Page 8 of The Inn

Jameson is easy to fall for despite his gruff exterior. It isn’t just his looks. It’s the way he subtly squashed back my anxiety in the horse pen. The way he caught me before I knew I was falling. It’s the way he can’t help but reveal glimpses of his soft heart when he talks about his family. The man is unshakeable. I could see myself falling hard and fast for the man in another life, but I’ve got to keep my head on straight. That isn’t what I’m here for.

Now all I need to do is gather a little more information and I’ll be on my way. Though I can admit, the Findlay family makes staying put look like a dream. I know enough to understand that small-town farm life isn’t for me. But sitting around the table with them tonight, I can see the appeal. There’s a palpable sense of belonging that wraps around you like a warm blanket when you’re here.

I help clear plates and when I step into the kitchen, a pile of ingredients decorate the countertop. What they will make, I can’t be sure. The kitchen oozes the same rustic charm as the rest of the place. The walls are painted a soft, buttery yellow, reminiscent of a sun-kissed summer day. Every inch of the kitchen is lovingly adorned with delightful details that make my heart flutter. A tiny stained glass ladybug hangs in the window and a green houseplant has vines that stretch almost to the floor.

Then there are the cheery sunflowers that peek out from vases, with their vibrant yellow petals dancing in sync with the soft breeze that sneaks through the open window. But the things that get me the most are the playful ceramic roosters. They steal the show, strutting their stuff on every imaginable surface. I resist the urge to capture every single inch of this place to share on social media because it’s too cute to be real, yet here I am.

When the dishes are done, I get my notebook ready to scribble down the details of all things Findlay. Dakota and Maisie will be easy interviews, they’ve already offered up information without my having to pry. I’m taken by the charm of the women in this family… And by one of the men. As hard as he’s trying, it isn’t Archie.

If the situation were different, if for example I wasn’t here for work or wasn’t leaving for Europe as soon as possible, then Archie would be the obvious choice for me. He’s handsome in a perfect sort of way and charming too. He’s the sunshine to Jameson’s midnight rain. The good cop to Jameson’s bad cop routine. But there’s something inherently younger-brother-ish about him that I can’t see past. It’s a thinly veiled goofiness that is endearing but not at all sexy. Nothing like Jameson.

I can't deny the intense, irresistible heat that simmers between Jameson and me. It's a fiery attraction that defies logic and reason. There's an unexpected depth to him, a hidden vulnerability that tugs at my heartstrings.

I saw it in flashes today, his gruff exterior falling away, failing to conceal his protective heart. I’m desperate to know more about the world hiding behind his brooding, guarded eyes. But his walls are impossible to chip away and I wonder how far I can get in the next twelve hours. Especially considering the fact that he just walked out of that door and so far, he hasn’t been back.

“Honey, you’re going to have to put the notebook and phone down.” Maisie hands me a knife. “The peaches aren’t going to slice themselves.”

“You’d better listen,” Dakota adds with a laugh.

“Of course, I’m happy to help.” With that, I put my things and start slicing. These ladies make cobbler-making into an art form. A new level of cottage-core is officially unlocked and I don’t even stop to document it.

For the next half hour, I forget all about the article and lose myself in the stories of the original Mrs. Findlay. I use her antique baking pans and hear the details of a love story that has lasted for generations. I run my fingers over the curved lip of the dish.

A sense of calm washes over me and I wonder how my bouts of anxiety would hold up in a serene setting like this. I don’t think they’d stand a chance with this kind of peace all around me. A pang of longing rumbles deep within me. For the first time in a long time, I find myself wondering what it would be like to be from somewhere. As she talks, my mind dwindles to a single thought.

I guess this is what happens when you stay.

Maisie continues, “We keep as much history in the family as we can. It’s my dream to open up the inns again and invite the world to share in our past. So much of the town’s legacy started here. But the only inn ready is the one you’re staying in. The rest have some work to be done. Who am I kidding, they’re abandoned completely at this point. It’s a project no one is ready to take on. Besides, you’ve met my son, he’s set in his ways ever since…”

“Mom, Dakota chimes in, “Why don’t you tell Summer about your plans for the new chicken coop?”

No, don’t. Tell me what you were going to say.I plead my case internally as much out of my own curiosity as for the sake of my article. But I can tell it isn’t the time to press the issue.

“Yes, the coop!” Maisie claps her hands together. “We’ve always been at the forefront of free-range farming. Archie’s come up with some incredible ideas and now he’s found a way to use organic sprouts to double our feed...”

As she continues, I realize I could listen to Maisie for hours. But I could daydream about my time with her son for even longer. I smiled more today than I have in a long time. I don’t want to like him.

Focus Summer. You want an Archie, not a Jameson. Archie is simple. Actually, scratch that, you don’t want either one. You want to travel.

After a brief pep talk with myself, I decide that I for sure don’t want either one of them for a multitude of reasons. Not least of which is the fact that I am a professional, here for work. I’m not a contestant onFarmer Wants a Wife.I pull out my phone and make a note to myself to check the application requirements forFarmer Wants a Wife.

I can’t deny that being out on the farm with Jameson felt incredible. I’m desperate to recreate it, only not with him and not anytime soon.

When Maisie pauses to put the cobbler in the oven, I exhale. “Thank you for sharing your home with me and your family. In all my moving and adventures, I’ve not lived anything like this before.” It’s more personal than I usually get on work assignments, but something about Maisie invites me in and I can’t help but share.

“Aren’t you close with your family?” Dakota asks.

“It’s just my father and I. My mom passed away when I was young, and I hardly remember her. We moved quite a bit when I was a kid. It was not a bad way to grow up, I got to see the world. I guess I just never realized how much beauty we have right here in small-town America.”

“That sounds like so much fun. I have about a million places I want to visit. But I don’t think I’d want to live in each of them. In fact, I only ever want to live here. It’s nice to have somewhere to come home to no matter how long you're gone.” Dakota furrows her brow and I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.

I shake my head at myself. Her words settle too heavily around me. I need to focus.In just a few days I’ll be sitting on a beach in Europe… with a drink in my hand and a handsome man planting kisses all over my body… a handsome man with a square jawline and a sour disposition… and maybe a cowboy hat…dammit.Jameson’s stupid ruggedly handsome face infiltrates my fantasy and I push it away.

Maisie sets a timer for her cobbler and then ushers us into the sitting room. I go, grateful for the distraction from my own ridiculous brain. Full and warm, I settle into the old worn couch and pull a throw blanket over myself.

Armed with my phone, my notebook, and my sobriety, I start the conversation. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions now?”

As Maisie sits down beside me, she opens an aged photo album, unlocking a treasure trove of memories that make my mouth water. But I have to admit I’m ready to see what a young Jameson looks like. I wonder if he’s always been grumpy or if he converted at some point.

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