But one thing at a time, and today’s thing was chocolate eggs. Lots of them. I probably made close to 1,000. I think the smell of melted chocolate is now a part of me, ganache flowing straight into my DNA. Reaching for the clipboard hanging on the large fridge door, I yank it down and survey the remaining items on the to-do list. Tomorrow I’ll have to roll Chelsey in here with her bum foot and have her wrap chocolate bunnies and eggs in pink foil, while I work on the petit fours, tea cakes, and cookies.
I haven’t thought about Jared since yesterday, and that’s more than I can say for all of the days in the prior two months. So far, my sister has been right—Carrot Creek is curing my heartache. When she first told me—no,promised me—that my heart would be full again from coming here, I nodded and smiled, while internally rolling my eyes at the Hallmark concept that a small town and a holiday would cure all my issues.
Now, though, after a long day of cooking delicious Easter treats, I’m beginning to wonder if there is some sort of magic in places like these.
“How’d it go?” my sister asks, a drained carrot juice sitting beside her, pulp remnants clinging to the walls of the glass. Her Kindle rests in her lap, screen lit, incredible romance with lots of spice and great banter no doubt filling the screen.
I drop my purse on the floor, a rush of chocolate hitting my nose. I love chocolate, butmy word. “I made 500 chocolate eggs and 500 chocolate bunnies and I think my bloodstream is now butter and sugar.”
She juts her bottom lip out in an empathetic pout. “I know. But I promise, you’ll stop smelling like it… in a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” I balk, slipping out of my shoes and shrugging out of my coat. There’s a breeze in Carrot Creek, and I wore my jacket this morning to keep me from getting a cold. Treading across the room, I sink into the couch next to her, and eye her book.
“Whatcha readin’?”
“Fated mates. She’s destined to be his.” She thrusts her eyebrows up, wagging them at me. “Lots of inconvenient boners.”
“Those are my favorite kind,” I deadpan, leaning forward to peek at her bum foot.
“Don’t!” she rushes out, sitting up to swat my hand away. “I just got the bandage comfortable,” she clarifies, “and it took forever.”
“Alright, alright.” Getting to my feet, I cross the room, and brace a hand on the doorframe, facing my sister. “If you’re hungry, I can make us something to eat after my shower. Though I can’t promise it won’t taste like chocolate. I think it’s oozing from my pores.”
Chelsey’s gaze drifts past me, unfocused, already halfway out the window. I turn, following her line of sight. There he is again, her smalltown neighbor, in all his unfairly sculpted glory. He’s a total hunk, with a tool belt slung low on narrow hips, chambray work shirt sleeves shoved to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair. His own dark waves are mussed from the wind and a long day’s labor, sticking slightly to his temples with sweat.
“I saw him yesterday, your neighbor,” I confess, the words slipping out before I can catch them. We both stare like we’ve forgotten how to blink, like he’s the carrot, and we’re twoveryhungry bunnies.
Chelsey lets out a sigh so dramatic it ruffles my hair from three feet away. “My neighbor. Jack Hopper. Carrot Creek’s handyman extraordinaire.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been known to sabotage my own plumbing just to get him over here. Clogged sink, busted showerhead, mysteriously chipped tile… guilty on all counts.”
“Chels!” I half-laugh, half-gasp, swatting her arm. “That’s diabolical.”
She grins, unrepentant. “He smells even better than he looks. Sawdust and clean sweat and something woodsy that should come with a warning label.”
My fingers move of their own accord, walking across the cool glass, tracing the hard sweep of his back as he drives the shoveldeep into the earth. Broad shoulders flex, the cotton of his shirt pulling taut, every line of him defining strength clearly earned the hard way.
“You’re doing the movie thing,” Chelsey teases, nodding at my hand on the window. “The dramatic fingertip press against the photo of the unattainable man.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I yank my hand back like the glass burned me.
She’s not wrong.
I haven’t looked at any man since Jared. They’ve all blurred into background noise, safe and forgettable. Until this guy. What did Chelsey say his name is? Jack Hopper? Jack Hopper, the man who has twice now stopped me cold, once shirtless and glistening in the sun, now like this, sleeves rolled, tool belt riding low, every movement deliberate and oozing strength.
“I swear,” I murmur, finally dragging my eyes away from the window and the man planting carrots like it’s the most personal thing in the world. “I thought my libido was on permanent hiatus. Turns out all it needed was a hot handyman with a shovel.”
Chelsey bumps my shoulder, her smile soft now, knowing. “Welcome back to the land of hot men tempting smart women, Esther.”
Outside, Jack straightens, wipes his forearm across his brow, and glances toward our cottage. For one electric second, our eyes might meet through the glass.
My heart stutters.
Maybe the country air isn’t the only thing waking me up.
After a lovely dinner, my sister and I go through the mail I’ve received since Carrot Creek heard I’m here. They’re so pleased to know their favorite festival is still going to happen, and it made me so happy to learn that my sister’s celebration was so special to so many people, and that I was special to them, too. After reading what had to be one hundred letters, I help my sister get to her room, charged Kindle in hand, and return to my own lovely little bedroom.
When I got here, I was afraid I’d only partially be able to bring this Eggstravaganza to life, that I’d be moping and mostly frustrating to my sister. But after my first day in the community kitchen, I feel good. I know I can do this, I know I can save this festival and make my sister proud, and be there for her in ways I never have been able to since she moved to Carrot Creek.
Wet hair twisted into a towel, another towel folded over my breasts, I flip the light off in the bathroom, stepping into the bedroom. After a moment of fumbling for the light switch, my eyes land on the window, curtains still pulled wide open from yesterday. Night has eaten up the traces of evening, leaving a purplish blue sky full of twinkling stars, fog hovering over the dark, luscious lawns. Carrot Creek really is beautiful, andI understand my sister’s choice more and more the longer I’m here.
