Lavender & Mistletoe (Blue Hollow Falls) Page 8

  “Begin as you mean to go on,” he said, shifting her back so they could look at each other, but keeping her in his arms.

  “Exactly. Better to find the partner who truly connects to who you actually are. And if the sex isn’t good, well then, surely you can work together to fix it. Because you care about each other as people, so naturally you’d both want the other to feel pleasure. It just makes sense.”

  “I’m sorry life went upside down for you before you had the chance to discover the truth of that firsthand.”

  She sighed. “Thank you, truly, but honestly, it was the least of my concerns, for a very long time. Meeting, dating, much less developing a relationship to the point where sex would be part of the equation, none of those things were even on my radar. I was suddenly and very abruptly alone. I don’t have an extended family. So I had a lot to figure out. Who was I without my parents telling me who I was supposed to be? Should I continue with the dreams they had for me? Go forth and apply my big brain to solving big world problems? Or forge my own path, now that my destiny was solely in my own hands?” She laughed. “And if the answer was behind Door B, well, what in the heck was my path? If I could do anything I wanted, be anything I wanted, what would that be? I was nineteen. Sex, good or bad, could wait.” She smiled then. “Maybe not this long, but life goes as it goes.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “So you haven’t, since…”

  She shook her head. “It hasn’t come up.” She smiled, and he did, too, but he was clearly surprised. “Which brings us full circle back to your earlier question on how the four of us came to run this place together. I met Vivi, Hannah, and Chey about seven years ago. We all attended the same grief counseling group.”

  His expression fell and he instinctively pulled her in closer. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Not that you found each other, but that you all had a reason to be there in the first place.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and liked that he left it at that, and didn’t pry or ask about what had happened in Chey, Vivi, or Hannah’s life. Those weren’t her stories to tell. “I doubt we’d have ever met otherwise. We were all in the D.C. area for different reasons, but we came together that rainy afternoon hoping to find some new path forward.” She let out a short laugh. “We immediately hated the group. It felt maudlin in a wallowing way that didn’t seem at all productive, and way too touchy-feely, at least for us. Like recognized like in that instance, and we all left there and went out for coffee. And we talked. And talked. And talked. Sitting in that coffee shop, we kind of laughed and said how if the grief group had only talked like we were talking with each other, then we all might have stayed.”

  “And so you kept talking,” he said. “From the ashes, comes a light.”

  She nodded. “That afternoon, the fearsome foursome therapy group was forged. We met once a week, then we began doing other things together, and as unlikely as it would seem, we eventually became true friends.” She looked up at him. “I firmly believe they saved my life. By the time Vivi inherited this place, we were all at turning points in our lives. She joked about us all just moving to the mountains and starting our own lavender farm commune. At some point, the jokes turned to real conversation. We came out here with her when she took over the property, mostly because the inheritance itself was tied directly to her grief, so we wanted to be here for her…and we all fell in love with the place. There was something here for each of us. The old barn, stables, and farm manager’s cottage for Chey, the sunny loft space over the big detached garage for Hannah to paint in, a tea room for Vivi to own and operate, and all of the restoration work that played right into her designer’s soul.”

  “And for you?” he asked.

  “Family,” she said simply. “The lavender science part isn’t something I’d have sought out, but it’s been a wonderful diversion to dive into. I like new challenges, and this has been, and is, a grand one. But it’s more than that. For me, building something with the four of us together has been deeply gratifying.”

  “And your other save-the-world studies?”

  “On permanent hold. When and if I find something that calls to me, I will pursue it with everything I am. But it has to be my thing, something I want to do because I can’t imagine not doing it.”

  “That is exactly how I’ve come to make my path choices,” he said, nodding. “You really have come into your own,” he added, and there was respect in his voice, admiration.

  She lifted her shoulders, let them drop. “I’m a work in progress, but I do know with absolute certainty that the progress is now all mine to make. I’ll find my thing, or it will find me.”

  A sudden look came over his face, as if he’d just had a “light bulb” moment.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He paused, as if trying to decide whether to continue with whatever it was he’d just thought of. Finally, he said, “I know Christmas Eve is just a few days away and you all seem pretty busy—”

  “Actually, it’s our slowest time,” she said, her curiosity mounting now. “We had our open house right after Thanksgiving this year. Now we just hibernate and work on building the inventory back up before the snow melts and we start farming again. Vivi keeps the tearoom open all year, but we close from mid-December till after the first of the year. With the fall harvest being so hectic, right up through Thanksgiving, and then the holiday open house, she wanted to set a precedent where we put family time first. So, we’re officially closed.” Her smile was dry. “You can imagine how well I handle down time. Please, I’m begging you, give me something to do. Use me and my big brain however you like.”

  She realized the double entendre the moment the words were out, when Ben’s eyes immediately darkened and his gaze went straight back to her mouth. Her throat went dry as dust, while the rest of her grew so very, very damp. So many new reactions to think about, to consider, to study. Later.

  She held his heated gaze directly and said, “I’m open to that discussion, too,” making his eyes go a bit wide. She decided she liked surprising him. “But I’m guessing it was something else you were about to ask me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, half laughing. “I can’t seem to string words together at the moment.”

  “You have a big brain, too,” she reminded him. “Keep up.” She tipped up on her toes again. “Maybe this will help.” She pulled his head down and kissed him.

  Chapter 7

  “I’m all popcorned out.”

  Ben glanced over and watched Avery as she sank down onto the overstuffed cushions of the gold brocade couch. Or davenport, as Vivi had called it. A favorite piece that Vivi explained had been in her family for several generations. It was worn, a bit lumpy, and yet quite grand in scale and design. Ben liked the faded glory of the piece, and that they’d let it age gracefully rather than giving it a modern face-lift. The whole house had that feel to it. He liked being there. He liked it a lot. He could say the same about Blue Hollow Falls in general. He had been enjoying his stay out at Doc’s farm, as well.

  Doc’s farmhouse was a bit drafty, and not particularly homey, but Ben loved the big old barn. Doc had built the clinic area on to the existing structure, but in the barn proper, he’d renovated and restructured the building so that it was like one big animal rehab center, with recovery rooms roomy enough to house his largest patients, areas set aside for physical therapy for anything with four legs, from dogs to horses.

  Doc had a home office on the ground floor of the farmhouse, which looked often-used and quite lived-in. There was a smaller one in the clinic, where all the patient files were managed, but Ben liked the space Doc had created inside the barn itself. It didn’t look like it got a lot of use, but Ben had gravitated to it right away. Partly because he’d wanted a space that felt like his own, so he wasn’t encroaching on Doc’s organized systems and routines, but mostly because he honestly just felt more at home there. There was even a small stu
dio just behind it, for bunking in when there was a need to stay close to a particular patient. Ben had found himself staying out there as often as not even though there weren’t any patients in residence at the moment.

  He knew Avery lived in the addition that had been built on to the back of the manor house during an upgrade in the previous century. It was its own small apartment, with two bedrooms, an office, and her self-built lab. He’d yet to see it personally, but while they’d been putting up the tree that evening after a wonderful dinner of Vivi’s amazing lasagna, Chey had teased Avery about her mad scientist laboratory slowly taking over her whole living space.

  Ben liked—a lot—how the women were with each other. He was glad Avery had told him a bit of their origin story. He knew they were a family made, not born, but there was so much love among them, along with the teasing, and the laughter. He had yet to meet Hannah, but the three he had met were as close as any family he’d been around. He thought they were exceedingly fortunate to have found one another and forged such a tight bond. Each of the four oversaw her own part of the business, had her own space to live in, but they all had come together to create a pretty special place.

  They’d made him feel welcome, and he was only sorry the evening had passed by so quickly, thankful he hadn’t been pulled away on any emergency calls.

  Avery sighed as she stared up at the big, almost-but-not-quite-perfect Douglas fir that she and Ben had chosen as a compromise. Once they’d taken their hands and mouths off each other, that is. He smiled, thinking he’d never view Christmas tree hunting the same way again. If his phone hadn’t gone off with his mum calling in from the airport in Norway, where she and his dad had just landed to begin their holiday excursion, he wasn’t sure where things might have led. Looking at Avery now, feeling as content as he could remember feeling in a very long time, he still wondered where it might lead.

  Avery was giving the tree a critical once-over from her perch on the davenport, looking at the various ornaments that she, Chey, and Vivi had added earlier, before the latter two women had finally called it a night and taken off. Vivi had gone on up to her living quarters, which comprised the entire second floor of the house, and Chey had headed out to the restored ranch manager’s cottage, which was her home. The three women had hung a bunch of Hannah’s ornaments, stored from last year, as well. Avery had strung popcorn garlands in Hannah’s honor, knowing they had been a favorite of her son, Liam.

  Ben had come to understand that Liam was Hannah’s late son. They hadn’t offered any details and he’d respected their silence. He assumed, seeing that the ornaments had been made by very young hands, Liam had been young when he’d passed.

  Ben also assumed that was the loss Hannah had been dealing with when the four women had met. He couldn’t even imagine such grief and was happy to hear that Hannah was now involved with a father and son who also lived in the Falls. He hoped to get to meet all three of them at some point. He had no idea what losses Vivi and Chey had suffered and he’d never ask, not directly or indirectly. What he did know, and all that mattered, was how happy they were with where they were now, what they were accomplishing here. He admired and respected them all the more for it, knowing they’d faced such hardship and challenging obstacles along the way.

  Avery stood and stretched, then walked over and added the final popcorn garland to the tree. He watched her smile as she took an even closer look at the cavalcade of ornament styles and themes.

  She caught him watching her and smiled back. “Pretty incredible, right? It’s like an amazing cross between every Broadway musical ever, a bronc bustin’ rodeo western, and the popcorn garlands and children’s ornaments that would have been right at home on a tree in Little House on the Prairie.”

  She’d described it exactly. Ben picked up the small square box that had been propped up in front of the fire. A cord led from the box to the base of the tree. “And, wait for it…” He flipped the box over so the solar panel was covered, and the tree instantly lit up with tiny, colorful little fairy lights. “A touch of ‘She Blinded Me with Science.’”

  Avery laughed at that, then smiled, delighted at the way the tiny lights embedded in the thin strand of copper wire twinkled in and around the tree, adding a kind of fairy garden feel to the whole thing. The copper wire was connected to a miniature solar panel box that she’d built. She’d made the clear cord long enough so they could prop the box on the window sash next to the tree to absorb sunlight during the day, and keep the tree lit up each night.

  “Do you put up a tree? Or do you travel too much to make that a practical endeavor?” She fingered one of Vivi’s ornaments from the musical Annie. The little girl’s bright red curls bounced. “I’m guessing you probably don’t pack up your ornaments and take them with you.”

  “Actually, I do decorate,” he said, clearly surprising her. “In one form or another. I have a tradition with my parents—my mum, mostly—that since we don’t often get to celebrate the holidays together, she ships me a care package sometime in early December with a pile of our family ornaments. It’s always fun to see which ones she puts in there.” He smiled. “Thinking back over what each ornament represents and the great memories associated with each of them make the tree worth the effort, you know? Our deal is, she ships me a box, I send her a photo showing how I used them, and I always send them a new ornament from wherever I happen to be. When the holiday is over, if I’m not staying put for another year, I pack them up and ship them back.”

  “That’s a wonderful tradition,” Avery said, clearly delighted. “Have you put a tree up this year? I don’t think I saw one in the farmhouse when we were there that night.”

  He shook his head. “Not in the traditional sense. Since my parents are traveling over the holidays—they’re taking a river boat cruise in Norway, a bucket list item—we decided to share our Christmas a little differently this year. They are sending me photos of various Christmas and holiday decorations they see on their travels, and I’ve sent them photos of the little bit I’ve done around Doc’s farm.”

  “So, the wreaths, and the snowmen with the flashy apparel, and the bird feeder? Those are yours?”

  He grinned. “Who did you think built them and put them up?”

  “I—don’t know. I guess I figured maybe Louise, or the vet techs who work for Doc.”

  “The pinecone wreath on the office door is from Louise, and she has put up a small ceramic tree on the counter in the waiting room. She shared some horror stories they’d had in the past with live, decorated trees and live, overly anxious animals.” He chuckled. “I agreed that maybe the countertop version was a good idea. And even that is secured with a taped strip.”

  Avery laughed. “I can see how that’s a wise idea.”

  “What about you?” he asked carefully, as he knew bringing up old memories might be sad. He’d have skipped the question, but he wanted to know more about her, more about how she’d handled her life, handled her unique gifts. From what he’d learned so far, it seemed his experience and hers couldn’t have been more different.

  “When I was little, we put up a tree every year,” she said, then slowly walked around the tree, looking at the various ornaments. And not at him.

  He thought maybe the question wasn’t such a good idea after all, but she continued, and he gave her the time and space to share her memories the way she wanted to.

  “I think my mother would have opted for a fake tree—less fuss and definitely less muss—but my father loved Christmas.” She smiled. “Only a real tree for him. He wasn’t so much a fan of any other holiday, really. But the lore, the stories and literature associated with Christmas, with Saint Nicholas, appealed to him. Apparently, his parents had always made it a magical time for him when he’d been growing up.”

  “Did you know your grandparents?” he asked.

  She came around the back of the tree in time for him to see her shake her head. “
I was also a very late-in-life baby, even later than you were, a complete surprise. Not an entirely welcome one in my case, I don’t think, but they never blamed me for it.”

  “Decent of them,” Ben said with a smile, but he was beginning to think Avery had had to overcome a lot more than figuring out how to move through life with a brain that worked at warp speed. Ben’s parents hadn’t always handled every aspect of his special skill set as well as they could have; they’d done a lot of figuring things out as they went, with the move to Australia being a very big turning point for all three of them. But they’d always supported him, wanted the very best for him, and had helped him navigate life as best as they were able when it became clear he was moving along at a much faster pace than his peers. The more he learned about Avery’s experience, the more grateful he was that his parents had always put his needs first and tried to create as normal a life for him as they could.

  Fortunately, Avery laughed at his comment. “Yeah, I thought so, too. I did enjoy Christmas with my father, though. He wrote me a Christmas poem each year and read it to me on Christmas Eve. I have them all.” Her eyes were a bit shinier when she looked at him. “I guess the one tradition that I’ve carried forward is getting them out and reading them each Christmas Eve. I know them all by heart, but I like looking at his handwriting while I read them. Now I pick one to share with Vivi, Hannah, and Chey each Christmas Eve, and it’s…really nice. Of course, I always cry,” she said with a watery laugh. “But they understand why it’s important to me. It’s one of my best purely loving, positive memories. Seems fitting for the season.”

  She went to move on around the tree, but he placed his hand on her arm, then turned her gently toward him. “It’s a beautiful tradition,” he told her. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  She nodded, then dabbed at her eyes and laughed again. “I tried my own hand at writing Christmas poems for each of us last year. Let’s just say it’s better if I stick to things like statistical analysis and figuring out new lavender production methods.”