I’m speechless. I literally don’t know how to respond to all of this.
She looks up and smiles, resting her arms over the basket. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing,” I stammer. “I’m just … thank you. This is so incredibly kind of you. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Trouble? This is what I do. I come here every morning and take care of Hartley and whoever else shows up each day. It’s how I find my joy in life, to be honest.”
Wow. I’m sure I look like a fool standing in one spot staring at her like she’s from outer space, but a woman who doesn’t know me is going out of her way to dote on me—to pack me a picnic basket—is wild.Who is she? Where am I?
My mom, God love her, would have a chef put something together or order takeout before sending me on my way. I’m grateful for her and that she always made sure I was taken care of and had what I needed. She’s a blessing. But having Cathy take time out of her day to create something with her own two hands is something new for me. It isn’t awkward, it’s just … special.
“There are some chips and a little candy in here, too,” she says, closing the basket lid. She glances outside and then turns back to me. “I’d hate for you to carry this all the way back to the cabin. Do you want me to hop on the side-by-side and driveyou back with it? Or, you can have Brooks swing by on your way out?”
“Maybe stopping to get it on the way out would be best.”
“I think so, too. And since I have a bit more time, I’ll toss a few more things in there for you.”
“Cathy,” I say, holding out a hand, “you’ve already done way too much.”
“Nonsense.” She opens the lid again. “This is what we do out here. We take care of each other. And I love those boys as if they’re my own kids—even Brooks, even though I want to shake the shit out of him more times than not.”
I laugh. “If you’re sure …”
“I’m sure. It’s kind of fun to pack for a romantic getaway. And since Hartley apparently isn’t going to give me a reason to do that, then I guess I’ll do it through Brooks.”
My brows pull together, and a hundred questions sit on the tip of my tongue. Cathy seems like the keeper of secrets for the guys and I think she’d be all too willing to share what she knows. But Hartley’s life is really none of my business—less of my business than Brooks’s life.
“Okay,” I say. “I guess I’ll go finish packing before Brooks gets back from church. Thank you, Cathy, truly. You’re amazing.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad I can help. And I’m always here if you need anything at all. Ask Astrid. We get into some fun projects together.”
The way she says my friend’s name—with warmth and affection—makes my shoulders relax. It’s nice to know that Astrid has a village of people when she’s here to take care of her and be her people. I love this for her so much.
“Okay, you shoo,” she says, waving me off. “I have things to do. I might have a can of whipped cream in the refrigerator inthe basement.” She wiggles her brows. “You know. Just in case you and Brooks need a prop.”
My face turns beet red.Oh, my stars.
“You’re adorable,” she says, laughing softly. “I see why Brooks likes you.”
Why he likes me?
Cathy nods as if she understands me in a way I don’t even understand myself. It’s a dismissal, of sorts—a go on and think about it, but I get you, girl.
“Thank you for … everything,” I say, shrugging as if that’s an appropriate substitute to actual words.
She grins. “You’re welcome.”
I return her smile and then hightail it to the door and onto the porch.What the heck just happened in there?
The gravel crunches beneath my sneakers as I make my way back to the cabin, stepping over puddles and patches of muddy slop. A warm breeze ruffles my hair, and I pause to soak in the scent of promised spring—faintly sweet with a touch of earthiness. Instead of freezing me to the bone, it kisses my skin like it’s apologizing for tormenting it with sleet and snow for the past couple of months.
I walk slowly, letting my brain regroup from Cathy’s hot takes on Brooks and me. The sun warms my face and coaxes my nerves to settle, but it takes a quarter mile of walking before my internal systems return to a semblance of normalcy.
But it doesn’t stop noodling on what Cathy said.
“I see why Brooks likes you.”
This sentence rolls around my head continuously, echoing through the deepest recesses of my mind. I’m sure Brooks does like me, and I know he’s attracted to me. But I don’t think he likes me like she implied. In fact, he made it abundantly clear in the bar when he asked me flat-out if I had any ulterior motives or expectations, as if he would only entertain messing around withme if I understood this was a fling at best. Which—understood—I’m not out here hunting for a long-term anything.
