Page 23 of Cherished Lands
I let out a watery chuckle, surprised anything could make me laugh on a night like this.
"Where ya headed?" Jay asked as we climbed into his truck. It still had that lingering new car smell and was pristine on the inside—such a contrast to the rusted-out beater Elliot drove. I had to wonder how they'd afforded a vehicle like this when their business was struggling so much. I hoped Marcus's opinion of them was justified, and I hadn't gotten into business with a family who was reckless with money.
"I'm, uh, not sure." My cheeks burned. I twisted my handsin my lap, suddenly very conscious of my embarrassing predicament. "My father found out tonight—about the cidery. He told me not to come home."
Without another word, he put the truck in drive and began down the road. In no time at all, we were turning onto a dirt and gravel road. It ran underneath a worn metal archway. A wooden sign that readEver Eden Orcharddangled underneath it from two lengths of chain.At the end of the drive, next to the big red barn, sat the Everton family's beautiful old colonial home.
A light flicked on, and the back door opened. Emma Everton appeared, wearing a long, fluffy pink robe and holding a mug. Her brow furrowed as she peered across the back porch through the falling snow.
"She's probably wonderin' what took me so long. She sent me out for milk. Bet she didn't imagine the bonus she'd be gettin'." Jay opened his door and exited the truck, gallon of milk in hand. I was momentarily rooted to my seat as I processed what to do. I didn't have a car, and I couldn't go home. So I guessed I was going inside the Everton house. Despite the cold, my hands were sweating.
They're your business partners. There's no reason this has to be weird.
I followed Jay, picking my way across the snow and ice to the porch steps. I reached the top just in time to hear him say, "I found a stray." When Emma recognized me, her eyes widened. She stepped sideways as Jay passed by and waved me in with her free hand.
"Hi, Tessa. Come on in, honey."
My little black booties dripped all over the hardwood floors of theirentryway. "Sorry, let me just..." I kicked them off and left them on the back porch.
This was my first time ever setting foot in their home.
To my right was the kitchen. It had a large butcher block island and original kitchen cabinets, painted sage green. The countertops were clear of any clutter; no dishes left in the sink. But it had a homey, lived-in feel. The entire space smelled like apples and cinnamon.
There was a powder room off to the left, tucked underneath the staircase at the front of the house. I followed Emma down the hall, slowing to admire the numerous family photos on the wall. When we reached the foyer, I trailed my fingers over the oak banister, tracing the swirls and flourishes carved into the wood by skilled hands generations ago. Everything in this place felt so... alive.
Emma led me into a warm and cozy living room. A plush, L-shaped sectional in a dark caramel color dominated two walls. A massive TV mounted on the opposite wall caught the warm light from the lamp, its screen dark and glossy. A well-loved recliner in darker brown sat off to the side. It bore the telltale signs of countless hours spent lounging—worn armrests and a permanent dip in the cushion.
I studied the space like it was some complex math problem. Not a single room in my parents' home felt this inviting.
"Take a seat," Emma said. "Let's chat."
"I'm sorry to bother you. I know it's late."
Emma flapped a hand. "You're no bother at all. Jay will be in his office playing his video euchre for another hour, at least. The man is obsessed. Would you like a drink of something hot? I just made cocoa."
"No, thanks." I smiled awkwardly and sunk down onto the couch. Emma took a seat around the sectional's corner and set her mug on the coffee table.
"Is everything okay?"
"I-I don't know."
She didn't press; she simply nodded. I didn't understand how she could look at me with such care and concern—this woman I had only spoken to a few times in life because, by all accounts, we were enemies. She had opened her home to me without hesitation. The least I owed her in return was honesty.
"I was at a fundraiser tonight. An acquaintance accidentally spilled the beans about my investing in the cidery. In front of my father."
Emma's mouth formed a shocked 'o,' but she said nothing.
"He told me not to bother coming home. Or to work on Monday."
It wasn't like I couldn't afford my own place. I lived in my parents' house mostly out of convenience. It was easier to wake up in their home and walk next door for whatever work needed done for the day. Living in town would mean driving out to the vineyard each morning and driving home each night. But at thirty-one years old, it was pretty humiliating to be kicked out of your parents' home like some wayward teenager.
I fidgeted with the hem of my dress. "I think I'm most embarrassed that I don't have my own home to go to."
Emma's face softened into an understanding smile. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about. Chase still lives here."
A laugh bubbled up. "With all due respect, Mrs. Everton, I do not relish being compared to Chase."
Emma smiled, and her eyes twinkled.
