Saturday

I woke up a little later than I had on Friday morning and dressed in another t-shirt, jeans and long sleeved flannel shirt before going down to breakfast. Gladys had a really nice spread going and the dining area was decently full of folks. She bid me good morning and urged me to help myself at the breakfast buffet, so I had a decent sized helping of eggs and bacon before heading off to town. I was surprised to see how many cars were already wedged into every available spot, even at the early hour. I walked through town, taking pictures of the brightly colored bunting waving in the breeze, the sun rising up over the tree line, and some of the store-fronts that were done up with hand painted signs and bundles of dried flowers.

“Ella!” Ms. Fiona called from the porch of the general store. “What are your plans for today?” She asked as I walked over to her.

“I don’t have anything specific in mind, I thought I’d wander around and take pictures.” I held up my camera.

“So you’ll be at the town social?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good, there’s a couple of folks I think you should meet. Julia Sweeny for one, she’s in charge of all this.” Ms. Fiona gestured to the food trucks starting to line up down by the diner, and then to the carnival style games that were getting set up next to the booths that sold honey, soaps and other goods crafted by the people of LaCera. “We used to just have some music and the artisan booths, but she’s gone and turned it into a big hullabaloo. Anyway, you’ll be wantin’ to talk to her I suppose.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” She gave me an appraising look. “Is… Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Yeah?” I said, looking down at my flannel shirt and jeans.

“Honey, are you one of them lesbians? Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added quickly.

 “No,” I laughed lightly, perplexed.

“Then why are you dressed like one? Nevermind. Devola!” she called before I could ask her how she thought lesbians dressed. From a booth across the street, I saw a young woman get up and walk over to us. 

“Yes Nana?” Devola was maybe twenty-seven or so, with blond hair and big blue eyes. She had on a dark purple dress and a flower crown adorned her hair. She looked like a forest nymph, or perhaps a fairy.

“This is Ms. Ella,” Ms. Fiona said. “She’s about your size, I think. Do you still have that green dress, with the yellow and blue flowers? You know the one I mean?”

“I do.”

“Run home and get it, we’ll see if it fits Ms. Ella.”

“I couldn’t-” I protested.

“Nonsense, run along Devola,” Ms. Fiona urged. Devola did as her grandmother ordered, heading off down one of the side streets and disappearing through the trees. She returned moments later, carrying a very pretty green sundress.

“There’s a bathroom just through there,” Ms. Fiona said, pointing around the corner in the general store. “Go ahead and try it on.”

Sensing it would be pointless to argue with her, I went to the bathroom and tried on the dress. It fit perfectly… because of course it did.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Devola and Ms. Fiona fawned all over me, saying how pretty I looked.

“Oh it’s lovely,” she said, holding me at arm’s length. 

“Thank you,” I said to Devola. She nodded, smiling. 

“It looks really nice with your eyes,” Devola went on. “You just need a flower crown,” Devola insisted, and she took my hand as if we were lifelong best friends. We went over to the artisan booths. “Ms. Deb, Ella needs a flower crown.” 

Deb smiled wide and selected a crown adorned with blue, white, and yellow flowers, to go with the dress. 

Devola led me back to her little booth, where she sold several varieties of Wildflower honey.

“Do you keep bees?” I asked her.

“Yeah, lots of folks here do. I have 16 hives in all,” she said with a smile. “I’m starting to experiment a bit, and this year I’ve got some Raspberry honey.”

“That’s really cool, how do you make that?” 

She explained to me, and then told me about her gardens. She was a friendly, easy to talk to person that made you feel at ease and at home. Her grandmother had told her all about me, but she still asked questions about my life as a reporter and about New Oxford.

I liked Devola, and I thought that she might make a good advertisement for LaCera. She was young, she was pretty, and she had a smile that was infectious. You couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Can I take a few pictures of you?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said, holding up jars and chuckling a little bit. I snapped a few pictures of her until a couple of folks showed up to buy some of her honey. I thanked her for her time and the conversation and headed down to the diner. After I waited in line, I collected a to-go order for lunch, and took it back to the inn to eat in my room.

I spent some time brushing my hair, letting it loose from the bun I put it up in that morning. I looked nice, and suddenly I was grateful for Ms. Fiona and Devola’s insistence that I wear the dress. I liked dressing up, but I didn’t have many occasions to do it. 

My phone rang and Mary’s name flashed across the screen. With a big sigh, I tossed the phone on the bed, letting the call go to voicemail. I turned back to my reflection and after I finished with my hair, I headed back out to take more pictures of the festival in the afternoon light. There were so many people there. I was snapping a few pictures of some festival goers milling around the clearing when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and was pleasantly surprised to see Virgil standing there… Except, he had gone to some effort with his appearance, forgoing his work overalls for the festivities. He had put on clean jeans and a nice shirt, combed his hair and even tidied up his facial hair into a neat goatee. He very nearly took my breath away. He looked like someone who could absolutely ruin me, I realized. He was beyond handsome. He smiled in earnest when our eyes met, and there it was, the man he must have been, once upon a time. He was so beautiful it made my heart ache a little bit. 

Over his shoulder, I didn’t miss a group of girls in their early twenties watching him. Again, I was very glad that Ms. Fiona had insisted on loaning me the dress, and that I didn’t look like the bottom of a laundry hamper.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“You can call me Ella,” I said with a small smile.

“Ella,” he repeated in his low, deep voice. “Are you enjoying the Social?”

“I am rather, you?”

“I just got here myself, but it looks like a cracker jack time.” I chuckled at that. He held out his arm to me. “Would you like to wander aimlessly with me for a bit?”

“Yes,” I said. I smiled as I took his arm. I tucked the camera strap over my other arm and we set off.

“You look really nice,” he said to me as we walked. 

“Thank you. You do, too.” He smelled nice as well, but I didn’t think it was appropriate to say that to him just yet.

“Oh… Thank you.” His ears turned a little pink. We did a lap around the festival, and he would pause patiently when I saw something I wanted to snap a picture of, like a group of little kids getting flower crowns, or a little girl on her father’s shoulders, a balloon tied to her wrist.

“Have you been back up to the meadow since I took you up there?” Virgil asked me after a bit.

“At sunrise yesterday.” He nodded.

“It’s really something in this afternoon light,” he said. “Would you mind going up there with me now?”

“No, I would love to. Let’s go,” I said.

He led me up the road to the wildflower trail. He held on to me as we walked up, even though I was still wearing my sneakers, perfectly capable of navigating the wide, smooth lane myself. I didn’t complain, though. I liked being near him, I realized. 

When we came to the trailhead, I was struck again by the awesome beauty of it all. At sunrise and sunset, it was gorgeous… but now, in the light of early afternoon, it was breathtaking. The colors were vibrant and lush, and even with the crowds moving along the trail, it felt like something from another world entirely. The sky was perfect; a deep cloudless blue. I raised my camera to my eye and took a few pictures. Virgil stood back and let me work. The air was warm, and it smelled like summer.

 It was incredible to see the carpet of densely packed flowers, but even more than that, was the song that was weaving through the air. Over the gentle whispering breeze, the sound of bees was unmistakable. You could see hundreds, maybe thousands of them darting around from flower to flower. Hundreds more than when we’d come up here that first evening. Butterflies of every color and kind flitted back and forth. Birdsong filled the meadow. In the distance, the high reedy call of a crow pierced the symphony periodically.

“The thing that makes LaCera so special is this hollow,” Virgil explained in his low rumble. “When the snow melts off the mountains, the water comes down to the hollow, full of nutrients. And then the hollow holds on to the warm air; keeps the soil from really freezing again after the initial thaw. But the air still gets cold at night. Something about that means that flowers that don’t normally bloom together can. The flowers that take longer to sprout get a head start with the warm soil, but the flowers that bloom when it gets warm get slowed up by the cool air.” He went on. “That’s why there’s so many different kinds all at once.” 

“It is really special,” I agreed.

“Scuttlebutt is that you’re gonna save the town,” he said after a while. “People seem to think if a big publication like The Globe is interested in LaCera, there’s something going on.”

“I dunno… that’s a tall order,” I hedged.

“But you are gonna write something to help?” His tone was more curious than demanding.

“I mean, I hope I can, but I dunno. I feel like every angle’s been done before,” I admitted. “Now that I’ve seen it though… I want to try.”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you.”

“How so?”

“There’s some folks who think the developer would be good for LaCera. Mostly it’s just one family, but they’re a big family.”

“Why do they think that?”

“They think it’ll mean jobs and money for the town.” Virgil shrugged. “Or so they say.”

“Everything I’ve read about the Ranfer Company makes me dubious about that.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” he said. “I’d hate to see all this spoiled.”

“I do think it’s amazing here. Is that why you stayed?” I asked gently, gesturing to the meadow.

He thought about it for a moment. 

“It’s certainly part of it. You have a hard time being sad when there’s this much beauty around, but beyond the flowers, you got the woods and the stream, other nice places too.”

“I’ve never gotten to spend much time in the great outdoors,” I admitted. “I like the idea of it, but I’ve never had the opportunity… not like this.”

“New Oxford doesn’t have nature?” He looked amused. “No parks?”

“Yeah, I mean, it does… but I never really took the time,” I admitted. I looked back at the field of brightly colored flowers, stretching as far as I could see. “I was always so busy with work.” 

I thought about how all of my house plants were dead and about how badly I’d always wanted a cat and about Kyle fucking my sister, but swearing nothing was going on. I thought about my empty god damn apartment and the dust bunnies and cobwebs. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his brows knitting together.

“Nothing,” I said, but then I felt a tear snaking down my face. “Oh fuck.” I wiped it away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said. Just coming face to face with some stuff I thought I’d worked through. Don’t mind me. He eyed me carefully, like I was fragile and might break.

“You sure?”

“It’s just really beautiful,” I said, clearing my throat.

“Yeah,” he said softly. Sensing I wasn’t really okay, he led me over to a spot beneath some trees and we sat there for a long while, watching the birds and bees. Many other visitors came to admire the beauty of the field while we were there. We didn’t speak, but I laced my fingers through his again, admiring how nicely they fit together. The afternoon light fell through the trees in shafts, and caught his eyes, illuminating them in a way I hadn’t noticed before. When the light hit them, they weren’t brown. They swam with gold and green glints here and there, like tide pools.

As the sun started to dip behind the trees again, we headed back to town, still holding hands. 

“There you are!” Ms. Fiona said, materializing out of the crowd when we reached the festival area. “There’s some folks I want you to meet.” 

She pulled me away from Virgil. I looked back over my shoulder at him, but he just raised his hand to where the brim of his hat would have been if he were wearing it.

“Ladies,” he called as we went.

“Ella, this is Julia Sweeney, she’s the head of the festival budget committee and this is-” She introduced me to half a dozen people, and I did my job as a reporter, asking questions and taking notes on my phone. I lost track of Virgil in the chaos, and once I finished with the festival committee, I found myself wandering back over to where the band was setting up for their evening set. I watched kids with balloons and painted faces running through the crowds, couples holding hands, and a group of young women wearing bachelorette weekend t-shirts weaving their way through the booths and food trucks.

The band finally started to play and a few people took to the dance floor, swaying to covers of popular songs. I watched for a while, feeling an ache in my chest that I couldn’t describe. Longing? Jealousy? Loneliness?

 Again, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned and there was Virgil.

“Hey you,” I said, giving him a small smile.

“Hey you,” he replied. The song came to an end, and people clapped for the band. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” I said, and I felt a slight blush creep up my cheeks.  I was glad it was getting dark.

“Do you want to dance?” Virgil asked. The next song started – a cover of Say Yes to Heaven – and I took his outstretched hand. We moved out to dance and he encircled me in his arms. It was a firm, but not unpleasant sensation, and we moved slowly to the beat. It wasn’t a song that you danced to so much as swayed. He moved well, with good rhythm and he didn’t step on my toes. Still holding me with one arm he reached up and brushed a stray hair out of my eyes, tucking it gently behind my ear. I smiled, biting my lip. I felt the familiar flutter. A butterfly had woken up in my stomach.

“What?” He asked. 

“You’re flirting with me,” I teased.

“Only because you’re flirting with me.”

“Maybe I am,” I relented.

“Well, if we’re being honest, I’ve been flirting with you since the first time I took you up to the meadow,” he admitted.

“Your style is very subtle.”

He chuckled, and his face was alight again, and he was that other man. Not the town grump, but someone you wanted to know. The song ended and another started, but we didn’t break apart, we only kept on swaying around in a slow circle. I could see another group of girls – or maybe the same group from that afternoon – standing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, watching us. Their expressions ranged from how one might look at a cute puppy to outright envy. I ducked my head.

“What?” Virgil asked softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I said, smiling. “There’s a group of girls over there that I think have a little crush on you.”

“On me?” He seemed surprised by that. “I doubt it.”

“Oh come on, you are a good looking guy,” I said. “Especially when you smile.” 

We still moved in a slow circle, swaying slowly, even though the new song was a much faster tempo.

“You think so?”

“I wouldn’t flirt with you if you were ugly.”

“I thought it was my sparkling personality,” he said, but he smiled wide now, and he was truly one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. “It’s getting kinda loud here,” he went on. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter, to talk?”

“Sure,” I said. We walked arm-in-arm away from the band and the crowd, back towards the inn. I leaned my back against the side of the building, stretching my legs out in front of me. He leaned one arm against the wall, looking down at me.

“How long have you been a reporter?” Virgil asked.

“About twelve years.” I said. “How long have you been a mechanic?”

“Almost thirty years,” he said. “Since I was nineteen.”

“Wow, long time.” I said, unsure of what to add to that.

“Yup.” He said. A silence passed between us. We could still hear the band, but it was a much more manageable volume from this distance.

“So New Oxford, that’s what, three hours?” He asked with a casual air.

“If your car doesn’t break down on the way, yeah.” I said softly.

“Not such a bad drive.”

“Planning to take a trip there?” I asked with a sly smile.

“Maybe, we’ll see,” he said. “For now, I would really like to kiss you, if that’s all right.”

“Yes,” I heard myself saying. He stood up straight, no longer leaning against the building, so I did too. He took me in his arms, sliding one hand up to the back of my neck, cradling my head. He bent his head and pressed his lips to mine. It was a soft, gentle kiss that built in intensity. I slipped my arms around his neck. He kept one hand cradling the back of my head, and his other arm around my waist. I had never been kissed like that before, and the butterfly in my stomach had multiplied. There were enough floating around in there to rival what I saw in the meadow that afternoon. We broke apart, and he rested his forehead against mine.

“You’re a good kisser,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“So are you,” I agreed.

He kissed me again, pulling my body closer to his. My heart was pounding in my chest so hard, I was sure he could feel it. 

When we parted, he moved his hand from the back of my head, to the side of my face, cupping my cheek gently. He kissed my forehead, and then just held me. He started to say something, but then I heard a small sound from under the porch of the inn.

“What was that?”

“Dunno, probably a frog or something, they make all kinds of little sounds.” 

But then I heard it again, and it was definitely a little tiny “meow.”

I climbed off the porch and looked around. Then I saw him, a little black kitten stuck between the bands of the trellis. I carefully pulled him out and he just sat there, looking at me with big, dark eyes.

“Aw, he’s so little.”

“He’s big enough to be away from his mama, but yeah, he’s a baby, maybe 10-12 weeks.” Virgil agreed. When he still didn’t run away, I picked him up and held him in my arms like a baby. 

“He’s so sweet,” I gushed as he purred. “I’ve always wanted a cat. Aw, you’re the cutest little thing.” I stroked his velvety soft coat.

“I bet he’s hungry,” Virgil said pensively. “Nowhere to get cat food at this time of night, but I’ve got some tuna back at… back at my place,” he said. “If you uh… if you’re uh… if that suits you,” he finished lamely.

“Lead the way,” I said with a smile. Cradling the kitten, who was now purring, we made our way to his place, which was tucked back into the woods. It was a three story farmhouse, with a neat yard and a garage attached. His black truck was parked out front. There was a wrap-around porch with a neglected looking set of rocking chairs to one side. 

He led me inside, and I held the kitten while he opened a can of tuna fish and scooped it onto a plate. He slipped away as I watched the kitten eat, and he was back a short time later, with an old plastic dish tub he had put some sand and dirt in.

“That’ll do for tonight,” he said, washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

“He’s so tame and sweet. Do you think he belongs to someone?”

“I doubt it,” he said a little sadly. “Sometimes people will take advantage of the crowd and chaos and dump unwanted pets.”

“Oh that’s horrible,” I said. “He’s just a baby.”

“He’s a sweet little thing,” Virgil agreed as we stood in the kitchen, watching the kitten lick his paws and face. “What are you going to name him?”

“Oh, I can’t keep him,” but I hated the thought of leaving him outside to fend for himself.

“Why not?”

“I travel too much for work. It wouldn’t be fair to him.” Virgil nodded. He put his arm around me as we stood there, watching the kitten. After a long while, the kitten started to explore his new surroundings and Virgil and I followed him into the living room. He switched on a lamp. There was just a couch that was a few decades out of style, a TV and an easychair. There were engine parts on the coffee table and on a desk in the corner. I smiled. Virgil gestured for me to take a seat. He shut a few doors that led off to the rest of the house so that we could keep an eye on the kitten.

I sat on the couch and he stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His dark eyes watched the kitten playing with a bit of paper he’d found. It was a long time before he spoke again.

“I could keep him for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“You wouldn’t be… but you’d have to come visit him.” I smiled. I would like that, I realized. I liked Virgil. But… the logistics gave me pause. Would he still want me when he could only see me a few times a month?

“Be careful what you wish for,” was all I could manage in reply. He sat down next to me on the couch, putting his arm across the back cushion. I settle back into the nook between his arm and his side. The kitten, having eaten his fill, and played himself out, seemed to have accepted his new home and climbed up into my lap, purring loudly.

“Oh, you play dirty,” I told the kitten, running my hands along the length of his silky body. “I’ve always wanted a cat, since I was a little girl, but my sister Mary is allergic.” 

There was a sad edge to my voice, and Virgil’s arm slid down off the back of the couch and around my shoulders, giving me a comforting squeeze. It felt so nice, and I realized just how badly I had wanted someone to hold me exactly like this. Kyle had never been much of a cuddler, even when things were good between us.

“If I am going to keep him,” he said softly. “I’m gonna need to know what to call him.”

“Cat Benetar?” I suggested.

Virgil actually laughed then, a loud booming laugh. At that moment, he was another person entirely. He looked 10 years younger, and the gruff aura that hung around him completely dissipated. The kitten opened one eye but otherwise didn’t stir. 

“Cat Benetar it is,” Virgil said, his dark eyes twinkling. I felt like I was seeing a new person, he was so open and vulnerable as we sat there on the couch, him looking down at me, and me looking up at him.

“So, uh… Are you single?” He asked.

“Yes, I would hope so, if I’m going around kissing mechanics in the moonlight.”

“Just the moonlight? During the day doesn’t count?”

“We’ll see, but yes I’m single, ” I stated, smiling. “Are you single?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I thought that was obvious with my subtle flirting. I’ve been out of the game for a while.”

“How long?”

He paused, thinking about it.

“Ten years.”

“Wow.”

“How long for you?”

“Not quite that long. A little over a year.” I paused, looking up at him. “If I can ask, what happened with your wife? I understand if it’s none of my business, I just…… it’s just…10 years.”

He pondered for a moment.

“Well, I’ve never been a man of many words, I think I’ve probably said more to you this weekend than I have to anyone else in a year,” he said. “I dunno what it is about you… Never really wanted to talk to anyone before… At first my ex wife thought that was charming. Then she thought it was annoying. We had other problems, too… Then she thought it was a good reason to run off with my best friend. She lives up in Calgary with him now. After that, I just… didn’t think I could go through it again. That’s the short version, anyway.”

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He gave a slight shrug. “We got married for the wrong reasons. We just weren’t good for one another. She’s happier now.”

“My ex lives with my sister in Rose Hollow,” I said. “She says nothing happened while he and I were together but…” I trailed off. Virgil nodded, a grim set to his mouth.

I looked up at him, watching him.

“Your eyes are pretty.” I changed the subject.

“They’re just brown.” They were dark brown, but only in the dim light.

“Not just.” I said. “There’s little flecks of umber and gold in them.” I said softly, recalling how he’d looked in the meadow that afternoon. “Tiny little specks.”

“Your eyes are pretty,” he said. “That dress really brings them out.”

“Score one for Ms Fiona.”

“She’s a meddler,” he said, smiling. 

He leaned down and kissed me again, and again the burning intensity that built to a slow crescendo. I had never had such a physical or emotional reaction to being kissed before. When we broke apart, I was breathless again. I’ve been kissed plenty of times; some better than others, but this was in a league of its own. If he kept kissing me I was going to have a very real problem keeping my underwear on.

“What’s your last name?” I asked suddenly, trying to keep it in my pants. He gave a light chuckle.

“Baker,” he said. “And you’re Ella James?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Is Ella short for anything? Cinderella?”

Now I laughed. 

“No. And I’m leaving with both my shoes.”

The kitten gave a light mew in his sleep.

“Favorite color?” I asked.

“Purple, you?”

“Green.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Jurassic Park, feminist masterpiece.”

“How do you figure?”

“All the dinosaurs are girls.” I chuckled. “What about you?”

“The Shining.”

The questions ping-ponged back and forth well into the night and before I realized it, birds were chirping, and the sun was coming up over the edge of the trees. We had literally stayed up the whole night talking.