Page 27 of So Not My Type

TEN

ELLA

Tugging on red rubber boots, going makeup free, and not straightening her hair within an inch of its life was a bit of a ritual for Ella. It was like her body knew what to expect when she left the house like this, and the lumps in her shoulders started melting. She pushed up a headband to keep her newly acquired bangs out of her face, grabbed a rain jacket, and jumped in the back of the SUV for the hourlong drive to Snoqualmie.

“Quiet time today?” Thomas asked from the front as he pulled out of the winding driveway.

“Yes, please.” She leaned against the seat and stared out the window.

Hopefully today she could forget about her atrocious few weeks with Sophie. Yesterday would haunt her for months, and she couldn’t get over that she nearly broke down crying at their desks. What a childish move to make at work. She’d snapped again later that afternoon, crying in front of her longtime doctor. But Sophie shined a spotlight on her insecurities and illuminated every terrible thought she’d ever had about herself. Her eyes filled again, but she bit down on her cheek to stop them.

But Ella shouldn’t have said what she said—that Sophie didn’t make an impression. It was a bald-faced lie. Ella may not have rememberedexactlywhat happened the day they first met. But she certainly remembered Sophie, and the way she felt after their first meeting. And, if memory served, it was Sophie who was awful, not her.

Sophie left an impression anywhere she went. With her soft-butch look, her edgy outfits, and eyes that caught the light, everyone knew who she was. And she wassmart. So freaking smart. She whipped through concepts, statements, and timelines like she could recite them in her sleep. She pointed at bits of creative and why the leads rejected them. “See the lines that match up here to make a T? That’s the opposite of what we are going for when creating an ad of openness,” Sophie had said earlier in the week. “You may not have noticed it, but your subconscious did.”

Trees whipped by, evergreens and weeping willows, filling the foggy air. Snow-topped mountains surrounded her, and after a while, the traffic reduced. Her heart rate lowered with each mile closer to her sanctuary.

Thomas navigated the vehicle up the hill. The weeklong knots in her stomach released, and her softened belly pouched against the seatbelt. She cracked the window and inhaled. Seattle air was pretty decent, especially for city air. Salt and seaweed mingled with misted pavestone. But the air in Snoqualmie, with its gushing waterfalls and meadows, smelled crisp and clean.

The SUV bumped up the gravel drive. A white horse fence enclosed the property and greenery surrounded the space. They passed the massive red barn with its chipped-paint door and continued bumping up the road. Chickens, seemingly unimpressed by the vehicle, casually strutted out of the way.

Thomas pulled to a stop in front of the early 1900s brick home with sunken windows, a stained-glass front door, and wraparound cedar-fenced porch with scattered and mismatched rocking chairs. Ella glanced at the influx of potted plants lining the pathway. “Did she get more plants than last time?”

“How can one even tell?”

Ella stepped out of the car. “You heading to get a cinnamon roll the size of your head?”

Thomas patted his belly. “You know me. Don’t worry, I’ll save you some.”

“You said that the last three times and failed miserably on your promise.” She couldn’t blame him. The town had a local breakfast joint that had been there since the ’60s, boasting items like the Dungeness crab omelette, freshly squeezed juices, and the thickest, heartiest oatmeal with whole milk and brown sugar. But the cinnamon rolls were the unofficial star. The owner made them fresh every day, and Ella swore she could smell the buttered dough and cinnamon sugar for a mile.

She waved goodbye, knowing he’d actually sit and wait until she was inside the house. A cock-a-doodle-doo and horses neighing echoed across the valley as she trudged through the mud up to the house. She breathed in, hard, for the first time since she was here a month ago.

After kicking off her boots at the door, she rang the doorbell and cracked it open. A hearty, sweet sage fog pummeled her. “Jesus. I think all the demons are gone.” She fanned away the cloud and navigated to the kitchen, where her aunt stood in her signature peacock-colored muumuu, smudging like her life depended on it.

“Ella girl. I’m on my final room.” Colleen twirled the bundle of sticks, murmuring something under her breath that Ella couldn’t make out.

Tears sprung to Ella’s eyes to combat the smoke. She lifted her shirt to cover her mouth and nose. “Oof. Why so much sage?”

Colleen circled the wand, the sleeves of the muumuu fanning the air with each movement. “Spring is in the air, my love. Time to cleanse, rejuvenate, and make space for the body and mind to heal.”

Ella was not much for naturopathy, spiritual healing, or eating live sprouts to keep the doctor away. By the time she’d leave today, she’d probably have some combination of frankincense, lavender, and bergamot oil mixed in a bottle for her with a reminder to do chakra breathing and pay attention to which moon they were in. But maybe her aunt was on to something. Colleen’s soft smile lines in her cheeks and around her eyes showed happiness, not fatigue.

Colleen snuffed out the burning embers. “Come here, sweet girl.”

Ella melted into the hug and absorbed the multiple kisses against her forehead. This place was the only spot where Ella was both loved like a child and given the respect she deserved as a woman.

Colleen pulled back. Her gaze scanned Ella’s face and her brows knitted in concern. “Want some tea? Or are you just here to brush the horses?”

“How did you know?” Brush horses, run away, bury herself under a stack of hay, did it really matter? Maybe Ella didn’t need a job, maybe she could just live in Colleen’s guesthouse next to the goats. She could earn her keep by feeding the chickens and scooping poop.Oh, wait… that’s right.When Ella begged her aunt last year to move in, that was part of the deal. As much as Ella loved the animals, she drew the line at poop duty.

Colleen guided her into the kitchen. She pulled down two mason jars from the cabinet and filled them with water from thetap. “When you texted last night to see if I was around, I knew it wasn’t a social call. You were just here a few weeks ago.” Colleen sliced two hefty chunks of lemon and tossed one in each jar. “Want to talk about it?”

Ella shook her head and remained silent. Colleen gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder, then grabbed her work gloves and straw hat and headed to the front door.

The earth crunched beneath Ella’s feet, massaging her toes through her boots as she walked to the barn. At home, everything was pristine. Perfectly manicured hedges surrounded the circular driveway. Rose bushes, cherry blossoms, and a mixture of annuals and perennials the primary gardener maintained lined the border. The lawn was mowed in an intricate diamond-design. One would be hard-pressed to find a blade of grass out of place. But here, Colleen didn’t even have a paved driveway. Sticks and debris littered the gravel path, and overgrown plants and trees filled the yard.

Several goats scattered the area and filled the space with their happy chomping sounds. “Goats are the most natural landscaper. My blackberry bushes would’ve taken over by now without them,” Colleen said at least once a year.

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