Falling in Vermont (Cozy Nights in Vermont #2)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

BLAKE

UNCLE ALAN

Blakey, tell us about the cutie patootie that Bev saw you with.

UNCLE JERRY

Oh my God. Alan, stop torturing my nephew. —JERRY

UNCLE ALAN

He’s my nephew, too, according to the state of Vermont and our marriage license, sourpuss.

AUNT BEV

Sorry

I’m just so excited that maybe you’re ready for dating!!!

UNCLE ALAN

And stop signing your texts Jerry!!!!!!! It makes you sound old as Moses.

UNCLE JERRY

No. —JERRY

B lake rubbed his temples.

His uncles and aunt took their family duty very seriously. Aunt Bev was constantly shoving food in his fridge he never asked for, and Uncle Alan, Uncle Jerry’s husband, was always prompting him to get out there and try again. He loved them for their warmth and how much they cared for not only him, but for other people.

He just wished they cared a little less about his dating life.

BLAKE

She’s just my renter.

Uncle Alan started to type back.

BLAKE

And this isn’t the go ahead for any more blind dates!

UNCLE ALAN

Bein’ a sourpuss must run in the Jameson family… :|

His Uncle Jerry had bought the old Clovely Inn, and he and Alan had painstakingly restored it. Once it got going, Beverly had joined as the head chef, and after only being open for a year, they were putting Clovely on the map.

Blake crossed his arms with an uncomfortable half-smile as a family walked up to the pumpkin patch. He gave them a small wave. His prices were posted, and he didn’t like to crowd people as they shopped.

Honestly, he just wanted to be out in the fields, not watching over his pumpkin patch like an awkward hawk.

“Do you have a place where we could take pictures?” the mom asked. A little girl in pigtails in a plaid fall outfit clutched a pink teddy bear as she stared at Blake.

“Uh… sure. Wherever’s fine,” Blake said without really knowing what he was supposed to say.

What was it with families wanting to take pictures with his vegetables?

“Oh, okay,” the mom faltered. The family wandered over to where some pumpkins were piled up and knelt down doing a selfie-style picture.

As long as they don’t take a picture of the tarp on the cottage roof . He was embarrassed by the cheap, bright blue sight.

He’d been on the roof early that morning nailing down a temporary tarp to keep the weather and birds out.

“Actually, would you mind?” the dad called to him.

Blake sighed. He was a farmer, not a photographer, damn it.

“Uh, sure, though I’m not great with these kinds of things.” He never wanted to screw up somebody’s holiday picture.

He took the photo, grimacing the entire time, and another car rolled to a stop in his small gravel parking lot beside the pumpkin patch.

He checked his watch. It was about time for Mabel to bring her load of tourists from the inn next door.

He’d been distracted all morning thinking of the terror he’d felt yesterday at seeing the tree limbs falling on the cottage. He’d run faster than he thought possible trying to get to Sophia in time.

She’d been nonchalant and cool under pressure, despite having a house fall on her.

Seeing her wrapped up in his blanket on his couch guarded by his dog—safe and sound—had been the best kind of gut punch. He’d felt a quiet, thrilling satisfaction at pulling the blanket over her and tucking her in last night after he’d brought in her things.

She’d slept hard through the night and was still on the couch the next morning. But shock did that to you.

Anytime Angie had had an emergency, he’d felt the same overwhelming sense of drowsy exhaustion when they got back home, having dealt with whatever brought them into the hospital.

I can’t lose another person, he thought, the image of Sophia on the ground flashing in his head.

He had to stay far away from her, the only woman who had ripped back the curtains of his monk-like existence with her bright energy.

It would hurt too badly when she left.

He needed to stay as far away as possible while also sleeping across the hall from her.

Fuck .

The screen door slammed, and Star trotted over to the woman in question.

She looked fresh and sexy with a slouchy sweater on, torn jeans, and Converse sneakers. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun, and she had streaks of flour across her apron.

He wished she had just a dash of it against her cheek so he’d have a reason to touch her there. Wipe it away with his thumb.

He had the sense that no one had ever truly taken care of Sophia. That she took care of herself—but he couldn’t help himself. That was just who he was. It was what made him happy.

Stupid, stupid. That’s the opposite of what I should be doing.

But still, he wanted her to feel welcome and safe despite the adventure-filled last few days at his farm.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she said, gesturing with a decorative plate that his mother had left. On it was a heaping pile of golden, sugar-covered donuts.

He smiled. He wasn’t used to having somebody make a fuss over him.

“You didn’t need to do this.” It didn’t keep his fingers from plucking a donut off the top though.

“It’s my new take on an apple cider donut,” she said, looking eager for him to take a bite.

As the spicy cinnamon sugar hit his tongue, he knew that even before he bit into it, this donut was going to change his life.

He savored the dense, sweet, vanilla burst with apple notes that washed pleasure over him. He shuddered at the contact.

“Wow,” he said, opening his eyes wide with amazement. “That’s…that’s the best donut I’ve ever had. Don’t tell Aunt Bev.” He took another small bite, wanting to savor it.

“Shut the front door?” she said with a bright smile, smacking his arm.

The simple touch left a glow on his bicep, radiating warmth into his bone marrow. He loved that she casually touched him.

Craved it.

She jumped up and down. “Really? I’ve become snow-blind to it. I’ve had too many samples, so I can’t actually tell anymore.”

“Donuts!” one of the kids from the families wandering through the pumpkin patch screamed.

A second kid from the other family started running toward them. “Can I have one? Are these for us?”

Kids these days. But at their hopeful faces, he couldn’t hog them all to himself. “Are they allowed to try some free samples?” he called over to the parents.

“Oh, of course.” One of the moms smiled. “That’s so nice that you give out free samples here.”

“This is my apple cider donut. It’s a new recipe that I’m trying out,” Sophia said, breaking a donut into small bites with a plastic knife she’d brought out.

After the kids each slurped up their samples, the grownups gathered around them picked out ones too.

Well, damn.

“Oh my gosh, it just melts in your mouth,” one of the men said, holding a big pie pumpkin that the family had picked out.

“I’d love to buy some for our oldest. Our teenager decided to sleep in today,” one of the women said with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, I’m just testing out recipes. I don’t have anything for sale. Yet,” Sophia added with a nervous smile at Blake. “But you’re welcome to take another one for the road. And don’t worry,” she said, leaning over to Blake with a wink, “I have more in the kitchen for you.”

He liked that she worried about him, and loved it even more when she acted as if they were partners sharing a secret.

He rubbed a hand on his chest where it ached to hold her. In the middle of a workday, no less.

This was a goddamned nightmare.

“Dad, are we gonna get the big pumpkin?” one of the little boys asked a man whose mouth was full of donut.

Blake stared expectantly at the man eating the donut Sophia had made for him .

“Uh, sure,” the dad said, swallowing a bite. “Could you help me load it into the car?” he asked Blake.

Hot damn, that was his two-hundred-dollar showpiece he didn’t think he’d sell this year. Blake smiled, amazed at what a few donuts could do. “I’ll even help you buckle it in.”

The two families settled up, and he was surprised to see they bought more than average. Sophia chatted with the families as he loaded the enormous pumpkin into one of the SUVs, and she sparkled as she entertained them.

It didn’t seem like an accident that his customers left much happier than normal.

As both families drove off, they stood side by side and waved.

Sophia bumped her hip against his playfully. “I hope that was okay. I panicked a little. I wanted them to tell their friends to come and spend all the money.”

Blake rubbed a hand on his chin, still getting used to the shorter stubble. “It’s a smart idea. It’s what other pumpkin patches do, but it’s never been my forte, putting all of this fall stuff together. I just like farming.”

She sighed wistfully. “I love cute fall shit,” she said with a wry smile. “It’s part of the territory of making lifestyle content. Maybe I could spruce up an area over there for photos. I saw them taking pictures.” She pointed to the old trailer he’d left out with pumpkins on it. She hit his arm with a happy realization. “Oh, and maybe have rotating samples as a special treat.” She looked absolutely gorgeous when she lit up with her ideas.

Hair blew across her face, and he reached up to push it away.

No, don’t be a weirdo. You’re just roommates . He awkwardly changed course and scratched his chin instead.

“That’s awful nice of you to offer,” he said, hoping she didn’t notice his awkwardness, “but you’re busy with all of your recipe stuff, and the social whatchamacallit.”

“That is the technical term. C’mon, it’ll be fun,” she said, tugging on his arm. “This will give me motivation to get through all the recipes I need to create. It’s so nice to see people actually eat my food for once and not just look at the like count on my posts.” Her smile was tinged with sadness as she clutched the plate to her chest.

He’d do anything, anything in the whole fucking world—turn cartwheels if he had to—to see happiness replace that sad smile.

“I mean, if it would make you happy,” he said, more truth slipping out than he wanted.

“Really?” she said, clapping her hands. Her cheeks had gone ruddy in the cold, looking like they’d been pinched. Her ruby-red lips were picture-perfect in her face-cracking smile.

His eyes were probably goddamn cartoon hearts at this point. “I mean, we’ll have to get some permits or something. I don’t know. I’ll call around.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets so they didn’t do something stupid.

Like pull her in for a hug.

Or more.

“Thank you!” Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed for a nanosecond, then jogged back to the farmhouse.

My plan for staying as far away as possible?

He sighed wistfully as she played with Star while she jogged.

I think it just went to shit.

* * *

SOPHIA

Artfully placed pumpkins sat on hay bales at different heights in front of an arch of orange maple trees, creating a perfect frame for family photos. Sophia could practically smell the pumpkin spice coming off her camera screen.

Since the farm was quiet that afternoon, she used the space she’d styled for the pumpkin patch photographs as her backdrop.

And she wanted to scream every curse word she knew when she messed up another. Goddamn. Fucking. Take.

I hate this fucking dance.

Any happy fuzzy feelings left from the day before vanished as Sophia stomped over to hit stop on her camera.

Why did dance moves have to make videos go viral? Why couldn’t she just monologue about how delicious brie cheese was?

“But no, I have to make stupid dance videos so I get stupid fan engagement so I can pay my stupid fucking bills,” she muttered as she hit restart.

She sighed, a bone-deep tiredness seeping out of her pores. “You picked this. You could have been an accountant. Coulda had your own condo in the arts district, but no. You had to go live that hustle life being your own boss.”

No 401k for me, just 401 fucking tasks I have to do.

“I just want to make butternut squash soup,” she whined, putting her phone back on her tripod. It turned out that getting a food truck permit was shockingly easy (maybe unsettlingly easy), and Sophia’s samples would be up and running within a day or so.

She went back to her marker, checked her reflection in the camera preview, and hit start using her remote thingy. A beat in her ear synced with the track, and she started the dance over.

Again.

As her arms moved up-down-side-side, like an air traffic controller making love to a windmill, a mean comment she’d read that morning flashed in her head.

You’d think she’d spend less time cooking and more time exercising , ThatBiiiiitch6969 had commented under a recent video.

She tried to focus on the song.

I tried her gazpacho recipe and it was absolute shit. My dog didn’t even wanna eat it lololol , 12turtleluver had said a week ago.

Her lip quivered.

She shoved her arms down into a T-like position and then shook her hips with a saucy little smile, but the tears started forming and her lip wobbled.

“Fuck,” she screamed, kneeling and curling into a ball in frustration.

A scroll of all the mean things she’d ever read about herself ran through her brain. God, she was so tired of it all.

A sob escaped. She just wanted a life where she could focus on things that meant something.

“Ugh, so annoying,” she said, getting mad at herself. “Get your shit together, Sophia. This is what you worked for.”

She wiped her eyes and stood up. Maybe the cold air will hide my puffy eyes.

“Are you okay?” Blake walked toward her with a bulky table in his arms.

She wiped her eyes again and put on a bright smile to feel like she was in charge.

Strong.

“Is that for our food stand?” she said brightly. “Sorry, your food stand.”

“It’s ours,” he said with a smile, his eyes lingering on her lips for a second before he took a big breath. “Uh, yeah, I made a table that has a holder for your soup since that’s first up on your recipe list. So the crockpot wouldn’t slide off and burn anyone. You know how the kids run around. The little one is for your coffee.”

He set it down, but his eyes caught on her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, waving him away as her voice wavered. “Just one of those days.”

She started to lose control of her grip on the tears and he looked pained.

“I hate to see you cry. Do, uh…” He shifted nervously as if debating with himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Oh.” She shook her head as if she was being silly. Usually guys just let her wave her hands at feelings and didn’t comment on it. “Yeah, I’m just, um…”

He looked so earnest and sexy in his flannel shirt layered over a light gray Henley. The green in the flannel brought out the olive green of his eyes.

She looked down at the perfectly placed little square holder he’d nailed to the table for her coffee cup. He’d even cut out a little hole for the handle. No one had ever made her anything like that. He’d worked all morning just because she’d said it might be nice to try getting people’s thoughts on her soup in a few days.

She let out a big sigh. “It’s just…I have to do this stupid dance.”

“A dance?” he said, looking at the camera.

She nodded. “I don’t want to because…I don’t think it’s who I want to be anymore.” Her lip wobbled.

Keep it together, Sophia. Shove it deep down inside.

“That sounds really hard,” he said softly. He stepped closer, staring down at her with concern.

She nodded, trying to keep it together. “I’ve just really enjoyed my time with your customers, and I have nineteen recipes left that I should be working on and um…” She gulped. “…I’m losing followers and everyone hates me, and…”

Her eyes kept being drawn to the little coffee holder. How had she gone her whole life with no one ever having done something that nice for her? Made her something she didn’t even know she could ask for?

“I just want a life where I can focus on cooking for people, and not what Ilovehorses5000 in Arizona will think about my dance moves.” She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but it’s just been inside, you know?”

“You don’t have to have it together all the time. It’s okay to cry.” He rubbed a hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do? I’m a pretty bad dancer, but I can try if it’ll make you happy.”

She heard the smile in his voice but knew he wasn’t joking. Not even a little.

A laugh burst out from her. It’s okay to cry and ‘ Is there anything I can do? Those weren’t words that she’d heard in that order in a long time, maybe ever.

I just feel so lonely. She squinted up at him as she realized what he could do. I’m gonna kick myself for this .

“Can I…” She gulped. Oh God, I hate this. I hate this.

But I need this.

“What?” he said with concern.

“…Can I have a hug?” she said, squinting with embarrassment as she looked up at him.

“I happened to be an excellent hugger, so. Sure.” He shrugged with a slow smile.

She looked at his shoulders that were the size of a Mack truck, his beefy but soft arms, and the chest she wanted to sink into.

She bet he was a good fucking hugger.

She wiped her eyes self-consciously, not wanting any mascara runoff on his shirt. “All right, but I need a hug that means business. None of this gentle patting crap, okay?”

He smiled and drew her in against his chest. She wrapped her arms around the thick of his middle. He had a soft belly that met hers, and she squeezed hard around him. He squeezed her hard back, enveloping her into his chest.

He was tall, and his head cleared hers as she settled in.

She’d once read that characters at theme parks were told to return a hug until a child was ready to let go. That was what she wanted right now—somebody to hug her and never let go until that deep aching loneliness finally went away.

His hand smoothed in small circles up and down her back, and she cuddled in, feeling at home.

He was warm and solid, and didn’t think it at all weird that the woman sleeping in the bedroom across from his was such a fucking weirdo that she needed a hug from a practical stranger.

And just when she thought, I shouldn’t bother him anymore, his hand smoothed down her hair and rested on her head, cradling it against his chest.

Dopamine flooded over her, cascading down her shoulders in glittery waves of happiness.

Oh God, was this as good as her life was going to get? A paw of a hand resting against her head, smushing it against a beefy chest?

Because this … She sighed. This is really fucking good.

A deep knot somewhere in her stomach relaxed. She inhaled his spicy, clean scent, and the feel of the flannel against her cheek felt like heaven.

This man was a walking weighted blanket intent on destroying her nerves and anxiety.

What are you doing? She was probably embarrassing him with how she was clinging on, though he just kept patiently stroking her hair.

After she memorized the feel of the fabric against her cheek and what his arms felt like around her, she finally dropped her arms. She stepped away, embarrassed but not sorry.

“Thanks,” she said with a small laugh. “What do you think of the styling of the photo spot?” she added, quickly changing the subject. Needing to distance herself from how needy she’d felt. “Unfortunately, the nearest craft store is like an hour away, so I had to improvise.”

He looked past her at the display. “It looks perfect.”

“I thought we’d move the free sample stand over here,” she said, gesturing to a spot across the courtyard area where people tended to wander and pick their pumpkin, “so that it would be closer to the kitchen where I can run and get refills.”

“Yeah, that’ll make it easier for the generator as well.”

“Generator? What, for the crockpot?”

“No, so you can have heat when you stand here.”

She pshawed. “I don’t need that.”

He crossed his arms as his brows knit together. “It’s getting colder. I need you to be warm.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, waving away his concerns as though she regularly stood in fifty-degree weather for hours at a time. She didn’t like the idea of somebody going out of their way for her.

“Sophia,” he said, arching an eyebrow at her. “You don’t have to use it, but it’s going to be there.” He walked back to the barn.

“All right, sass pants,” she called back.

“Just selfishly want to keep you alive for more apple cider donuts,” was his response.

She ran her hand along the table. He made something just for me , she thought as butterflies flew around her heart.

Maybe I should care just as much about my happiness as he does.

Now there was a novel thought. Making sure she was happy, rather than caring about what everyone else thought. Not what her publisher thought, or her agent. Not her followers, or other content creators.

Maybe she should do more of what made her happy . Like working on the fall decorations, and less of what I’m supposed to do .

Wasn’t this what it was all about anyway? Making food that made people happy? Social media was just a delivery mechanism, but she’d let it run her whole life.

She decided to split the difference. A lot less time worrying about her social posts, more time making good food.

Grabbing her tripod and camera, she walked to the farmhouse to experiment with delicious ingredients. Maybe make her favorite creamy chicken dumpling soup.

What else would be fun while I’m here? She thought about the hunky man who’d disappeared into the barn.

A wicked idea sparked in her head. She pressed her lips together to stifle a burst of laughter at how happy it made her.

Seducing my roommate would make me very, very happy.