“I was trying to get the nerve up. Believe me. This was the excuse I needed.”
“Save it, Wyatt.” She clears her throat and takes a swig of water before setting her bottle back in the fridge. “Thanks for coming over today to help. I’ll make sure and pay you for your time.”
My brows narrow. “I don’t want to be paid for my time. I’m happy to help whenever you need me.”
“Yeah.” She nods and smiles sweetly, almost like she’s been broken before, almost like she is afraid to trust that I won’t hurt her the same way, and I want nothing more than to fix her.
Chapter Three
Josie
Cleaning takes the rest of the afternoon, which means an entire day with no money coming in, which doesn’t spell well for the shop as a whole. My goal was to stop renting at the end of the month and take out a mortgage, but it’s not looking good for the home team. I need to sell about four thousand more donuts and sixty-seven more cakes if I want that to happen. Maybe a fairy godmother will drop from the sky and grant me some wishes. If so, I’d wish for a do-over with my conversation with Wyatt earlier. I was too hard on him. He came here on his day off, he got the raccoons out of my shop, and I paid him with a snarky attitude and subsequently ignored him as he patched up the hole in the roof.
Maybe it shouldn’t drive me so crazy that he took so long to circle back to me. His reasoning seemed legitimate. We’re a world apart in age and our personalities are completely different. He’s measured with every decision he makes and I’m freewheeling. Besides that, he’s genuinely interested in me and really down to Earth… is what I tell myself, though I know it’s the muscles and the ink that’s buying him a second look.
Why am I so simple?
I should call him, apologize, and offer to take him to dinner as a thank you for his help. Then again, maybe I dodged a bullet. I don’t want to be thirty-five waiting for a guy to decide that he wants to get married or have kids. I need someone who knows they want those things now. Wyatt is most definitely the type that would overthink all of that.
Sighing, I go back to work on the one and only project I had time for today after cleaning—Raven’s birthday cake. I only have one more row of piping to do when the alarm on my phone alerts, telling me it’s time to head out to meet Cami at Ms. Beaux’s. I’d forgotten about the plans I’d made with her with all the drama today, so I’m glad I set an alert on my cell.
When the last row of horses is piped, I pop the cake in the fridge and lock up the shop, remembering to set the alarms before I head out the back door and toward my camper van that’s parked in the back lot. Maybe the racoon infestation is my sign to give up on my bake shop dreams and head out on the open road again. At times, I miss the open highway and the sense of adventure that comes along with not knowing where you’ll end up by sunset. Then again, by the time I hit California, I miss Rugged Mountain so desperately that I feel sick until I’m home again. There’s something about this mountain that’s become a part of me.
Even after traveling all over the country, I still choose this mountain road as my favorite on Earth. It winds and turns past tall cedar and pine, with dramatic sweeping mountain vistas on each side. It’s stunning this time of night as the sun dips lower in the evening sky. In late summer, the white caps are returning to the mountain top and it’s not uncommon to come across a family of bears and elk grazing side by side in the meadows.
When I was young, I imagined having picnics by the lake with my family and fishing down by the river with some boy I’d fallen deeply in love with. I’d fantasize about him holding me close while we sat on the river’s edge and listened to some country song on low. He’d look at me and say something romantic and I’d gaze back, all warm and fuzzy. At twenty-five, I thought I’d have that by now. Instead, I have a camper van, a bake shop, a stack of books that sell me that fantasy, and a smart-ass attitude that pushed the guy I like right out of my life.
Classic me.
When I arrive at Ms. Beaux’s, I take in the quiet setting. As kids, we’d hike by this place and tell stories about the crazy psychic that lived here in the woods. Now, the cottage looks quaint and mystical, and I could see myself living here peacefully. It’s small, with moss growing between the logs and a sweet front porch that’s made from bent branches that have been weaved together in an intricate design. On the edge of the cabin hangs a sign with a crystal ball. No words, no letters, just a purple and pink crystal that blows back and forth in the breeze.
“Are you ready for some answers?” Cami smiles. “I told Henry I was coming, and as much as he loves Ms. Beaux, he laughed his ass off. He doesn’t do psychics.” She purses her lips out. “But he does do game nights with the kids and break nights for a crazy mama who’s looking for reassurance in all the wrong places. So that’s good. How’d the raccoon hunt go?”
“Good. I got everything bleached, and Wyatt plugged up a hole in the attic, so that’s positive.”
“You’re here ladies.” A woman steps out onto the front porch with a long silk, flowing gown on. Her hair is tied up in a loose bun and she wears silver rings and gold bangle bracelets on either hand. If this were a movie, I’d think they cast her perfectly. “Come on in. I just put some tea on.”
Cami climbs up onto the porch first, and I follow, watching as a wooden wind chime blows in the breeze. Maybe I really do need a place like this to myself. I could deal with kids calling me crazy if it meant peace, quiet, and these amazing views.
Inside, the space is clean and eclectic, but not over cluttered. Large bookshelves line the walls and two cozy, high-back chairs sit on either end with floral fabric. In the middle of the space, sits a couch with a crocheted blanket over the back edge and a variety of plants that hang and sit by the largest window to the back of the house.
“You have a beautiful home,” Cami says, settling down in a heavy wood dining chair. “Have you lived here all your life?”
“Oh, honey. I was here when Henry’s parents still owned the place. I haven’t moved an inch… not now, not ever.”
“That’s so long,” I say. “Have you traveled outside of Rugged Mountain at all?”
The woman shakes her head, tucking a grey hair back. “I never saw the point of leaving. Everything I need is right here. My family, my friends, and the soul of the mountain.”
“The soul of the mountain?” My smile softens. I love when people talk like this—like they have a connection with the Earth.
“Yes, dear. Don’t you feel it all around you? You’ve been here all your life, no?”
I’m not sure how she knows that, but I decide to chalk this one up to a lucky guess. A lot of people on Rugged Mountain have been here forever and it wouldn’t take much to assume that I have as well.
I nod. “Most of my life. I traveled for a bit, but the only home I’ve ever had is here.”
“And I’ll bet this place isn’t just a mountain to you. I’d bet when you drive up that road to get here, you feel something.” Her eyes light. “You feel vibrance and love and a deep connection to every tree and riverbed.” Ms. Beaux smiles and pours Cami and I a cup of tea, her long billowed sleeve nearly dipping into the liquid before she puts the pot of hot water on a trivet on the center of the table and sits. “Do you girls have specific questions, or are you here for a general reading?”