Page 23 of Something About September

Heather, oblivious to her old classmate’s discomfort, air-kissed near Rebecca’s cheek. “Great to see you, hon.” Then she pushed her cart away, leaving Rebecca standing amid the baking supplies, feeling more rattled than she should have.

When she arrived back at the diner, Rebecca felt as if she’d run a marathon rather than completed a simple shopping trip. Cort was up on a ladder, filling in the hole Eli had made in the ceiling, his faded black T-shirt dusted with plaster, his forearms flexing as he worked. Sunlight streamed in through the front windows, catching in his hair, warming the bronze of his skin. Rebecca stood there a moment too long, watching him, trying to control the flutter in her chest, the way seeing him always made her feel unmoored and grounded, all at once. He saw her, and a welcoming smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey. You’re back. And you look like you’ve run a marathon, not gone to the grocery store.”

She laughed aloud. “That is exactly what I was just thinking. All I wanted was some baking supplies, but I ran into Heather Walsh.”

Cort climbed down the ladder to exchange one tool for another and shot her a sympathetic glance. “Heather never seemed to update her operating system after graduating high school,” he said. “She and Mel are still close, and I know she’s a good friend to her—but she’s not always the kindest.”

“That’s a mild way to put it,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “Not sure why I let her get under my skin, but I did.” She held up the bag of brown sugar. “I should really be cleaning out cupboards, but I’m going to do some procrasti-baking upstairs instead. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

—

The applesauce cake recipe came together easily, and while it was baking, Rebecca brought some boxes into the small kitchen and began sorting through items. The room was getting crowded, so she dragged a box into the living room—but she wasn’t watching where she was going, and she knocked into something. She turned just in time to see the apple-blossom Tiffany lamp teetering at the edge of the table near the window. “No!” She reached for it—but it was in vain. The lamp crashed to the ground, shattering into so many pieces Rebecca already knew that there would be no salvaging it.

The sound of boots on the stairs, and Cort appeared, looking alarmed, then relieved. “Good, you’re in one piece. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

“I haven’t,” Rebecca said, feeling sudden tears spring to her eyes. “But I broke a lamp. And—” It was hard for her to speak over the sudden swell of emotion. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” she said.

Cort’s gaze had gone to the broken lamp. “No, it’s okay. I remember that lamp. It was always on in the window when I’d come over.”

“Lenore always turned it on for me when she knew I was coming home. Always. And I broke it. I wish I could go back in time.” She crossed the room for a broom and dustpan and dejectedly began to sweep up the many shards of glass.

Cort tilted his head. “I do know an antiques and salvage place that always surprises me in terms of what I find there, and they have an amazing lamp selection. It’s called Kingman’s, just outside of Milltown. I have a few things I need to pick up, and they also sell reclaimed lumber supplies for a deep discount, which I had been thinking could be a good idea for this place. It will save you some money—probably at least what you owe the BIA, which would help.”

“That would help,” Rebecca said.

“Pip is with Mel for the weekend, and I have the day free. I could drive you there. It’s one of my favorite places, and I’d love to show it to you.”

Rebecca felt a rush of gratitude for him. He was there for her, willing to jump into action exactly when she needed him to. He was proving to her that she could count on him—that he was a friend. “I’d like that,” she said, her smile genuine. His, in return, was like a cozy blanket on a cool afternoon. They both stood still, gazes snagged, smiles wide, until the oven timer dinged, startling them both.

“Just let me get that…” Rebecca said, reluctantly turning away from him, grateful that the heat of the oven might explain away her sudden flush. She turned back to him, hoping she had managed to compose herself, and found him right where she had left him, standing still, watching her. “As a thank-you for trying to fix my lamp problem, how would you like a slice of applesauce cake?”

His smile returned, slow and easy. “No thanks are needed from you, Becca. But cake is always welcome. You know the way to my heart.”

She managed not to react to this. Cort Adams Effect: 0. Rebecca: 1. It was a start—and for once, she felt like she might be able to keep it going.

Chapter 16

The next morning, Rebecca settled into the passenger seat of Cort’s truck with two take-out coffees in hand. As she did up her seat belt, she noticed a children’s book tucked into the side pocket of the door. The Wind in the Willows. She smiled as she remembered it from her own childhood. “Pip left his cute little pipe cleaner turtle at the diner on Thursday; you’ll have to take it back home to him,” she said.

“He meant to leave that for you. He thinks the diner is so cool. He’s even started drawing his own plans for our future. Apparently, we’re going to someday open a business called Adams and Son Pumpkin and Gourd Gardens.”

“I have no idea what goes on there, but I would definitely want to go to Adams and Son Pumpkin and Gourd Gardens.”

“You should come over sometime and see our actual garden,” Cort said, taking a left on a country road. “Our giant is really something this year.”

“Your giant?”

“Giant pumpkin. This is our third year growing one. They take so much work I joke with Pip it’s like he has a sibling now, but it’s nice to have something to work on together.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Wow, never thought I’d be driving through the streets of Bramley Hollow with you, telling you about my pumpkin garden.”

“Well, I often wonder what my teen self would think of me now,” Rebecca said. “She probably wouldn’t have believed me if I told her this was in our future.”

“What do you think your teen self might find most surprising about you now?”

Rebecca thought for a moment, bit her lip. “Probably that I still love books just as much,” she said slowly. “But that sometimes it feels like I’m circling the same conversations, the same ideas. Like I’ve stopped discovering new things about books and started managing them instead.” She smiled ruefully. “Like I’ve somehow made books boring for myself—and I worry a lot that my students are bored, too.”