Page 20 of Pining for You

“I’m working on it still. I’ve even hired Ellie Mason to help me write it but I need more data from you. She says these things generally take months to prepare, so don’t expect to give me a week’s notice, okay?”

8

CHLOE

Instead of being on a date with Brad, who had cancelled our fourth date citing a work emergency, I ended up wrangling Dad’s paperwork at his office. In a month’s time, Saturday mornings would have us running off our feet, checking renters out of their cottages, then preparing the cottage for the incoming renter later that afternoon. Thankfully, this morning was quiet. Unfortunately, it gave me too much quiet time to question my fling with Brad. Replay our conversations. I hadn’t decided that not finding any red flags or subtext was a sign there weren’t any or if I’d missed some glaring fact the way I had when I’d dated Tony.

So far our age difference didn't seem to be much of a factor. The generation gap had skipped us, since our attitudes toward the world seemed to be similar. He never said or did things that had me thinking about how he'd been born when I was nine years old and I could have been his babysitter while I was in high school.

I looked up when the bell rang to signal someone physically coming into the office. Which was rare because most of Dad’s clients used text or emails to contact him these days.

“Hey, Chloe, got a minute?” John Chisholm asked.

“Sure, how can I help?” There had to be some reason John had come here in person. Molly had already dropped off the quotes and the invoice for work done earlier in the week.

He pursed his lips for a long minute. “I heard the Cozy Counter closed down.”

“Unfortunately.” I might have suspected he’d been talking to Marilyn, but the diner was less than a half mile from the Prunery’s office, so he’d probably see the big “Closed Permanently. Thanks for your business” sign Gord had stuck up that last day. Or the new “Opening Soon” sign for the business taking over the spot.

He hummed. “If I remember rightly, you helped your grandfather out with his tree farm when you were in high school. You know how to handle tools like chain saws. Your father says you know how to work a wood chipper too?”

“You’ve talked to Dad?” I pushed my chair back and stood up to lean on the counter. I didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to see where this was going. But did I want it to end up how I envisioned? And how did I want to respond?

“He sends a lot of work my way and yes, he has mentioned you on more than one occasion.”

Just how much have you told people about me or why I’ve moved back to Port Paxton, Dad? “So how can I help you?”

“Now that you’re not going to be working at the diner, are you planning on working for your dad full time?”

I shook my head. “Dad can’t afford to pay someone else to work part-time let alone full time, so no. I need to find another job, one that will pay my bills.” I leaned one hip against the counter. “Why? Are you looking to offer me a job?”

“Actually, yes, I am.” He paused. “Wait, are you saying Mike doesn’t pay you for any of the work you do for him? Like when you went out and cut up those trees and downed branches over at the campground? You did that for free?”

“I’m family. Family helps each other out.” I wasn’t about to explain how much my parents had helped me with all my legal costs. I’d be paying them back for the rest of my life, even though they kept telling me I didn’t have to. My parents are my rocks.

The corners of his mouth stayed curved down. “The Prunery’ll pay you better than you’d make working in any restaurant or store around these parts. Given you already know how to handle the tools, it wouldn’t take much to train you up as a groundsperson.”

I didn’t care for the days Dad sent me out to cut lawns or unclog toilets, but I liked working in the office. This was where I was most comfortable, what I’d spent four years at university studying. Still, I needed to pay the rent along with the rest of my debts so I didn’t end up living back with my parents, as much as they would welcome me home with open arms.

I flattened my hands on the counter, stared at them. The work he was describing meant I’d have to give up my dreams of clean hands and manicured nails. But those bills needed to be covered. “How much do you pay?”

He named the hourly rate—triple what I made as a waitress. “It’s full time. This time of year, you’ll be working a minimum of thirty-five hours a week. If you have to put in overtime, you’ll get paid for it, of course. I won’t kid you. Some weeks, you’ll be working twelve hours a day, five, sometimes six days a week. Like last week, after that storm? Most of my guys put in sixty hours.”

He tilted his head as if sensing my indecision. “It’s up to you if you want to only do it for the summer or if you want to make it permanent. We’re good either way this time of year.”

“Will I be expected to climb the trees? Learn all those knots and stuff?”

“Not initially, though we could train you if you want to go for your arborist certification. Are you afraid of heights?”

“No. Heights aren’t a problem for me.” I’d spent hours every summer as kid, climbing the maples in the forest behind our house. Exasperation bubbled up and I fought to contain it. The job was fair, and the money was far better than I had earned in a long time. It would help pay off my debts that much faster. But shit, I hated manual labor. I did it because I had to, but I thought I’d escaped it the day I graduated with my business degree. “Look, I can work a chain saw. I can maintain the equipment and can get certified for whatever machinery you need. It’s just…”

His lips cinched closed, obviously not pleased with my reaction. I guess I hadn’t hidden my frustration as well as I’d hoped. “But you’re not interested.”

I blew out a deep breath and reminded myself I needed a job. “No, I am interested. I’m sorry, your offer came out of the blue.” I met his eyes, knowing I was going to take the job, even if I didn’t say so today. “Exactly what would I be doing?”

I knew what he’d say— working outside, hauling branches and whatever the arborist throws down your way. Working outside meant dealing with scorching heat in the summer, deer flies, black flies and mosquitoes who would drain me of blood faster than any glittery vampire. Not to mention, if I couldn’t find something by the winter, I’d be driving to locations all over the county through ice and snow, trudging over snowbanks or sheets of ice and managing ice-covered limbs. All the stuff I’d hated dealing with in helping Gramps with his tree farm.

John rested one arm on the counter. “It’s physically hard work. You have to be able to lift at least fifty pounds minimum. You need to be able to lift heavy logs into the wood chipper. Haul the equipment around, load it on and off the trailers.

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