Winter Jacket: Finding Home (33 page)

I parked my car on the street and began pulling rakes and shovels and other gardening tools out of the back of my hatchback. Jessica walked up beside me, rubbing her arms. “Building gardens when there’s still snow on the ground. What were we thinking?”

“Do you want my sweatshirt?” I offered.

“But then you’ll be cold,” she protested.

“I’ll be fine. I grew up in this weather. And I wasn’t in California so long that it thinned my blood.”

“So chivalrous,” she teased.

I grabbed the bottom hem of my sweatshirt and pulled the garment over my head. The neck got stuck around my ears, and I flailed my arms uselessly above my head.

“Jessica,” I mumbled. “Little help? I’m stuck.”

Strong hands grabbed the sides of my sweatshirt and tugged me free. I was momentarily blinded by the dark crimson of the sweatshirt as it passed over my eyes, but when my vision returned, I discovered Hunter: standing directly in front of me.

I was stunned by her presence and her proximity, but I managed to remember my manners. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Good morning, Hunter,” Jessica spoke before I could offer my own greeting.

Hunter looked between Jessica and me. “Hey.”

“I swear I didn’t know you’d be here,” I blurted out. I didn’t know why I felt compelled to make that clear.

“It’s a campus-sponsored event, Elle,” she gently smiled. “Maybe
I’m
the one doing the stalking.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t considered that. “Are you?”

She smiled again and returned my sweatshirt, but didn’t answer my question. Before I could press her for a more revealing response, Doug Witlan—the reason why I was there that morning—was gathering the other volunteers around him for instructions. Hunter moved closer to the assembling crowd, and Jessica and I did the same, lingering a few steps back.

Jessica bumped her hip into mine as we walked closer to Doug and the others. “Smooth moves, Graft. Now I get why all the co-eds want a piece.”

“Shut up,” I hissed under my breath. I shoved my sweatshirt into her arms.

“Eloquent as always.”  She grinned and pulled on my sweatshirt over her other shirt. “Did you really not know she was volunteering for this?”

“I didn’t,” I answered honestly. “But I probably should have; she likes gardening, and she’s got a big heart.”

Doug Witlan began to address the volunteers, putting an end to our conversation. “I want to thank everyone for coming out this morning. Our task today is to construct this community garden space, but our goal later this spring is to build five hundred gardens for business and organizations around the city. We’re going to turn grass into fresh food, and with your help, I’m confident that we can exceed our goals.” He thrust his clenched fist in the air, and the assembled group cheered around me.

Doug Witlan was a funny guy. It was obvious from his corduroy pants and long-sleeved plaid shirt that he wore buttoned to the top button that he taught in the sciences. His monotone voice had lulled me to sleep at more than one faculty meeting, but he was passionate about sustainability and food justice, and his energy for the cause was contagious that morning.

“A special shout out this morning to our esteemed Dean of Faculty, Dr. Jessica Merlot,” Doug continued. “I see quite a few of my campus colleagues in attendance, and I suspect her gentle cajoling is the reason for so many familiar faces.”

Doug’s words were followed by good natured cheers and applause aimed at Jessica. I discretely nudged her, and she elbowed me back. It was nice to see the other faculty finally warming up to her, myself included. We certainly hadn’t started out on the right foot.

“I’d also like to give a special thank you to Troian Smith and Nikole Pendergast who donated the materials to build our garden beds,” Doug continued. “It’s because of their generosity that we’re able to be here today.”

The familiar names caught my attention, and I immediately became suspicious. It felt like a set-up.

“Did
you
know Hunter was going to be here?” I whispered to Jessica while Doug continued his speech. “Did Troian and Nik put you up to this?”

“Who?” she whispered back.

“The people who donated the dirt—they’re my best friends.”

Jessica shook her head. “I had no idea.”

I knew it was a stretch to think that somehow Jessica and my friends had conspired to make this meet up happen, but I had a harder time believing the universe was finally on my side.

At the conclusion of Doug’s rally speech, the crowd dispersed and was assigned various tasks. It was still too early to plant seedlings, but the ground needed to be cleared of brush, and the above ground beds needed to be built and filled with topsoil in preparation of warmer months.

With no previous construction skills to speak of, Jessica and I were assigned cleanup duty with half a dozen other volunteers. We raked away old brush and leaves from the fall and picked up garbage that had been trapped in snowdrifts during the winter months.

Across the field, a few yards away, Hunter wielded a hammer. On hands and knees, she set to the task of building the garden beds, hammering construction nails into weather-treated four-by-fours.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to go over there and talk to her?” Jessica demanded.

“What would I even say?” I lamented.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Isn’t the English language your specialty?”

“She texted me last night,” I revealed, eyes still trained on Hunter. “Wanted me to come over.”

“After you got home from Peggy’s?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “But I said no.”

Jessica joined my gaze, and we jointly stared at my ex-girlfriend, too dedicated to her assigned job to notice our obvious attentions. “I don’t know why.”

“Me either,” I admitted.

Jessica nudged me with the handle of her rake. “If you don’t go over there and talk to her, I will.”

“You wouldn’t,” I practically growled.

“I would,” she countered, “if that’s the only way to build a fire under your ass.”

My feet began to move in Hunter’s direction, and the rest of my body had no choice but to follow. I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and stopped when I stood in her near vicinity.

“I didn’t know you were so good with a hammer,” I remarked.

She didn’t look in my direction. “I spent Spring Break building houses for Habitat for Humanity my sophomore year of college.”

Of course she had.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Good.”

When she didn’t elaborate and remained disconcerting silent, I became nervous. Each nail she drove into the wooden beams sounded like a gunshot, each one louder than the next.

She finally spoke again after an intensely quiet moment: “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Doug announced he was doing this at a recent faculty meeting, and Dean Merlot guilted some of the faculty into volunteering.”

Hunter hummed. “She’s pretty.”

“I guess,” I said, noncommittally.

She paused long enough to wipe away the beaded sweat from her forehead. “Don’t play coy. You’ve got eyes.”

I glanced back at Jessica. She was leaning against her rake and talking with some of the other faculty volunteers. She looked like a politician, holding court with her admirers. “Yeah, she’s pretty,” I agreed.

“For someone who was practically your arch-nemesis last spring,” she observed, “you two seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

“I know. It’s still a little surreal to me, too. But with Nik and Troian gone, it’s been nice to have a new friend in town.”

“And you’re even sharing clothes.” Hunter stabbed the claw of her hammer into the ground and made a frustrated noise. “Are you sleeping with her?”

My eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected question. “With Jessica?”

“Oh, it’s
Jessica
now, is it?” she snapped, her voice rising in volume and heat.

“Whoa.” I held up my hands. “Calm down.”

Hunter rose to her feet, but refused to look at me. “I
am
calm.”

Before I could say anything in response, she was storming away, leaving her tools and me behind. We were probably causing a scene in front of half of the faculty on my campus, but I didn’t care about their prying eyes and the firestorm of rumors that were certain to follow.

“Hunter, wait,” I called.

But she didn’t wait. She didn’t stop walking away until she had reached a mountain of oversized plastic bags filled with topsoil on the far side of the open plot. She bent and reached for the corner of the closest bag and began tugging to pull it free from the rest of the pile.

“Let me help you with that,” I said gently.

She continued to ignore me and tugged and jerked at a stubborn bag.

“Hunter,” I tried again. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“That’s funny coming from you,” she huffed.

“What are you talking about?”

She gave up on the bag of dirt. “You said you’d wait.”

“What?”

She worked the muscles in her jaw. “At the hospital. In the supply closet,” she grit out. “You said you’d wait.”

“Oh.” My eyes widened with recognition. “I-I am.”

She looked unconvinced. “You’re not … not with that woman?”

“No, I’m not. Not with Jessica or with anyone else. I told you I’d wait, and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

Hunter pushed out a deep breath and brushed away the stands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. The action caused her to smudge dirt under one eye. “I’m sorry. I … that was ugly and not like me at all.”

“I kind of liked it,” I admitted with a small smile. “You should get jealous more often.”

I reached out and gently wiped away the dirt smudge under her eye. My fingers lingered on her cheekbone, but she didn’t pull away. It was torture talking so honestly and openly with her when all I wanted to do was kiss her.

She bit her lower lip. “Do you maybe want to get coffee after we’re done here?”

“Yes.”
Damn it.
“I mean, I would love to, but I made plans with Jessica. She’s supposed to treat me to brunch as payoff for her dragging me out here on a Saturday morning.” My brain buzzed with activity. I could cancel on Jessica; she’d understand.

Hunter’s face remained neutral, almost stoical. “Some other time then.”

“What about tomorrow?” I quickly proposed.

“I have to work.”

“All day?”

“No. Second shift.”

I sucked in a breath, summoning my courage. The first time around, Hunter had been the one to put herself on the line. She had kissed me outside of Peggy’s bar and had shown up on my front stoop in the middle of a rainstorm. Now it was my turn for grand gestures and being brave.

“Why don’t you let me make you dinner? Come over after work tomorrow, and I’ll have everything ready.”

Hunter tugged her lower lip into her mouth. My eyes were drawn to the movement and her mouth. She had only proposed coffee, and maybe it was presumptuous to ask her to come over for dinner, but I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip us by.

“Okay.”

+ + +

The next evening, around 8:00 p.m., my doorbell rang. Hunter stood on the other side of the door, holding a six-pack of one of my favorite beers. “For the hostess.”

“Thank you.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Her hair was down, and it brushed against my face as I lingered probably a moment too long. Her hair was slightly damp from the shower she’d taken after work before coming over; she smelled delicious, and it made my knees buckle. I could do this. We could have dinner without me wanting to leap across the table and take her. My brain formed a mental picture of her hips arching off the dining room table to meet my eager mouth.

Stop it
, I silently chastised myself.

Hunter stared beyond me to the kitchen. “Am I early?”

“I know I said I’d have dinner ready when you got here, but I was hoping you might want to tag-team in the kitchen.”

Her mouth quirked. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

“You know what I mean,” I dismissed, a light blush coming to my cheeks.

“Sure, I can help,” she agreed. “What’s on the menu?”

“How do you feel about breakfast for dinner? I’ve been missing your pancakes.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” she said straight faced.

I didn’t know why everything out of my mouth sounded like a sexual innuendo, or at least she was twisting my words to make it seem that way. We were both nervous and unsure of boundaries, that much was clear.

Hunter oversaw the electric griddle while I handled the rest of the meal: hash browns, turkey sausage, and sliced fruit. She told me about her day at the hospital, and I caught her up on the latest from school, careful to leave the name Dean Merlot out of my vocabulary, even though I was curious if I could get her jealousy to flare up again. By the time we had finished preparing the meal, I was feeling more at ease, but that could have had more to do with the pale ale I’d been sipping while cooking.