Page 7 of Every Good Thing
I kiss his stubbled chin and whisper that I love him before dragging myself away. But with his hearing aids on the bedside table, I know he doesn’t hear me.
With my teeth brushed, clothes on, and minimal makeup applied, which at forty is a step I cannot skip, I tiptoe from my bedroom and peek into Ruthie’s. Her constellation nightlight swirls stars over the ceiling—she knows all the main ones, thanks to Ben’s patient teaching. She’s also well-taught in animal care, baking, reading, simple math, and construction. The latter is thanks to her godmother and my best friend Dot, who runs her own construction business and considers Ruthie her assistant. She’s also just started preschool with the confident air of a college student, like school is only a formality and she must do her time. Our daughter is four going on thirty, as I often joke.
Beside her ruffled daybed, I lean down for a quick peck. Her green eyes, identical to her father’s, peel open.
“Mom, don’t forget my dress and boots,” she says, drifting off on the last syllable.
Shit. I forgot.
In my defense, Ruthie’s wardrobe revolves around only three dresses—one pink, one yellow, and one apple green—so keeping up with her laundry is challenging. Purple rubber boots with umbrellas complete her outfit. If she’d had it her way, hers would be black and dotted with pink-bowed skulls, like mine. But stores tend to shy away from skulls for four-year-olds.
Both wait for me in the mudroom. Now, I’m further behind.
We created Saddletree Farm and Bakery Café from my once-dilapidated family home, where I cared for Mom during the last years of her life. With its flickering power, plumbing issues, roof leaks, and old wood stove sourcing the house’s heat, living there was constant work and worry for me.
It still is, but in totally different ways.
Thanks to Mom’s coin collection, the Saddletree renovation project took place five years ago. Since the main house was in terrible shape then, we first renovated the enormous barn loft to create a home for Ben and me. We needed a space to call ours (gratefully away from the business) while most of the restoration happened at the main house.
Cherry, my other best friend and now Wilmington’s premiere interior designer, calls Saddletree “the best reason to spend a day in the country.” Of course, that’s also because she’s more of a city girl. Dot, the project’s lead contractor, brags that it’s “her favorite place in the world, guaranteed to fix everything.” She may be slightly biased, but she has a point. Saddletree fixed our three careers in one transformation.
To me, it’s simply home. It’s where I grew up, and Ben and I fell in love and built our lives together. Our gorgeous home over the barn, also designed and renovated by Dot and Cherry, serves as a private oasis amid the chaos.
But unless I’m there, I’m working (and sometimes, even then), and our beautiful enterprise is incredibly overwhelming.
My former family home is now Saddletree’s bakery (my favorite part), serving nearly every church function, birthday, and anniversary within a twenty-mile radius. The café supports our rural area, hosting hundreds of farmers, shift workers, and retirees daily, who’d otherwise have to travel fifteen miles to reach the nearest Starbucks (they prefer my home cooking, anyway).
Families visit Saddletree every weekend to enjoy our scenic picnic spots, walking trail, fishing pond, horse pastures, wraparound porch, playgrounds, bunnies, chickens, massive garden for picking fresh veggies, and weekend tractor-pulled hayrides.
It’s a retreat for organizations, too. We host everything from AA to wounded vets, book clubs to bike clubs, therapy groups to yoga classes. We cater their meetings and give them a peaceful place to connect. Our spaces are booked (occasionally overbooked) most evenings.
Since the family home also has completely renovated bedrooms, Saddletree could be a bed and breakfast, but I haven’t invited overnight guests yet (other than family). Keeping up is hard enough already.
Like Mom’s best friend, Mrs. Moore (Aunt Barb to Dot and Ruthie), says, “It’s a basket with too many eggs.”
Eggs that often end up on my face.
Though I have a firm grasp of what Saddletree is, my grip on managing it is tenuous. I’m always busy, constantly learning, and often fucking up.
I gather Ruthie’s dirty clothes and start a quick cycle. If I get them in the dryer before leaving, Ben will handle the rest. He gets her ready for preschool and drops her off before work—he’s a Wilmington police lieutenant and supervisor of his division’s second shift. He’s also a training officer and assists with the K-9 unit. It’s a strange comfort that I’m not the only one with a busy career.
The difference between us is that when he’s home, he’s home. Work is left behind for what he loves—spending time with Ruthie, our dogs, Hugo and Penelope, and helping with the support groups, his favorite part of Saddletree.
When I’m home, I’m still at work, always working. Never ahead and always behind.
In my gorgeous custom white kitchen that makes me go ahhhhh every time I enter it (Cherry truly is a magician), I start coffee and make their lunches, thinking about the fifty-plus lunches I’ll make when I get to the bakery. And cookies. And biscuits. And cinnamon rolls. And three cake orders. Oh, and cupcakes. I still have muffins from yesterday, and soups are slow-cooking, thanks to last night’s prep. But the time saved won’t matter because it’s Thursday. I’ll spend a few hours delivering calming homemade animal treats to local farms and vet clinics and dropping off free baked goods to local charities—something I used to have plenty of time for during the pandemic and before Saddletree opened. Now, it’s a time-suck I can barely afford. But I love supporting the community that’s loved and supported me.
With at-home prep done—lunches made, boots cleaned, coffee in hand—I stand by the window in the laundry room, lights off to calm my mind while the washer fills for its final spin. It’s still dark outside, but the barn lights stretch across the backyard like fingers, gently tickling the pond’s edge.
It was Dot’s idea to turn the barn loft into our home, which I initially thought was bonkers. In my defense, Dot is somewhat bonkers, and we were far from besties then. Our friendship grew slowly, like a book that didn’t get good until the eighth chapter, and now we can’t put it down. Our story helped create Saddletree with our treehouse home in the center overlooking the kingdom.
When it’s light out, anyway. Right now, it’s a black ocean.
“Lena.” Ben’s soft voice makes my shoulders jump.
He stands in the doorway. His broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms create a sexy silhouette with the kitchen lights behind him—a real-life Iron Giant. He’s wearing only boxer briefs, and a mental holy fuck makes me gasp, seeing him that way.
Ben Wright is and always will be the hottest man I know.
