AFTER LAST NIGHT, I wasn’t quite sure what mood I’d find Jesse in this morning. As I dressed to meet him at the barn, I wondered if he’d have an emotional hangover. Or at least be a little subdued. I even prepared myself for more teary conversation. Never once did it cross my mind that he’d be in good spirits.
And not just run-of-the-mill good spirits, but the kind of good spirits that had him suggesting we name the chickens. All of them. Forget just the six I proposed we name yesterday morning.
Given that there are a total of twenty-six, Jesse thought it would be a good idea to give each chicken a name that starts with a different letter of the alphabet, beginning with A and working our way to Z.
We’re currently stuck on X.
We would have called this one Xander—the only X name either of us seems to know—if I had picked up a boy. But I have a girl in my hands. Jesse thought it would be fun if I had to close my eyes before picking up the next chicken to be named so that the sex would be a mystery.
Jesse thought it would be fun.
I’m still shocked by his mood, even though we’ve been out here a full half hour. I’m certainly happy about it, though. Last night I left the fire worried I hadn’t said or done enough for him. But it seems Jesse just needed someone to listen.
“What about just X?” Jesse tries.
“No,” I veto. “We can do better than that.”
I woke up feeling determined to do better on all counts while I’m here. Not that I thought I was slacking on the job. But now that I know how much this season means to Jesse, I’m even more motivated to ensure everything is done at its best—including naming the chickens.
I study the one I’m holding more seriously.
“You doing all right?” Jesse asks.
When I look up, I see Jesse is studying me.
“Yeah, why?”
“You just look a little more intense than usual.”
I’m surprised he picked up on this subtle shift in my demeanor.
“Is there something specific we need to do to make sure you keep the inn past this holiday season?” I ask.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now? I thought we were naming chickens.”
I sigh and share what’s on my mind and why I’m taking the chicken naming so seriously.
“As long as we keep the place running as well as my parents did, I think they’ll let me step in and co-own it,” he reassures me. “They just don’t want to see it fall apart. Brendan and Molly both had the hospitality background, as my parents do, so they wouldn’t have doubted their abilities. But I think they are questioning mine.”
“I don’t have a hospitality background either,” I point out.
“Yeah, but you studied business like me. I think as long as we keep the guests happy and the oven fires to a minimum, we should be good.”
“Was that a dig?”
“Just a suggestion.” His smirk tells me he’s only teasing, and I can’t help but laugh. Last night Jesse mentioned Brendan was the one in their family who always made everything more fun. But he seems to have that skill set too.
“How about Xylophone?” I say, contemplating the chicken again.
“You mean like the instrument?”
“It keeps popping into my head when I think of words that start with X. We can call her Xylo for short.”
“Xylo,” Jesse echoes. “That’s cute.”
“And unforgettable. We certainly won’t forget you, Xylo,” I say, stroking her feathers before setting her down.
“Xylo won’t forget you either,” Jesse says. I think he’s just being sweet, but then he tells me that chickens don’t forget faces.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. All of these guys and girls will remember you forever. Even once you head back to Atlanta.”
As soon as Jesse says this, my stomach clenches. I’m already dreading leaving the inn, and it’s only my third day here. I suppose that speaks to how much I’m liking it. But it freaks me out a little bit for what’s to come. Then again, Sky is waiting for me at the end of my time here. Maybe the good times are just getting started.
—
Jesse and I make fried eggs this morning for the guests. And toast and bagels and of course waffles because Jesse says we must serve the guests something that goes with maple syrup every morning.
After, I get the two new arrivals checked in and then head to town to grab the art supplies I forgot about yesterday. I feel a little guilty when I leave the inn. Part of me thinks I should stick around in case the new guests have questions. But then I remember that Jesse told me not to stress. Also, I can’t forget about my Vermont Bucket List. That has to remain a priority on par with helping Jesse save the inn.
While I’m in town picking out my supplies at Stowe Crafts, a few doors down from Milk & Maple, I can’t help but check my email to see if Sky has written me back.
He hasn’t.
It’s a little disappointing but makes complete sense. I told him I wouldn’t check my email often. He probably figured there’s no point in rushing to get back to me. I was just hoping he’d shot me something fast because I’m so curious to see what his next one says.
After leaving the store, I wander down the street. Last time I was here I was in such a rush that I didn’t fully take in all the details of the delightful downtown, so I do so now, snapping pictures as I go to send to Zoe, Grace, and my parents.
Downtown Stowe is an idyllic New England town punctuated with charming storefronts that dare you to walk by without stepping inside, and a tall white church steeple watching over everything. I pass by The Country Store on Main, which sells home goods including candles and cookware, linens and seasonal décor. And Shaw’s General Store, where a variety of jackets, boots, scarves, and hats are on display in the front window. A little further ahead, I run into a cozy tavern called Harrison’s, whose menu is pinned up outside. I steal a peek and the items listed make my stomach growl, including crab cakes and mussels, chicken piccata, and butternut squash soup. There’s even a delightful bookstore—Bear Pond Books—with a giant teddy bear sitting out front in a white rocker holding a novel.
As I continue meandering, I pass another charming inn, as well as a handful of other shops, cafés, and fine-dining establishments. My eyes are constantly torn between wanting to check out what’s inside and wanting to admire the building exteriors set against the backdrop of the vibrant trees in autumn colors. At first, I think the red treetops are the most stunning, but then a minute later I’m convinced it’s the orange ones I like best, and a beat after that I’ve fallen just as in love with the yellows. I’ve never seen trees blush like this—in so many shades of color.
When I stop to send along the photos, I see the pictures don’t do this place justice. But I’m glad I’m able to send a few home. And that I have some on my phone to show any inquiring guests. Speaking of guests . . . I should probably get back to them now.
I bring my painting supplies with me straight to the inn’s kitchen, since I make it back just in time to start happy hour prep.
After happy hour ends, I decide to spread my things out in the parlor on a table with a view outside for inspiration. Though all the guest rooms have kitchenettes, everyone tonight seems to have either called an Uber or driven into town for dinner. I’m grateful the place cleared out so that I can have some quiet and focus on my craft project without interruption.
I’m not expecting to be the next Picasso or Warhol or anything. Other than an elective art class or two that I took in high school, I don’t have any painting experience. I just want to see if I like to paint. And if I can get into a meditative zone while doing it. I’ve heard people talk about getting “lost in their work.” I keep hoping one day I’ll experience some version of that.
Though the sun has set, it’s still light enough when I sit down that I can see some of the trees out the window as well as the flames from the fire outside that Jesse must have gotten going.
I set the canvas I picked out from the craft store right in front of me. Then I get to work.
—
An hour later, I step outside with my panting in hand and spot Jesse by the fire, sipping another warm drink. He looks so relaxed he could be mistaken for a guest. I try to think of another job that makes being on the clock look this good on somebody, but I’m drawing a blank right now.
“Is this your nightly routine?” I ask with a grin as I approach.
“I don’t know,” he says, cupping his mug with both his hands. “It’s only my third day on the job too, remember? I’m still trying to nail my routine down.” He nods to my painting. “Are you an artist?”
“Not exactly. Just was giving it a shot.” I hold it up for him to assess.
“Looks like Hudson Lane,” he says.
“An abstract version of Hudson Lane, maybe.” Saying it looks like the inn is giving me way too much credit. It’s safe to say that art is not my hidden talent. And I wouldn’t say I loved painting either. It didn’t put me in any kind of mental zone, though I did feel a sense of accomplishment when I crossed the activity off my Vermont Bucket List. So at least there’s that.
“I think abstract is in,” Jesse says.
“Not this level of abstract,” I laugh as I take a seat in the Adirondack chair beside him. I’m not sure why I just made myself at home. For one, Jesse didn’t invite me to join him. And two, it’s cold out here. But it just felt so natural to sit.
“Can I get you a drink?” Jesse asks.
“Sure.”
It felt natural to accept that too.
It’s not like I have other plans—and even if I did have other plans, I’d cancel them right now to hang out with Jesse. We’re in that beginning phase of our friendship when there’s still so much to learn and it’s exciting to find out more.
Just as he did last night, he tosses me his blanket before he heads in, and I wrap it around my shoulders. Unlike I did last night, I don’t feel the urge to move to the opposite end of the fire. I actually laugh when I look at the spot where I originally sat down yesterday. Only twenty-four hours have passed since I decided to stop thinking of Jesse as my coworker and instead view him as my friend, but it seems like a lot longer than that. Putting five chairs between us strikes me as ridiculous now.
Jesse returns a few moments later and hands me a mug before retrieving another blanket out of the basket for himself.
“What are we drinking tonight?” I ask.
We. When did I decide Jesse and I were a unit? Last night, I guess. I suppose we are the innkeepers—at least, until I head home. I wonder what Jesse will do then, assuming his parents agree to let him take over running the inn. Will he hire someone else? Jealousy flashes through me. I wonder why I’m already jealous of my replacement. It’s not as if my forever dream is to run an inn. Well, I don’t think it is. I suppose anything is possible in my life at the moment.
“We’ve got spiced cider tonight,” Jesse says.
I bring it to my nose, inhaling the scent of apples and cinnamon before taking a sip.
“Good?” he asks.
It tastes like fall in a cup. “I wouldn’t complain if part of your nightly routine included making me this. Although I don’t know if I can sit out here every night and drink it,” I confess. It feels colder out here tonight than it did last night. And the temperature is only going to drop. In another month or so, the average low will be below freezing.
“Here.” Jesse stands and sets the blanket that was on his lap on top of mine. He kneels down then, tucking it in on both sides of me so that it’s snug.
I assume he’s going to grab another one for himself, but he sits back down. When I peek at the basket, I see why. There aren’t any more blankets left. Some of the guests must have taken the others off to their rooms or abandoned them inside after sitting out here earlier when it was warmer.
“I can’t hog the only two blankets,” I say, starting to take off the one around my shoulders, but Jesse stops me.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Honestly.”
I do remember him saying he runs warm, but there’s no way he’s warm right now. He’s just being nice.
“When Brendan and I were younger,” he says, “he and I would see how late in the year we could make it sitting out by the fire at night. The rule was we had to be out here for at least fifteen minutes for it to count.”
Picturing this makes me smile. “How far into the season did you get?” I ask, thinking I probably wouldn’t make it past mid-October.
“December 2. But we didn’t have alcohol.” He lifts up his mug before bringing it to his lips.
“Are you thinking that with it you could beat the record?” I ask.
“I’d be willing to try.” His eyes land on mine like he’s trying to gauge whether I’d be up for joining the challenge.
“What do you say?” he asks a second later, confirming that I read him right.
I surprise myself with my answer. “I’m in.”
“Really?”
Apparently, I surprised Jesse with my answer too.
“Why not?” It wasn’t on my Vermont Bucket List, but it sure sounds like a bucket-list item. “As long as you buy more blankets. And promise to always make stiff drinks.”
“Anything you want.” I get the sense he means this. I know I haven’t been friends with Jesse for long, but I’m starting to think he’s the kind of friend who goes above and beyond for those in his inner circle. I recognize that devotion in him because it’s the same way I operate. I’ve never been popular or had a lot of friends, but the friends I do have, I’d do anything to help them.
He scoots in closer to the fire and gazes into the flames, apparently thinking seriously about something.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask eventually.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Come on.” I too scoot in closer to the fire with the aim to nudge him to open up. After last night, he should know I’m a good listener.
“No, seriously,” he says. “I was thinking about nothing.”
I raise a brow. “People do that?”
He nods and grins. “Sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy the moment. Isn’t there a lesson on how to do that in one of those self-help books?”
I grunt and wrinkle my nose. “I’m starting to think those books are only going to teach me how to overthink everything.”
“You see my problem with them. Oh, which reminds me.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a worn paperback. “I brought this in case I ran into you.”
He brought this in case he ran into me. Even more confirmation that he’s the kind of friend I thought he was.
When he hands it over, I take it, running my thumb over the bent and faded cover.
“East of Eden,” I read.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he says.
“And this book will teach me how not to think?”
“It will help you get lost in a moment. Reading a good novel does that to you. And I think once you learn how to do that, you’ll get better at appreciating the good moments rather than overthinking them.”
I’m willing to give it a shot. “Thank you, Jesse.”
“No problem.” He takes another sip of his drink and I do the same.
“Now I feel like a bad friend. I don’t have something up my sleeve for you,” I say. “I’d give you my painting if it were better.”
“I’d hang that.”
“You would?”
“Heck yeah.” I’d set the painting down beside my chair earlier, and Jesse now picks it up. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked it.”
The way he’s looking at it is convincing. Okay, then.
“Look at us, exchanging gifts way before Christmas.”
Jesse sets the painting down on the opposite side of his chair before cupping his mug with both hands again. “Trust me,” he says. “I’ll get you something way better than a book for Christmas.”
I’m not sure what he means, but I make a mental note to get him something really good too.