AS RESISTANT AS I was to the whole “no technology” aspect of this place earlier this morning, I’m starting to think that sitting here at ten o’clock at night wrapped in blankets in a rocker outside my cottage is exactly what I need.
It’s the stars that seem to be convincing me. Sorry—stars are what I saw on clear nights in Atlanta. These are so much brighter; they deserve to be described as something else entirely. Stars 2.0.
I smile as I remember how Jesse referred to me earlier this evening: “Harper 2.0.” I like that name for myself. We all probably have a 2.0 version of ourselves somewhere inside us. The trick is to figure out how to be that person more often.
Which is precisely why I’m out here reading this self-help book. It’s my first of fifteen in this genre that I’m hoping to get through while I’m here. Reading them is on my Vermont Bucket List, and now that there’s no TV at night to distract me, I might knock them off the list faster than I thought.
Then again, there’s also a chance I won’t be alone out here every night. I just heard Jesse’s front door open and swing shut a moment ago. If I look over, he’ll probably say something to me, so I don’t.
It’s not that I mind talking to Jesse. I’d go so far as to say I enjoy it. It’s just that as an introvert, I often get in these moods of just wanting to be—I don’t want to talk to or engage with anyone—and I happen to be in one of those moods right this moment.
Jesse must be an introvert too because he doesn’t say anything for the first couple of minutes he’s outside. When he does eventually look over and address me, I get the sense he’s just trying to be polite.
“Not too cold out here for you?” he asks.
I regard him for a moment. He’s in a sweater and jeans and his hands are seeking warmth inside his pockets.
“I took a bath before I came out, so I’m still nice and toasty.”
“Ah,” he replies, and the conversation drops. It drops because it’s my turn to speak, and I’m not sure how to talk to Jesse when we’re off duty and at our cottages. On the one hand, we’re coworkers. On the other hand, he’s my neighbor.
These different hats make our relationship confusing. At least to me. Jesse’s not making it weird. Maybe it’s not weird, and I’m just making it that way in my head. Less thinking, Harper. More speaking.
“How about you?” I ask. “Cold?”
“I run warm, so I’m fine,” he says.
That explains why his shirt was off earlier when he was chopping wood.
Barely any emotion stirs in me when I think of that now. Good.
He nods to my book. “What are you reading?”
I hold it up to show him the cover.
He wrinkles his nose as if he doesn’t approve.
“Do you have something against self-help books?” I ask.
“Not at all. I’ve read a few.”
“Then what’s with the look?”
He walks toward one of his porch pillars and leans his back against it, facing me.
“I just prefer novels. Someone spouting advice from the comfort of his or her home just doesn’t do it for me. I think living teaches us the most about life. Followed by books about other people living.”
I hadn’t really thought of that before. But I see his point. I glance down at the book in my hand. I won’t immediately rule it out as a tool that might help me, but I’ll consider reading a novel or two while I’m here.
“Was your first day okay? Minus the fire, of course,” he asks.
I smile. “It was great, thanks. I like it here.”
“Good.”
He turns, then, toward the view and gazes upward. I wait to see if he’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t.
Definitely a fellow introvert. There’s something comforting about that.
Since he seems content just taking in the night, I go back to reading and get through a few more pages before he turns back toward me and interrupts.
“Do you think we all go up there when we die?” He nods to the stars.
I study him, wondering if he was smoking weed in his cottage or if he just likes philosophical conversations. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. Though I don’t smoke, I’m not against it, and I also don’t mind going deep. In fact, I wish people wanted to have conversations about this kind of stuff more often.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I hope so. It sure would be a pretty place to hang out.”
He smiles as if he likes my answer. I don’t know why that makes me happy. I don’t care what he thinks of me. Well, I care to some extent, of course. I need him to like me enough to tell his parents to keep me around and to operate the inn smoothly with me. But I’m pretty sure I have great job security if he didn’t tell them they should fire me after the fire-in-the-kitchen mishap.
“What about you?” I ask as he sits on his porch step.
“I’m with you, I guess.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t look like a bad spot. Although sometimes I wish we had a choice between going up there and staying down here forever.”
“It’s nice you feel that way about life,” I say. “Not everyone does.”
He smiles but doesn’t respond. He raises his eyes to the sky again instead. Then, after another minute or so, he gets back to his feet. “I should head in.”
“Time for bed?”
“No. I have more work, actually.”
“Anything I can help with?” I would have felt bad not offering, although I really hope he doesn’t say yes. I’m enjoying being out here and don’t want to head in yet.
“It’s not for this job,” he explains. “It’s for the one I was working at prior to this.”
“Where was that?”
“A consulting company in town. I didn’t want to leave them hanging since I made the decision to jump ship so quick, so I’m finishing up some projects until they can find a replacement for me.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“They were good to me. And I’m big on commitment. It matters to me to see things through.”
Huh. I like that. It’s so solid.
“See you in the morning?” he says.
“Yeah,” I nod. We already discussed earlier that we’re meeting at the barn at six to collect eggs from the chickens to make breakfast for the guests.
“Goodnight, Harper,” he says.
“Goodnight,” I reply.
Hearing the door swing shut behind him, I go back to reading, getting through another couple of chapters before I start to feel cold and decide to head back inside. My bed is calling.
Luckily, I’ve already brushed my teeth, and I’m wearing my pajamas, so I climb right in. Once I slip under the covers, I roll over onto my side, and when I close my eyes, the strangest thought pops into my head: I miss Sky’s snore.
I almost laugh out loud because it’s such an odd thing to miss. It’s even odder that I miss it after only sleeping beside him for one night. I guess it means my crush is even bigger than I thought. I might have to mention this to him in the first email I send.
Which reminds me . . . I need to get to town tomorrow. It’s killing me that I haven’t been able to look at what he wrote me in the first email he sent.
Then again, I guess there’s no need to rush things.
After all, I have a feeling our story is just getting started.