When Bartlett sees me, he lets out a low whistle that tells me everything I need to know. He takes my hand and gives me a kiss and makes sure I feel like I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. Hijinx is happy and asleep in the cabin, and Bartlett drives me into town.
Home Grown is a popup restaurant tucked next to the toy store. And, apparently, the space rotates into different establishments throughout the year. Everyone knows Bartlett when we enter, and they look me over, but they all give me warm smiles.
"I feel like they're staring," I say.
Bartlett whispers in my ear, his breath hot, warm, burning me up. "Of course, they're staring," he says. "You are the most beautiful woman in this place."
At the table with candlelight between us, he orders wine that is expensive and delicious, and we get steaks and mashed potatoes and green beans, and we eat until our hearts are content and our bellies are full and our eyes are glazed over with lust and desire and memories of the last 48 hours.
"I don't know what's happening," I murmur. "I think there's a spell on this town and it's been spun on me too."
"Is that a good thing?" he asks.
"It's a great thing," I say.
After dinner, he leads me down Snug Street and stops right in front of the Home History Museum.
"I got the keys," he said.
"What for?" I ask.
"Well, I thought I might tell you a little bit more about Home."
I smile as he opens the door and lets us inside.
"I told you. My ancestors started this town in 1910. They settled here, Homer and Annabel Rough, after they got married in 1909 in Seattle. They moved up here, found this mountain, and settled this land."
I smile, listening to him as we wander the museum. It's dark and romantic and quiet, and the night feels like ours in a way a night never has before. There are pictures on the walls that tell a story, that tellhisstory, and I feel like I'm going back in time. I hear about Welby Rough, who married Margaret.
"He's the one who was making the whiskey in his barn?"
"Legend has it," Bartlett laughs. "And he had a sister named Annie and another named Lucy. Though, Lucy disappeared in Oregon around 1935."
"You remember all this?"
He laughs. "Hey, I'm a family man. You should know that. Do you want kids?"
I nod. "I do," I say. "Do you?"
He laughs. "Yeah. Though, I wasn't thinking of seven."
"Me either," I say, "but a few."
"Same," he says with a smile. His hands are on mine, my heart bubbling up with want, with hope, as he continues to recite his family tree. "That's my grandfather, Reynold Rough, who married Rosie. They had Redford and Filson, brothers, who then each married a wife of their own. Red married Annie, and became my mom and dad, and Filson married Ruby."
"And where do your aunt and uncle live?" I ask him.
"Oh, they live on the mountain."
"They have any kids?" I ask.
"Yeah. Wyatt and Willa. They're a few years older than us, but neither of them are married."
"Interesting," I say. "And how did your parents meet?" I ask him.
He grins. "Now, that's a story for another day, and you'd have to ask them because my mom gets mad if any of us kids get it wrong."
"Okay," I say. "I can honor that. And if your whole family settled here, and if this whole family tree is your family history, what happens next for you?" I ask. "Does the line just continue?"