Page 22 of Surrendering to the Grump

Now he has a standing reservation at Maple Lane Cafe. Corner booth, every Saturday, nine a.m. Lina keeps his coffee ready. Black, two sugars.

"He's never late." Lina sets my oat milk coffee down with a look. "Should I be worried?"

"He said he had to stop by the shop first. Something about a delivery."

"On a Saturday?"

"The man is particular about his schedule."

"The man is particular about everything. Which is why he's never late." She leans on the counter. "Also, Ms. Shelly has been in here twice this morning asking if you've arrived yet. She bought a muffin both times. She doesn't eat muffins."

That is weird. But Ms. Shelly has been acting strange all week. Giggling when I pick up my books on Thursday. Patting my hand with both of hers. Telling me I look "radiant," which is a word Ms. Shelly has never used in the twenty years I've known her.

My phone buzzes.

Rhett:

Running behind. Meet me at The Falls instead of the cafe?

Me:

The Falls? It's 40 degrees outside.

Rhett:

Wear your coat. I'll have coffee.

Me:

You're being weird.

Rhett:

I'm always weird. You just like me anyway.

Fair point.

The drive out to The Falls takes fifteen minutes on the back road behind the wooded area east of town. The path is muddy from last week's rain. April in Maple Lane Falls is that in between season where winter hasn't fully let go but the trees are budding and the air smells like wet earth and something green underneath.

The trail through the woods is quiet. My boots crunch on last year's leaves. Through the trees I can hear the water before I see it. The clearing opens up and The Falls spills over the rock face into the pool below, catching morning light, mist rising off the surface.

Rhett is standing at the edge of the clearing. Good flannel. Beard trimmed. Holding two cups of coffee from Maple Lane Cafe, which means he went to Lina's before texting me.

"You had Lina in on this?"

"In on what?" He hands me a cup. His face is doing its best neutral expression, which means something is happening because Rhett's neutral face is his tell. When he's actually neutral he just looks grumpy. When he's trying to look neutral he looks constipated.

"You look constipated."

"Thank you."

"What are we doing here, Rhett?"

He takes a sip of his coffee. Sets it on a flat rock. Reaches into his flannel pocket and pulls out a small wooden box. Dark walnut. Hand carved. There's a pattern on the lid that I recognize from his workbench. He's been working on something small for weeks, covering it with a cloth whenever I walked into the shop. I assumed it was a commission.

My heart starts hammering.

"Six months ago you walked into my shop with apple cider donuts and I told you to leave." His voice is steady. His hands are not. "You came back the next day. And the next. You brought caramels, burgers, face paint on your arm, glitter on your neck. You dragged me to Hank's bar. You made me laugh for the first time in three years."