashingly handsome.

  ‘Yes,’ Jo replied meeting her gaze with a smile.

  ‘This place is all my wildest imaginations come to life,’ Florence told him, excitement in her tone as she stopped in front of him.

  ‘Just because it’s in our heads, doesn’t mean that it can’t be real,’ Jo stated, making Florence’s heart pound harder still, as she knew that was one of the reasons why she had fallen so quickly for this man. She smiled dreamily, taking in his gorgeous features, but before she could say any more Jo sprung forward, took her hand and galloped to the staircase at the front of the barn on the right-hand side.

  ‘I have to show you something,’ he said, delight clear in his voice. Florence giggled, as she tried to keep up with his large strides.

  ‘How many more surprises can one girl take in a day, Jo Hadlee?’ Florence asked with a laugh. Jo stopped on the foot of the staircase with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  ‘Just one more,’ he said and went to turn around, before stopping and turning to face her again, ‘for now.’

  Twenty-Eight

  At the top of the staircase was where Florence decided that she should expect to be blown away by Jo each and every day of their relationship, be that a friendship or a romantic relationship. If she hadn’t ruined her chances on the latter. She swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat with that thought and instead focused on what Jo was showing her and being present in the moment that she could tell he had been eager to share with her. It seemed that there was no end to Jo’s creativity and his ability to bring visions to life, for she was now standing in the roof of the barn, which Jo had turned into somewhat of a replica of the annex in Little Women. There sat a table by the window, handcrafted and old-fashioned like the one she had envisioned all her life, every time her nanna had read her the story and each time she had read it herself. There was a large chest over by one wall and a comfy-looking armchair by the other. Candlesticks stood on a small coffee table and there were the new additions, not described in the book, but more for Jo’s personal needs, of a bed and a bookshelf. In the far corner there remained a boarded-up room and a little scaffolding still.

  ‘This might be the part that’s a little selfish. I wanted a place where I could write,’ Jo confessed while Florence stood there with her mouth open wide like a goldfish. ‘And with not planning to go back to London, I wanted somewhere I could stay that didn’t involve me getting in the way of business and staying in one of the huts,’ Jo noted. He w
as rambling a little, which only endeared him more to Florence. It made her feel not so alone in her nerves. She wasn’t meaning not to talk and let Jo’s nerves stir in his stomach, but it was all a lot to take in: the barn, the annex, Jo staying at the camp, being closer to her.

  Finally, she spoke up, taking her eyes off the quaint desk and resting them on Jo. ‘I don’t consider it selfish at all. I think it’s absolutely magnificent and sophisticated. Oh Jo, you could write scripts for the plays. We can do productions for the children and invite the village. And you’re moving here? What about London? What about being an architect?’ Florence was aware that her words had started to pick up speed and she was asking an abundance of questions but there was so much she had wanted to tell Jo over the last five weeks, and it felt like now it was all coming tumbling out in this place where she felt truly inspired. ‘I’ll have to leave and go to college, but I promise I will work hard and do all I can with the workshops, fairs and camps and help you with whatever you need,’ she added and when Florence paused for breath, she noticed Jo was smiling at her, that huge boyish grin that clearly said that he was pleased that she liked what he’d done with the place.

  ‘Yes, to all of the above,’ Jo said with a laugh. Then he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I can still be an architect, but I want to be here for my grandad. I wish to spend more time writing and creating and you made me see that this is the perfect place for that,’ he explained. Then he clapped his hands together. ‘You’re going to college?’ he asked, eyebrows raising behind his curls.

  Florence walked over to the desk, moving her hand over the carefully carved woodwork. ‘Yes,’ she said with a confident nod. ‘I start in September; I’m going to get my degree in teaching drama,’ she told him and in one stride, Jo was right beside her, picking her up and twirling her around.

  ‘That’s amazing news, Florence. I’m so proud of you,’ he said and Florence felt it. She felt that he more than most understood how huge this was for her and she embraced that feeling of being understood. As he twirled her around, she threw her head back and let laughter barrel out of her. When her feet were returned to the floor, she knew it was time.

  Her parents were gone and the one man she had opened her heart to had broken it, but that was all in the past; right now she had to address it and admit her deepest fear.

  ‘Jo, you can’t promise happily ever after or forever,’ she said and though she had wanted to be confident in this moment, it came out a whisper, her eyes drooping down to the floorboards.

  Jo immediately flicked to the same page and after a moment’s thought he said, ‘Florence, no, I can’t promise you forever, but I am promising you today. Today is all I can give you. I want to make all of our todays count. If one day we wake up and our todays have added up to forever, then I will consider myself to be an incredibly lucky man.’

  Florence thought over Jo’s words – there was a reason he was a writer; they were more beautiful than any book she had ever read and any dream she had ever had. She lifted her head to look at him. His piercing hazel eyes saw her, and she realised that in Jo seeing all of her, that in his eyes she saw herself too. The her that she wished to be and somewhere deep down knew she could be. With that thought she stepped forward closing the gap between them. Feeling braver than she had ever felt in her entire life, she reached up and caught a curl between her fingers. ‘Is this the part where I am supposed to swoon?’ she asked Jo playfully, the happy wings fluttering wildly now in her belly.

  ‘If you could, maybe just a little so my ego doesn’t bruise too much,’ Jo said, with a sweet side smirk as he looked down at her, his hazel eyes not straying from her deep blue ones.

  ‘I have fallen in love with countless fictional leading men. I have daydreamed about my Prince Charming, always feeling that he was safer kept in my head because when I did give it a shot it didn’t work out quite so well. Then you came along and make-believe didn’t feel so make-believe anymore and my daydreams don’t feel so out of reach, but I’m scared, Jo,’ Florence said softly, not taking her eyes away from his this time.

  ‘Love is a scary thing, Florence,’ he said before pulling out the battered book that he had been reading that first day she had met him when he had sat under the magnolia tree by her hut. Automatically Florence reached out and started to gently smooth out the creases and crinkled edges wondering where Jo had put the bookmark she had bought him.

  ‘Each curved edge is a page that has spoken to my heart. Each wrinkle is from where it has been hugged tight to my body, always on my person. Each crease brings with it a memory from a moment spent diving into the pages. Love can cause a few bumps and bruises, but it’s what life is all about. I realise this now. Passion and love for anything is what makes us feel alive,’ Jo explained and Florence found herself wondering how she could ever have run from this man, for his eyes made her feel like she had found her home.

  ‘You dream in what ifs, you see the world in what ifs, well, what if this: if you and me could be something more than just a friendship? What if it could be part of our fairy tale?’ Jo added, placing the book on the small desk, and gently moving a finger over Florence’s cheek. At his touch Florence’s heart threatened to escape its cage, the wall around it well and truly shattered into tiny little pieces. She still felt fear but knew that sometimes you had to leap forward and take a chance on the things that you fear the most. A smile danced at her lips as she stood on her tiptoes.

  ‘Jo,’ she whispered, her lips an inch away from his.

  ‘Yes,’ Jo replied, the word coming out in a low grunt.

  ‘What if I kiss you right now?’ she asked, her voice coming out wistfully. She wobbled a touch on her tiptoes and so Jo leant down so she could return her heels to the floor and steady herself.

  He moved one hand over her collarbone, the other cupping her cheek and said, ‘I might just kiss you back.’

  Both recipients were smiling broadly when their lips met for the first time. Florence had read every classic romance and had melted over the very first kiss between high school crushes, newlyweds, strangers, best friends, enemies, and long-lost lovers, but her kiss with Jo had to be her favourite – for what she had with Jo was very real; it was happening to her right at this very moment. If one thing could be said of the books she cared for so dearly was that Jo’s soft lips and the passion in the way he kissed her sweetly yet taking his time, was as magical as the books say they were meant to be. This was her storybook kiss. She held on to Jo’s waistcoat with one hand to keep him close, the other was tangled in his hair. She loved his hair and though it had been fun to ruffle it in jest during their friendly back and forth, it felt special to touch it with such desire cursing through her veins.

  When Jo went to pull away from Florence for breath, Florence flicked open her eyes and when she saw him, his hair a touch wayward from where she had just ruffled it, his lips plump and eyes so vivid and filled with love and lust, she pulled him back into her tentatively, eyes wide and looking into his. When Jo leant down again, not taking his eyes off her, she kissed him again. Florence could feel Jo’s heart beating erratically. ‘You are the chapters I never want to stop writing, the book I never want to stop reading,’ he whispered against her lips, barely breaking their kiss.

  Seconds, minutes, hours, Florence could not be sure, had passed by the time they broke the second kiss and when Jo opened his eyes Florence gave him a thoughtful look.

  He dropped a gentle barely there kiss on her lips, just because he could, and smiled before taking her hand and pulling her towards the staircase. ‘Ma lady, we must go. I cannot have you miss the campfire,’ he added picking up speed, jubilation etched on his handsome face. Florence skipped after him, holding his hand tight and feeling every bit a child about to embark on a great adventure.

  Hand in hand they reached the campfire. Together they mingled with guests, dined on toasted marshmallows, and told ghost stories to the children, before Jo pardoned himself with his grandad and went to check in tho
se guests who were able to stay over. It was the first time in an awfully long time that Camp Calla Lily was fully booked, and the relief, pride and delight was evident on George’s face.

  ‘As a nanna I will always hope and wish that the look you have on your face right now never goes far. Being old and wise,’ Margot said, pausing to give a playfully pointed stare at her own mention of old as she took a seat next to Florence before continuing, ‘I know the world has its way of holding that smile captive sometimes and taking it from us in the cruellest of ways, but may you always have the strength to go and find it again. Promise me you will never stop dreaming or seeing the world as you wish to see it and know it can be.’

  Florence rested her head on her nanna’s shoulder as the last embers in the firepit fizzled and went out, only the moon and the lanterns keeping the area aglow with their light now. ‘I promise,’ she replied. Margot turned and kissed her precious granddaughter on the top of her head, and they stayed peacefully side by side until George’s voice interrupted the low crackle of the burning wood.

  ‘Margot, shall I walk you to your room?’ When Florence looked up, she saw both grandad and grandson standing tall, hands behind their backs, watching both women with admiring glances. She stood up to help her nanna and hug her goodnight.

  ‘Please, George. Lord knows it has been a minute since I was up this late,’ Margot announced with a laugh, stepping back from Florence’s hug. She gave her a warm smile. ‘Goodnight, treasure,’ she said before walking off arm in arm with George.

  Florence and Jo watched their grandparents leave, their eyes then coming to rest on each other’s. There was a magical charge in the air between them now. An electricity that seemed to represent their freedom to let themselves be together, but there was still an element of shyness, for they were both hopeless romantics and new to this romantic abandon.