Page 45 of Barefoot Lake

CHAPTER 21

Alice

The last few days have been torture. I thought the first weekend after meeting Jake was painful, with his brutish attitude and my long list of unfortunate screw-ups, but the last seventy-two hours have been so much worse. Losing Jake’s warmth after getting the tiniest taste made the days feel colder and the nights darker.

After he gave me the most mind-scrambling kiss of my life, we had one of the most awkward mornings. I can hardly think about the “decorating incident” without cringing. Even my best playlist didn’t help hide the blaring silence between us. I haven’t seen Jake since I fled his front lawn, and I’m afraid he’s gone back to coming and going when he knows he can avoid me.

If he regretted kissing me, why wouldn’t he just say so? Are we still children who just avoid things until they go away? I don’t want to be, but I couldn’t bring myself to just ask, afraid a blatant rejection would hurt even more.

I’ve avoided Hannah for the past few days, too. She’s very perceptive, and I was afraid she’d see something on my face that screamed, “I kissed Jake!” and ask about it. I was, and still am, too mortified about the kiss and subsequent rejection to hash it out, but after going full tilt into Wilcox Grove life, the solo life has felt particularly lonely.

I try to put Jake out of my mind and relish in the excitement of Halloween day. For no reason in particular, it’s one of my favorite holidays. I’ve always decorated the inside of my home with whatever I could find, but having a whole house and yard to decorate this year triggered a new rush of endorphins. I’ve been baking my feelings away, so the whole house also smells like pumpkin bread.

I’m stocked with about twelve thousand pounds of candy and tiny plastic toys, eager to send kids back to their homes fully loaded for a year’s worth of sugar rushes. This will be a good day, whether Jake is immature or not.

Suddenly, I know exactly how to vastly improve my day. I wrap up one of my loaves of pumpkin bread and head out to go visit Grateful Bob. He’s so relaxed and ridiculous that I feel confident he won’t notice if something is off with me.

I head through my yard and down to the lake to take the unofficial pathway that cuts along the shore, meant for just the lake’s residents. It’ll have a lot of traffic tonight as families use it for the easiest access to the lake houses for trick-or-treating.

As I walk around the lake, I feel like I must be living in a fantasy world. Since I’m bundled up in the squashiest sweater ever, fleece-lined leggings, and a wool beanie with a fluffy pom pom on top, the chill in the air is refreshing. Leaves of the most vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows line the dirt path beneath my feet as more fall around me. I can smell the fires people have lit in their homes. The world feels peaceful and quiet like this place is protected from the daily nastiness that’s out there.

My mind jumps back to Jake. I was elated when he kissed me the other night. After he had been running hot and cold since we met, he’d finally given a clear signal that he was interested, and all of me had responded to it. It was easy and natural to surrender to him. I wanted him to take whatever he wanted from me. The way his touch lit me up made a fully-clothed kiss feel like so much more.

Jake’s departure after had felt a bit like ice water being dumped on my head, but I wasn’t terribly surprised. Jake is Mr. Responsibility, and immediately letting me take him to my bedroom wouldn’t exactly have been responsible, even if I’m certain it would have been fun. After he left, I found myself replaying our few minutes together over and over in my head. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel his lips smiling against my own. My toes curled at the thought of how they would feel elsewhere on my body.

I was giddy even before I got my surprise pizza delivery, which warmed all of me in a completely different way. It had been a while since somebody had taken care of me. I think that made the complete shutdown the next morning that much more heartbreaking.

When I get to Grateful Bob’s house a few minutes later, I shove Jake back out of my mind. I spot Grateful Bob on his back porch as I start walking up the steps that lead from the path to his house and happily return his wave. He heads inside before I reach him, coming out with a steaming cup of coffee. He holds it out to me as I settle into my usual chair beside him and set the bag with the bread on the table. The mug has a loon on the side above the words “We’re all a little loony.”

I happily accept the cup and take a long drink, noting he added my usual half-cup of creamer. Grateful Bob and I have had several coffee chats since I came to Wilcox Grove. The man is one of the biggest gossips I’ve ever met, and he’s an effective one, too. Because nobody would suspect him, they’re eager to tell him everything, and since he’s lived here so long, he knows everybody.

“Is this pumpkin spice?” I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“Damn straight.” Grateful Bob grins. “I’d say it’s an old man’s guilty pleasure, but I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty. This shit is delicious.”

I laugh easily with Grateful Bob. He’s right. The brew is spectacular. Grateful Bob spots the new package on his table.

“What did you bring for me, today?” he asks.

Historically, I’ve always brought some treat when I see Grateful Bob. The first few times, he insisted it wasn’t necessary, but stopped resisting after I came by with a pan of buffalo chicken tater tot casserole that the two of us absolutely destroyed.

“Ta-dah!” I open the bag with a flourish. “Pumpkin bread.” I retrieve the Tupperware and offer it to Grateful Bob. He takes a piece and consumes a quarter of it in one bite.

“Mmm!” He makes a satisfied sound around the bite and holds up the “ok” sign to show his approval. After he washes it down, he pins me with a look that I immediately dislike. I feel busted.

“What…?” I quickly run through what I could possibly be blamed for and come up with nothing. “Whatever it is, it wasn’t me. I swear.”

His expression softens, and he smiles kindly.

“No trouble here,” he assures me. “I’m just on to you. Your cooking matches your mood. Pasta is when you’re feeling cozy. Spicy food is when you’re bored. And baking… baking is when you’re in your head. You going to tell me what’s eating you up inside?”

He takes another bite of the bread like he didn’t just call me out on my shit. My mouth falls open in what I tell myself is well-faked offense. It’s possible I was completely wrong about Grateful Bob’s level of attention to detail.

“I’m not in my h⁠—”

“You are. I’m old enough to have seen it all, and your acting needs work.” I guess it wasn’t that well-faked at all. The man is a mind reader.

Rude.