Wendy snuggled into her gray down coat and tucked her legs underneath her as she watched the sunrise from her mother’s front stoop. There was enough room on the concrete slab for a comfortable outdoor chair, and since she’d moved to Marigold, she’d made it a habit to drink her morning coffee as she took in the dawning light. The pale sky grew lighter as soft color streaked across the clouds. Since she had on her coat and fleece leggings, the cold didn’t bother her, and the hot coffee warmed her inside. She soaked in the quiet serenity of her surroundings . . . at least until Monroe barked from inside the living room.
She smiled and opened the door for him. He bounded into the front yard, and she kept her eye on him. He used to run off and visit the Waglers next door, frustrating Mom and Charity to no end. Jesse and Micah had built a fence around the backyard, but Wendy trained Monroe to remain near the house so he could explore the front yard too. It took some doing, but now he stayed close to her, despite moments like now when he looked longingly at the field that separated her mother’s house from the Bontragers’. Later this morning, she would take him over there so he could have some Charity and Jesse time and play with Brook. The young dog was always excited to see Monroe, and the two of them acted like they were best buddies.
She placed her half-full mug on the small round table next to the chair and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Internet was spotty here, and after a month she gave up trying to connect online and used her data plan instead. But the longer she lived in Marigold, the less time she spent on the net, and she had shut down all her social media three weeks ago. Probably a bad idea, since she often used her accounts to network for her business—a necessary part of drumming up clients. She didn’t miss social media at all, and the less time she spent scrolling, the more time she had to read, something she used to love when she was a kid but had done very little of over the years outside of reading briefs, case law, and endless emails.
Monroe sniffed the ground as he made his way back to her and parked himself right in front of her chair. On alert and sitting on his haunches, he faced the front yard, his pale-blue eyes taking in the morning activity of birds singing, leaves fluttering, and two gray squirrels chasing each other as they darted up the oak tree on the other side of the yard.
She opened her Bible app and started her daily reading. That was another thing she had neglected in favor of her law career—her faith. It had been years since she attended church, and when she first went with her mother several months ago, it felt weird to be in the service. But like all the other changes that had happened since she left New York, she had settled into a routine of church attendance, Bible reading, and prayer. She’d never been more content.
After reading a chapter in Romans while she finished her coffee, she exited the app and stared at her phone. Why was she reading God’s Word from this device when there was a print Bible on the coffee table in the house? She was about to set a reminder on her phone to use the printed version, then stopped and stared at the phone, a little shocked at how dependent she was on technology. She shut off the phone and put it in her pocket, relying on her own memory to use her mother’s coffee table Bible tomorrow.
She stood, opened the front door, and motioned for Monroe to follow her inside. After hanging up her coat, she headed for the kitchen, where she found her mother sitting at the table with her coffee and a piece of wheat toast with sugar-free strawberry jam, perusing an old issue of Reader’s Digest.
Mom looked at her. “Good morning, dear. I just sat down. Have you eaten yet?”
“No, but I was thinking about making—”
“Bacon and eggs, right?” Her penciled-in eyebrows lifted in anticipation. “With biscuits?”
“Oatmeal,” she said with a grin. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Mom frowned and picked up her toast. “Hope springs eternal. Guess I’ll have to ask Charity to come over and make me one of her delicious breakfasts. If I have your permission, of course.”
Wendy rolled her eyes as she went to the pantry and pulled out the can of steel-cut oats. Sometimes her mother acted like a rebellious teenager, and right now she was sounding like one. “I encourage you to watch what you eat—”
“You dictate what I eat.” Mom raised a finger.
She sighed and went to the stove. “Whatever you say. Just know I dictate because I love you and I want you to be around for a long time.”
“Oh, sweetie. I know that. But what good is being around if I can’t live a little too?”
She had a point. Wendy measured out the oats in a pan. Unlike her mother, she enjoyed eating healthy food. She glanced over her shoulder. “How about we go to Pancho’s for lunch?”
“Really?” Mom broke out into a grin. Pancho’s was her favorite restaurant.
She added some water to the oats. “It’s Taco Tuesday, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I can’t remember the last time we had tacos. Thank you, Wendy. I accept.”
Monroe barked his approval.
Wendy smiled and turned on the stove, then refilled her coffee and sat down at the table, glad she had made her mother’s day. She had planned to go back to her office later that morning, but she could skip today. There wasn’t anything pressing on her calendar, and she wasn’t looking forward to spending hours inside organizing her files, something she hadn’t done yet. Most of her paperwork was digital, but she did maintain some paper copies of important and certified documents. They were in several boxes in the tiny supply closet by her office. She’d tackle them . . . someday.
“You’re quiet this morning.” Mom bit into the toast.
Wendy nodded.
“Penny for your thoughts? Or is it a nickel now, due to inflation?”
She chuckled. “For you, it’s free of charge.” Then she grew serious. Even though she was pondering work, she didn’t want to talk about it. “I was thinking about planting a garden this spring.”
Mom paused, her toast hovering in midair. “Huh,” was all she said as she set the toast on the plate.
“Huh? What does that mean?”
“I’m surprised, that’s all. You’ve never been the outdoorsy type.”
The oatmeal on the stove started to bubble, and Wendy got up from her seat. She stirred the pot and turned down the gas flame. “True. But I’ve seen so many lovely gardens around here. The soil seems well suited for them.”
“The Amish do have wonderful gardens.”
“And we have all that backyard space. We could section off some of it and grow our own vegetables.” She sat back down. “Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, green beans.”
“Peas? I’d love to have some English peas.” Mom tapped her chin. “Maybe a pumpkin or two.” She smiled. “What a great idea. Unfortunately, I don’t have much advice to give. Nor would I be much help. I don’t know anything about gardening. Your father had thought about it, though.”
“Oh? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. Before he died, he’d checked out some gardening books from the library. I don’t know if he would have actually planted one, though. That’s a lot of work for people our age.”
A lump formed in Wendy’s throat. Her father had passed away a little over three years ago, four years after he and Mom moved to Marigold. It was their dream retirement plan to live in Amish country, and they did it, much to her chagrin. She hadn’t wanted them to leave, and she’d worried about her mother after Dad died. She had good reason to, considering her mother wasn’t in great health. But that wasn’t the reason her heart ached right now. How much time had she missed out on over the years, always taking her parents for granted? Work had taken precedence, even after her father passed and up until she moved to Marigold. And what did she have to show for all those years of climbing the corporate lawyer ladder? Boxes of paperwork and a broken heart.
“I’m sure Charity can help us out.” Mom rose from her chair, her movements stiff from arthritis, and grabbed the handles of her walker. Monroe scooted out of the way as she walked over to the kitchen junk drawer and pulled out a pad and pencil. “Your oatmeal is done.”
She’d forgotten all about her breakfast. While her mother made her way back to the table, Wendy finished making her oatmeal—plain with a splash of almond milk—and brought it to the table. For the next hour, she and Mom discussed the garden plans, and by the time they were finished, they had a rudimentary sketch with a list of vegetables to plant and needed supplies.
“This is going to be fun!” Sitting back in her chair, Mom grinned. “I can’t wait for spring.”
“Let’s get through Christmas first.” But she was also excited. “Which reminds me—we need to get the decorations up. How about we do that when we get back from lunch?”
“You’re not working today?”
“I decided to take the day off.” She stood and picked up her empty oatmeal bowl and Mom’s half-eaten toast. When she had to urge her mother to finish the meager breakfast, she said she was saving room for Pancho’s. Wendy didn’t argue.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Mom said, wincing a little as she stood, “but you haven’t been going to your office much lately. I didn’t think you could work from home without stable internet service.”
“I can’t.” She turned on the tap and started to wash the dishes. They had a dishwasher, but she and Mom dirtied so few dishes there wasn’t a point in using it. Besides, she found the act of handwashing them meditative. “It’s the Christmas season. Things are slow.”
“Well, that makes sense. It’s just that I’m used to you working all the time. I figured when you got your office in Barton you would be spending most of your time there.” She was standing by Wendy now. “Again, I’m not complaining. I love having you here.” She patted her on the back of her shoulder and moved away, pushing her silver rollator walker toward the kitchen exit. “I’ll get some of the decorations out of the closet.”
“Mom—”
“Just the ones I can manage. Don’t worry, dear. I won’t overdo it. I refuse to be too tired for Pancho’s!” She snapped her fingers and Monroe followed her out of the kitchen.
Wendy chuckled. Her mother didn’t need to snap to get Monroe to do her bidding. The dog was constantly following her around the house, and his favorite spot—other than taking over the love seat—was at her feet while she was in her recliner. Wendy walked him every day, had trained him to stay in the yard, and was working on stopping his penchant for begging, something that hadn’t materialized yet. But ultimately his heart belonged to Mom, and Wendy was grateful for that. Monroe had been an abused stray that showed up just when her mother needed him. I love that dog.
She paused, her hands in the sink of soapy water. She wasn’t an animal person. Or a garden person. Or even a watch-the-sunrise person. She’d also never had time for Taco Tuesdays or to put up Christmas decorations, other than a silver wreath on her apartment door in NYC, and that usually stayed up until April or May. One year it stayed up all twelve months.
But now she was even thinking about adding more decorations to her mother’s sparse scheme. Not store-bought ones, though. She had her eye on the pine tree in her front yard that stayed green year-round. Small cones had fallen on the ground around the base, and she thought about decorating with cranberries too, for a spot of color. Mom didn’t have a large tree, only a small tabletop one that sat on the coffee table in the living room. Maybe she could craft a few tiny, handmade ornaments. She’d always wanted to learn a handicraft, and sewing appealed to her. As usual, there had never been enough time.
No, that wasn’t true. She’d made time for what was important to her—work. Not her relationship with her parents or maintaining friendships or even dating, although she finally had her first real romantic relationship right before she took her sabbatical. That had ended in disaster, and she wasn’t going to go through that again. She’d never planned to get married anyway. At least that part of her thinking hadn’t changed.
She finished washing and drying the dishes, and after she put them away, she joined her mother and took out the rest of the Christmas decorations. A few of them were heirlooms, and she listened as her mother told oft-repeated stories about the past.
She paid attention and savored every word.
* * *
Ella followed the hostess as they threaded through the crowd in Pancho’s and made their way to a two-seater table. As she sat down facing the front door, the hostess placed a menu in front of her. “Happy Taco Tuesday,” she said with a smile. “Your waitress will be with you soon.”
She’d forgotten about the weekly holiday until she walked into the restaurant and saw the standing placard sign with Taco Tuesday written on it in neon letters. She placed three plastic shopping bags on the floor next to her chair and shrugged off her coat.
A waitress wearing a white shirt with vibrant-colored embroidery on it and her black hair in a bun set a basket of chips and salsa on the table. “What would you like to drink?” she asked with a slight Hispanic accent.
“Iced tea, and I’m actually ready to order. Three crunchy beef tacos, please. Oh, and a bowl of the spiciest salsa you have.”
She nodded and walked away. Ella glanced around the restaurant. There were a few Amish here, but no one she knew. They were probably all from Birch Creek. She did recognize two women a few tables away, and she waved to them. Shirley Pearson and her daughter, Wendy, were loyal customers at her store, especially Wendy, who came in at least once a week or more. Ella noticed Shirley had a plateful of soft tacos. She didn’t realize the woman had that big of an appetite.
A teenage boy appeared with the salsa and tea. He set them in front of her and quickly walked away. Her stomach growled. Normally she didn’t leave the store during work hours, but they needed a few items they didn’t have at the store, and Ella wanted to get some fabric to make a new dress. Junia said she would help Daed with the customers, which made Ella suspicious. But when her sister asked her to pick up some navy blue yarn at Walmart, it made sense.
“I’m going to make Malachi a scarf,” she said. “I’ll need two skeins.”
“Fine.” She was still irritated with Junia about Saturday, and of course her sister wouldn’t work without getting something out of it—in this case yarn. She had to admit Junia was an exceptional knitter, something Ella didn’t have the patience for. She preferred to sew, although lately she hadn’t had much time to sew for fun. A half-pieced quilt was in a box under her bed, waiting for her to come back to.
Whenever she did go to Barton, Ella made sure to stop at Pancho’s. She preferred chimichangas, but with tacos being half priced today, she couldn’t resist. She had just dipped a chip into the salsa when she saw a familiar man walk inside the restaurant. Her mouth dropped open. Nelson Bontrager.
The hostess greeted him, and Ella saw him lift his index finger. Table for one. She quickly crammed the chip in her mouth and looked around the restaurant again. There was only one empty seat. At her table. After their encounter on Saturday, she was sure he wouldn’t want to sit with her. But she owed him an apology—and his coat. If she’d known he was going to be here, she would have brought it with her. After the hostess said something to him, probably about the wait time, he shook his head and started to leave.
She jumped up from her seat and hurried to him. “He’s with me,” she said to the hostess, then grabbed Nelson around the elbow.
“Oh,” the hostess said. “I didn’t realize you were waiting for someone.”
Confused, Nelson frowned. “I’m not with her—”
“C’mon,” Ella said, tugging on his arm. She lowered her voice. “I’ll share mei chips and salsa with you.”
His eyes widened, but he let her lead him to her table. “There,” she said, pointing to the chair.
“I see it.” He sat down, his frown deepening.
He was wearing a navy blue pullover, and for some reason she noticed how well it fit him, especially around the arms. Why was she paying any attention to that? So what if he looked good in a sweater?
“What are you up to?” he asked, his brows forming a strong V over his blue eyes.
Bright-blue eyes, she noticed. Years ago, when she and her father and Junia had gone on a rare vacation to Sarasota, she marveled at the color of the ocean. That’s what Nelson’s eyes reminded her of. Ocean blue. Good grief, what was wrong with her? First his sweater, now his eyes?
The waitress appeared with extra silverware, and Ella gained her bearings as the woman took his drink order. “Eight tacos,” he said. “Two burritos, an order of refried beans, and . . .” He glanced at the full chip basket. “More chips.”
The waitress nodded and walked away. Ella was impressed she didn’t have to write down the order.
“Now will you tell me what all this is about?” He sounded a little irritated, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a few chips and shoveling them into his mouth.
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be eating those.”
He kept his gaze on her, continuing to chew. When he was done, he said, “I would have survived.”
She couldn’t stop her half grin at his snarky comment.
He pulled the salsa bowl closer to him and dipped a chip, then took a bite and swallowed. Suddenly the rest of the chip dropped from his hand. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open.
“What?”
“Hot!” He grabbed her tea and gulped it down. “That’s not helping!” He sat back in the chair, tears squeezing out of his eyes.
Was there something wrong with the salsa? She took a chip and dipped one corner into the black bowl, then tasted it. Perfect. Just the right amount of heat, and a good tomato-to-pepper ratio. She dug the rest of the chip into the salsa and polished it off.
Nelson wiped his red eyes with his napkin. “You’re ab im kopp, you know that?” When he finished, he shoved the bowl toward her. “That stuff is deadly.”
Their food appeared, and as the two waitresses set the dishes in front of them, Ella said, “He’d like a glass of milk.”
“Ella, I don’t need any—”
She turned to him as the waitresses walked away. “You’ll thank me.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Ella ignored his barb and closed her eyes in silent prayer. When she opened them, Nelson was still praying. The busboy set the glass of milk on the table.
Nelson opened his eyes and picked up the milk. He drank half of it in one gulp.
“Better, right? I should have warned you about the salsa. Junia and Daed always order mild.”
He set down the glass, gave her a curt nod, and dug into the tacos.
At least he acknowledged her help. Now it was time for her to apologize. “Nelson, I’m sorry.”
“About the salsa?” He’d already polished off two tacos with record speed. “Lesson learned.”
“Nee. About our last conversation. I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted my help with your business. And I promise I wasn’t planning or plotting to undermine you. I just thought—”
“You made it clear what you were thinking.” He grabbed a third taco. “Apology accepted. Let’s just eat lunch, ya?”
“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t buy the warehouse,” she said.
“You’re not. I already bought it. Just signed the paperwork at the bank down the street.”
Her spirits sank a bit. While she was sincere about not wanting to stand in his way, her dreams of expanding the store disappeared just like that. Poof. It didn’t mean they couldn’t add on to the store. Eventually. Maybe. But it would have been so much easier to buy the warehouse. “Uh, congratulations.”
“Danki.”
As he plowed through two more tacos and moved on to the burritos, while also taking bites of the beans, two things occurred to her. One: Nelson was a hearty eater. Not a sloppy one, though. The tacos seemed small in his huge hands, as if he were eating mini ones instead of regular size. And two: they were now going to be neighbors, businesswise. “Where are you going to live?”
He was pressing the side of his fork into the last third of burrito number one. “In a house.”
“Whose house?”
“Mine. At some point, anyway. I’ll bunk in at Jesse’s for the time being.”
That made sense. She bit into her second taco. Delicious. “When will you renovate the warehouse? Have you decided what equipment you need? How will you change the footprint of the building?”
He gaped at her. “What’s with all the questions?”
“I’m just curious.”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
She was surprised. “You still don’t have a plan?”
Nelson set down his fork. “Ella, don’t you ever mind your own business?” He lifted his hand and motioned for a nearby waitress. She quickly came over. “Check, please—”
“You didn’t finish your lunch,” Ella pointed out.
“And a to-go box.” He turned to Ella as the waitress disappeared. “Look, since our businesses will be next to each other, I need to make a few things clear. This is mei business. Not yours. Which means you don’t have the right to ask me questions.”
“But I’m trying to help.”
“I’ll have plenty of help from mei familye, who are very successful businesspeople.”
“They are?”
“Ya. My two oldest twin brothers own a horse farm. They also rehabilitate abused horses. My oldest brother owns his own roofing business in Fredericktown. My brother Owen will be running our family farm when mei daed retires, and my brother-in-law, Jalon—Malachi’s father—also owns a farm.”
“Wow.” Ella sat back. Maybe she should be asking the Bontragers for business advice. “Do any of them own a butcher shop?”
“Nee,” he said, a little doubt creeping into his sea-blue eyes. “But I’ll figure it out.”
His gaze locked with hers, and the strangest thing happened. She should be irritated by his bluntness. But she wasn’t. She liked the fact that he was straightforward and sure of himself. He was right, he didn’t need her help. He was a capable—and if his physique was any indication—strong man who was making her stomach flutter. Or was it the spicy salsa? She didn’t know, and as she continued to gaze into his incredible eyes, she didn’t care.
The waitress appeared with the check and a to-go box, drawing Ella out of her daze.
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “How much is hers?” he said, nodding at Ella.
The waitress took the check out of her apron and handed it to him.
Ella tried to stop him, but she couldn’t speak a word. Not with her mouth as dry as cotton. When did that happen? She could only watch as he opened the wallet and handed the waitress a few bills. “Keep the change.”
“Gracias,” she said, taking the money. “You two have a nice day.”
Nelson nodded as he quickly scooped the rest of his food into the box and closed the lid. She noticed his hands again. Like the rest of him, they looked sturdy, and there was a scar on the top of the knuckle on his right third finger. Then she blinked. She had to get back to reality. This was Nelson Bontrager. He didn’t like her, and she definitely didn’t like him.
“Thank you for lunch,” she said curtly, yanking on her coat. It would serve her well to ignore his good looks and focus on his grouchy personality. She reached for her bags and purse on the floor. “I’ll get your coat back to you ASAP.”
“Malachi can pick it up this Saturday when he sees Junia.”
She froze, then sat up straight. “What?”
“He and Junia have a date.” Nelson finished off the milk.
Ella started to fume. “On Saturday?”
“Ya.”
“But we’re hosting church on Sunday. We need to spend all day Saturday cleaning.” Junia hadn’t mentioned anything about Malachi, other than knitting him a scarf. She took the napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. “She’s going to leave me to clean everything by myself. Again.” Nelson forgotten, she grabbed her stuff and stood. “Not this time,” she said and marched out of the restaurant.
Her taxi wasn’t due to arrive for another twenty minutes, but Ella didn’t care. She stormed down the sidewalk, needing to blow off steam. Junia would have to cancel her date, and Ella didn’t care how much of a fuss her sister raised—and she would raise a fuss. She was tired of Junia dodging work and getting away with it. “Not anymore,” Ella grumbled, ignoring the couple she passed by and their quizzical look at her talking to herself. “It ends now.”