Page 18 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

I’d brought so little with me from my past life, a life I’d just as soon forget, I had to go down to the hardware store to buy an axe. There was a wide, dead stump behind the house that had enough blade marks that I easily concluded it had been used to split wood in the past. I gathered up some of the thickest fallen branches. The entire landscape around the house was like a scene from a fantasy movie where the trees and their branches had taken on a life of their own and covered the hillside with their arms and fingers. I’d called several local landscapers about clearing the hillside and the land around the house of debris. They were all keen and ready to start the project until I gave them the address. No one wanted anything to do with Grimstone Manor. That might have been due to the purported curse, ormaybe they just knew what an arduous task it would be to clear the property of decades of growth.

I balanced a long, heavy branch on the stump and chopped it in half with two blows. I wanted to credit brute strength for only needing two blows, but something told me it had more to do with the new, shiny and still deadly sharp axe.

I stood up the cut half and sliced it in half. This time it took three blows, and I could feel it in my shoulders. Maybe this house would force me to get back in shape. I was no longer going to spend my days in the office, sitting behind the computer. I planned to get a bike and to walk to town as much as possible. No more elevators. No more cocktail lunches. No more city life. I was done with all of it. I already felt so much better just being in this sleepy, foggy town that I was ready to leave behind everything about my old life. It wouldn’t be hard.

Thirty minutes later, I’d shed my coat, the fog-draped sun had sunk even lower on the horizon, and I had an impressive stack of cut logs. The hard work was the therapy I needed to get past everything tying me up inside. I placed another cut branch upright on the block, dropped the axe back and arced it forward. The wood split in two with one swift blow.

“Impressive,” a soft voice said from behind.

I swung around. Ella was wrapped in a puffy coat, scarf and green knit hat. All I could see was her pretty face peering out between the mounds of wool. She was holding a plate wrapped in foil. “You were such a big help today and then there was the lunch with toast crumbs—and you literally saved my first assignment, so I decided to make you a batch of cookies. We were out of chocolate chips because—well—you know—so I made chocolate thumbprint cookies. They were a little out of my wheelhouse as far as baking goes. Fortunately, I have a tremendously skilled baker on speed dial. Isla talked me through all of it.”

I looked toward the gravel path leading to the house. “Did you walk up here?”

“Sure. I love to walk in this kind of weather. It gives me a chance to pull on this ridiculously puffy coat that I purchased online. I swear it wasn’t nearly this puffy in the picture.”

I chuckled. “I was worried that a breeze might push you over and send you rolling back down the hill.”

She was staring at me with wide brown eyes.

“I’m sorry. My years as a computer nerd have wreaked havoc on my social skills. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yes, it’s true. It’s that puffy. That’s not why I’m wearing this look of utter shock.” She paused as if she wasn’t sure she should continue.

“Utter shock?” I asked.

“You chuckled,” she said quietly. “And there was a smile along with it.”

“I guess you had me pegged as a real Grinch, eh?” I pulled off my beanie and raked my hair back before replacing it. “I don’t mean to come off like that.” Just as I said it, the scars that trailed from the back of my hand all the way up to my elbow twinged with pain from chopping wood. I’d noticed the scar tightened and stretched according to the weather. Cold weather definitely made me feel as if my arm no longer fit in my skin. “I’ve gone through some things in the last year that have left their marks on me, both physically and mentally.” I looked back at the house. It always looked better at dusk when you couldn’t see all the loose shingles or siding. “This place is supposed to be cursed, but I feel like it’s been waiting for me. And I’ve been waiting to be here in this house, this town. I’m glad I’m here.”

Ella smiled shyly and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “The place does grow on you. The town, that is. The jury is still out on the house, but I’m glad you found each other. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe this old place has beenstanding here, looking sad and lonely, because it was waiting for the right person to come in and appreciate what a cool house it is.”

“Either that or I’ll die a grisly death, and it’ll release a sinister sigh knowing it has taken yet another victim.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re warped, do you know that, Rhett Lockwood?” We both laughed. “And now I’ve heard your laugh as well as your chuckle,” she said. “Neither disappoints. You should do it more often.”

“I’ll work on that. How about some milk with those cookies?” I dropped the axe over my shoulder. “How is that for my lumberjack impression?”

She nodded with approval. “Not sure how many lumberjacks sit down to milk and cookies, but that axe thing really works for you. Need to get you some flannel, though.”

We reached the house, and while the heating system was nothing to brag about, it was a relief to get out of the clammy cold. I hung up my coat and hat. Ella did the same, and we carried the cookies into the kitchen. I poured the milk as she removed the foil from the plate.

“Those look like the kind my grandmother used to make.” I sat down next to her. “She always made them at Thanksgiving. Every once in a while, she used raspberry jam to fill them instead of chocolate, but I have to admit I was always partial to the chocolate.” I pushed an entire cookie into my mouth. The wood chopping had sparked some pretty significant hunger. I reached for another. “These are just what this lumberjack ordered. What did your editor say about changing the article to talk about Margaret Grimstone’s accomplishments instead of the curse?”

“Well, you were right. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t think I ever said that.” I picked up the milk. It’d been years since I’d enjoyed the simple treat of milk and cookies. Itmade me question why as adults we were always so quick to give up on the best parts of childhood.

“No, but it was implied by your expression. I wrote a lengthy but well-worded email to defend my position and point out why I thought it would work as a good story. In return, I received a four-word response, one that was curt enough that I knew the discussion was over. ‘Stick to the plan.’ That’s all it said. So, I guess I’ll be sticking to the plan.”

“Seems like you could stick to the plan and at the same time squeeze in a few interesting nuggets about Margaret’s life.” My suggestion made her smile.

“You, sir, are reading my mind. It’s my piece, and they want details, so they’re going to get them.” She dipped her cookie into the glass of milk. “Hmm, these did turn out well. Isla’s such a good baker, even over the phone. You mentioned your grandmother. Where did you grow up? If you don’t mind me asking,” she threw in hastily.

“I don’t mind. My grandmother had a farm in Nebraska, and before you ask, no, it wasn’t filled with adorable baby goats and sheep and chickens like they used to show us in grade school. Corn. Just fields and fields of corn. She did, however, have a pet pig named Roly who would follow us around the barnyard in case we dropped crumbs from our sandwiches or cookies. Despite the endless fields of corn, I loved going to her house. A river ran behind the farm, and my brother and I would fish in it. We could ride our bikes for what seemed like miles and not worry about traffic. We’d play all day and then stumble back into the farmhouse, hungry and tired and usually a little grumpy, and my grandmother would have a big plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes waiting for us.”

“Sounds idyllic. Like what my sisters and I had with our grandmother. You have a brother?”

“Yep, just the one sibling. Evan lives in Boston. He’s a lawyer. We rarely get time to see each other. I plan to invite him out here once I get the place fixed up. Which, according to my list of improvements, should be in about ten years.”

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