Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Johanna sighed as she climbed back inside her car and shut the door. It was a particularly cold day, with a pale cloudless sky and an icy bite in the air. She was out getting some bakery ingredients at Sandy's Grocery, since she'd decided that baking something warm and comforting would be the best use of her time on such a cold day. However, getting the necessary ingredients for her pumpkin and pecan pie recipe meant that she needed to go out into the frigid temperatures, and she was beginning to think that she should have just stayed home in her warm house and made something she already had the ingredients for.

It will be worth it , she told herself as she turned on the heat in her car, shivering. Once this pie is made and the whole house smells warm and cozy, and I get to take a bite of it—

Her thoughts were interrupted as a fierce gust of wind blew against her car, rattling it. Johanna winced as she turned out of the grocery store parking lot and started driving toward her cottage. She reminded herself that the most difficult part of her trip was over—now all she needed to do was walk from her car into her house with the bag of groceries.

She arrived home and smiled quietly to herself when she saw her house. Nestled quietly amidst snowdrifts, it looked peaceful and inviting. Despite the intensity of the weather, she was still very glad that she had moved to Blueberry Bay. She had found life to be warmer and more peaceful ever since she'd come there.

She parked her car inside her little garage and shut the door. Then she hurried inside her house through the back door, letting out a sigh of contentment as soon as she was inside her warm kitchen. She tossed her keys down onto the kitchen counter, and then set the grocery bag down beside them.

As she glanced at the clock, she realized that the mail must have come by then. Letting out a groan, she turned back toward the door. Ordinarily she would have let getting the mail wait till another day on such a cold afternoon, but she was expecting a package with a new book in it that she was eager to read. Since she was already bundled up in her coat and hat, she decided she would just hurry down the driveway and come right back.

Then I can get nice and warm , she thought. I'll put on a cozy sweater and start baking. That will warm me up in no time.

She stepped out the back door with her purse still hanging over her shoulder. She left the door slightly ajar and started walking down the driveway.

At that moment, the wind picked up again into a fierce gust. She winced and continued to walk—and then she heard a thud. For a moment, she didn't think anything of it, and then her heart sank.

"Oh no," she murmured, turning around and hurrying back toward the house.

Sure enough, her back door had closed in the gust of wind. Her heart hammering, Johanna turned the handle and pulled. It was locked.

She clapped a hand to her mouth, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by her predicament. She turned to the garage, but she knew that the side door was locked and she'd already shut the main door. Sucking in her breath, she snatched her purse off her shoulder. She began to dig through it, hoping frantically that she'd placed a spare key inside it. It proved to be empty of any spare keys. Holding her breath, Johanna checked every one of her pockets—she even unzipped her coat to check inside the pocket of the blazer she was wearing underneath.

She groaned as she finally had to admit defeat. The wind traced icy fingers across her cheeks and she shuddered.

"That was smart, Johanna," she muttered, annoyed at herself. "Now what are you going to do? You're going to have to call Dane and ask him to come pick you up. It's not safe to be standing out in the cold like this for too long."

She sighed, knowing she would have to call a locksmith. She hoped that someone would be able to come let her back into her house sooner rather than later, but it seemed that the cozy afternoon she'd planned for herself had been decidedly spoiled. She reminded herself that things weren't too serious—she was surrounded by people who would help her if she asked for it. She still felt disappointed, however—she'd so wanted to get started on her baking. And she'd so wanted to be warm again!

At that moment, she heard a honk. Confused, she turned her head in the direction of the road, where a green Ford truck had slowed to a stop in front of her driveway. Leaning out of the driver's window was Everett Howell.

Johanna's stomach did a somersault the moment she saw him. She might not have been able to recognize him from that distance if it weren't for his red cap—and the unusually stocky breadth of his shoulders. Of all the people who had to show up at that moment, it seemed to her that he was the worst possible one. He was the only person in Blueberry Bay who she felt uncomfortable speaking with—she was still squirming every once in a while when she remembered how awkward the dinner party had been.

"Are you locked out?" he called. His voice echoed slightly across the snowy yard.

She exhaled, letting out a frustrated huff of air. For a moment she wondered how on earth he'd figured out so quickly that she was locked out, and she was inclined to be offended by how quickly he'd come to that conclusion. Then she remembered that she'd been standing out in the cold frantically checking all of her pockets.

"Yes," she called back faintly. She knew he was about to offer to help her out, and her stomach twisted in nervousness. She would have much rather handled the situation herself if she could have, but she wasn't going to turn down an offer of help, even from Everett. The wind was bitingly cold and she couldn't wait to get out of it.

He turned his truck into her driveway. It gasped and rattled as it approached, and she felt somewhat appalled by how loud it was. She stood waiting for him at the back door, her lips pressed together firmly.

He swung out of the driver's door and walked across the driveway toward her. His boots made crunching sounds in the salt that Johanna had sprinkled across the cement. His dark eyes looked kind, and also slightly amused.

"What happened?" he asked, smiling a little as he reached her side.

She exhaled again, feeling embarrassed and frustrated with herself. "I just got home from running errands. I wanted to bake this afternoon, and I needed—well, never mind. I went out and I came back, and once I was inside, I remembered I wanted to get the mail. I stepped out without closing the door fully behind me, but a gust of wind blew it shut. The door handle locks automatically, and my keys are on the counter inside."

Everett nodded, glancing at the back door. "Sorry to hear that. Today's not a fun day for something like that to happen."

"No, it isn't," she agreed heartily. "I was so looking forward to being warm and comfortable. This is very annoying, and I'm embarrassed about it. I'm grateful you've offered to get involved, but I wish you hadn't caught me in this predicament."

He smiled, shaking his head. "This kind of thing could happen to anybody. No need to be embarrassed about it."

She returned his smile feebly, feeling grateful that he'd said that. "Thank you. I have to admit, part of me expected you to just have a laugh at my expense and then leave."

He shook his head. "I would never. Leave a lady out in the cold like this? Besides, I was on my way home from work. I don't have anything else important to deal with right now. I can help you get back into your house. Let's figure out what we can do."

She smiled, surprised by how gallant he was being. "Well, thank you. Hopefully something works sooner rather than later. It's very uncomfortable out here."

He shrugged. "I'm used to it. If you want, you can go sit in my truck for a while. It's still warm in there—and you can even start the engine again if you want."

She glanced at the dirty truck, frowning in distaste. "No, thank you. I'll stay out here. I can't expect you to find a solution all by yourself, anyway. That would be rude of me."

He shrugged again, grinning at her. "Suit yourself. Did you check the front door yet?"

She shook her head. "No, I haven't, but I always lock it when I leave home. I suppose it's possible I forgot to lock it this time." Her heart leapt up, hoping that might be the case. How wonderful it would be to simply push open a door and find herself back inside her warm house!

"Let's go check." He started toward the cobblestone walkway that led to the front door and she followed. Once they reached the door, he tried the handle and she held her breath.

"Nope, it's locked."

She sighed, feeling awash in disappointment again. "Oh, I feel like such a fool."

"No beating yourself up for your mistakes. That's not allowed, Ms. Taylor."

Her eyebrows rose, and she had to chuckle at the easy, friendly way he spoke to her. "Well, if you say so," she teased back, and he grinned.

"Let's check for any unlocked windows," he suggested, beginning to walk around the house. He started to tromp without hesitation through the snow, and she winced as she followed him, trying to only step in the imprints his big feet had made.

"I don't think any windows are unlocked," she said, a little breathlessly. "I make sure to lock my house up tightly."

He turned around and cocked a brow at her. "You sure do."

She let out a huff that was mostly a laugh. "I don't mean—well, I'm used to living in New York City. You have to be careful to lock everything up there."

"Here in Blueberry Bay, I'd suggest leaving a spare key under a door mat. Or a flowerpot. Or that cute little statue of a St. Bernard you've got on your doorstep."

"That's a good idea," she said stiffly, pausing in her walking and shivering a little as he began to try the windows on the western side of the house. Nothing budged. They continued their trek around the house, but there were no windows that were able to be opened.

"Upstairs windows are probably unlocked," he said, glancing up at the second story and smirking. "Too bad I don't have my ladder."

"I think I should just call a locksmith now," she said, out of breath but a little warmer than she had been. Her leg, which had been recently broken, hurt a little after tramping through the snow. "Thank you for trying to help me, but I don't think there's anything we can do. I'll have to make an appointment with a locksmith and see if my son can come pick me up now."

"Oh, well as far as that goes, I'm happy to drive you over to Dane or Alissa's, or anywhere else you need to go. But let's not give up yet. We should try to jimmy the lock with a credit card."

She was surprised that he still wasn't dissuaded, and she had to admit that she admired his tenacity. "Does that old trick actually work? I thought that was just one of those life hacks. Something the internet made up."

He chuckled. "Most life hacks are real, and very useful. Well, maybe not most, I guess it depends on the source of the life hack. But I've learned a lot of very useful things from the internet."

"Like trying to break into a house using a credit card?"

He grinned. "We'll see. You didn't deadbolt it, so it's just the handle lock. Let's give it a shot."

She shook her head, not quite knowing what to make of him. He looked dirty and he seemed to have shaved that morning and missed a couple of spots—but he was acting like a perfect gentleman. She had to admire the calm, cheerful attitude he had, even in the midst of the predicament. She still felt that he would be unsuccessful in jimmying the lock, however, and she felt impatient to call the locksmith, and start following a course of action that she knew would be successful.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Although I suppose you can make an attempt if you'd like."

Everett smiled at Johanna. He was intrigued by this woman, who used phrases like "make an attempt if you'd like." She didn't look quite as formidable as she had the other night at the dinner party. Her cheeks were flushed rosy from the cold, and her green eyes looked vibrant in contrast with the smart white beret she was wearing. Privately, he thought it was silly for someone to wear a winter hat that didn't cover their ears, but he wasn't going to say anything—what she did was none of his business.

"Come on," he told her, grinning. "At least let's give it a try for a few minutes. We can use one of my credit cards, if you're worried about one of yours getting too scratched."

She shook her head and reached into the designer handbag that she had slung over her shoulder. "Let me get out my library card. We'll use that. If it gets too scratched, I can ask them for another one."

She pulled an immaculately white leather wallet out of her purse and took a library card out of it, frowning. "Hmm, I don't know," she said. "This feels too flimsy." She wiggled the card back and forth a little with both hands, showing how thin it was.

"That's a good point," he said, impressed by her foresight. "We do want a sturdy card. Something on the thicker side."

Nodding, she continued to rummage in her wallet. It appeared to be perfectly organized, but he did see a lot of different cards tucked into the card holders.

"Ah! Here," she said, triumphantly pulling out a gift card. "Let's use this. It's a gift card for a store back in New York. It was given to me ages ago and I've never used it. Seems sturdy enough to me, what do you think?" She handed it to him.

"Feels right to me," he said, pressing his fingers against the edges of the card. "Good and firm. We'll give this one a try."

"Good luck," she said matter-of-factly, with a touch of skepticism in her tone, and he laughed.

"You try it," he said, handing the card back to her. "I'll give you instructions as you go."

"Oh," she said, looking taken aback. "I—well, I suppose I can try it."

He smiled quietly to himself as she stepped up to the door and wiggled the card into the crack at the edge of the door frame. She slid it down into the area where the lock was, frowning in concentration.

"That's it," he said encouragingly. "Bring it down a little bit."

She sighed heavily and tutted under her breath. He couldn't help smiling—he found her fun to be around, despite her desire for things to be a particular way. "I don't think this is going to work."

"You've barely started." He laughed. "Just try to coax the lock open."

"What, should I bring it a peace offering or something? It doesn't like me."

"Just keep trying. Nothing goes perfectly the first time."

"I think in this instance, it's never going to go right at all. I still don't think this will work."

"I know it will work."

"The internet can't really be trusted."

He laughed again. "I know it will work from personal experience."

She turned and gave him an amused look. "Oh, do you know? And how do you know this trick will work from personal experience?"

He chuckled, grinning at her. "You got me. I've locked myself out of my house a time or two. This trick has worked for me before, and that lock you've got seems to be roughly the same kind that I have at my place. This should work."

"You may need to do it for me," she groaned, moving the card another inch. She pressed her lips together in frustration. "I don't think I'm going to be able to get it. I should just call a locksmith."

"Don't call a locksmith, you can do it. Try lowering the card just a little bit—"

"Ah!" Her jaw dropped into a look of delight as they both heard a click. She tugged the door open, revealing a warm, cozy kitchen. "Oh, thank goodness," she breathed, placing her hand on her heart. "Oh my. There you are, you scamps!" she said, apparently addressing the keys that were resting on the kitchen counter.

He laughed. "Great job! I told you so."

She whirled, wrinkling her nose at him. It was such an unexpectedly unpolished gesture from this woman who had seemed so refined that he laughed again.

She went into the kitchen and picked up her keys, immediately placing them in her purse. "First thing tomorrow I'm going out and having more spares made," she vowed. "I'm going to put an extra set in my purse and one on the front porch. I'll put it under that statue, like you suggested."

He lingered on the doorstep. He didn't want to come inside without being invited, and all at once he felt awkward, not knowing what to say. He felt that he should excuse himself and leave, but he also didn't want to exit in too abrupt of a manner. And the truth was that he was enjoying her company and felt reluctant to go.

She turned, and her movements slowed, as if she also was suddenly feeling awkward. "Thank you again for helping me. I appreciate it so much, I truly do."

"Don't mention it." He smiled. "Happy to help out a neighbor in need."

For a second she was quiet, and then she said, "You said you didn't have anywhere to go after this, correct? Would you like to stay here for a little while and warm up? I can make you something hot to drink. Coffee or tea?"

He nodded eagerly, feeling that some hot coffee would just hit the spot. "That would be very nice," he said, stepping inside the kitchen. He noticed that it smelled pleasantly of cloves. He smiled at her as he shut the door behind him. "I'd love some hot coffee."

"Of course. I'll brew a pot right now. Would you like cream or sweetener?" She moved toward her cupboards and opened one of them. Inside it he could see perfectly arranged tins of coffee.

"Black, please."

"Mmm."

She opened one of the tins and began to scoop coffee into a coffee filter.

"What?" he asked, laughing.

"I should have guessed," she said, smiling in a knowing fashion. "As soon as I asked you, I thought, ‘No, I'm sure he takes his coffee black.'"

"Hmm, interesting. However did you arrive at that conclusion, Sherlock Holmes?"

She chuckled. "Anyone who regularly eats ham sandwiches likes strong flavors. So it makes sense that you like your coffee black."

He lifted his eyebrows, impressed. Not only was he impressed by her logical guess, but he was a little flattered that she'd remembered that he ate ham sandwiches regularly. Then again, he realized with a small smile, she probably remembered that detail because she found ham sandwiches to be abhorrent.

"How do you like your coffee?" he asked, sitting down on one of the high stools that surrounded the island in the center of the kitchen.

"Oh, I like cream and sugar," she said. "Although just a flavored creamer will do. Preferably vanilla, although I'll try anything once."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. All of a sudden, he found himself wondering why he had felt so uncomfortable around her before. She was blunt, certainly, but he wasn't opposed to that. He would rather spend time with people who spoke their minds than people who were too timid to say what it was they really thought.

Soon the kitchen was filled with the warm, nutty aroma of brewing coffee. She took a deep breath of the smell and sighed in satisfaction.

"This is what I've been waiting for all day," she said, looking around her kitchen with a smile. "Being warm and dry and comfortable, with the kettle on, so to speak." She nodded toward the gurgling coffee pot and he chuckled. "It feels so good to be back inside after that unfortunate ordeal. Thank you again for helping me."

"Of course." He smiled at her.

Now that she was finished with her task of preparing the coffee, things were starting to feel awkward between them again. She leaned against the counter, clasping her hands and appearing to be unusually fascinated by a bowl of oranges resting near Everett's hands.

"Would you mind terribly if I started to bake while you were here?" she asked him, turning away from the oranges and looking at his face. "That's why I went to the store. I want to make a pumpkin and pecan pie. Something warm and homey. I thought it would be nice to eat something like that on a day as cold as this one."

"Pumpkin and pecan?" His stomach growled just at the thought. "That sounds delicious."

"It is," she assured him warmly. "One of my favorite recipes. I'll give you a slice or two if you like."

He nodded, privately wondering if she'd just invited him to stay for a few hours, or if she meant she'd drop the slices off for him another time. "That sounds wonderful. And you bake away—don't mind me. It's your kitchen, you do what you want."

She smiled, looking pleased, and turned back to her cupboards. He watched in a kind of fascination as she began to work, pulling bowls from cupboards, spoons from drawers, and dry ingredients from the pantry. She moved with a graceful kind of precision that he found almost soothing. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, she had everything she needed out on the counter and she began to work on measuring out the ingredients.

"I love baking," she told him. "It involves so many things at once. It's like an art and a science at the same time. And of course, then when you're done you have something wonderful to eat."

He smiled at her. "Unless you're someone like me, who burns box mixes."

She let out a sound that could only be described as a laugh-snort, and he grinned, happy that he had amused her.

"Hmm, well, you like strong flavors. Burnt bakery is a strong flavor."

"Hey!" He chuckled, and she laughed too. At that moment, the coffee maker finished brewing the coffee, and she poured him a steaming mug full of the dark, rich liquid.

"There you are," she said, setting it down on the counter in front of him.

He inhaled the fragrant aroma of the coffee, letting out a long sigh. The mug was warm against his dry, cold hands.

"Thank you," he said, taking a sip. "Oh, wow. This is some high-quality stuff."

"Thank you! Giving you coffee is the least I can do after you helped me get back inside."

"Very high-quality coffee and some pie," he teased, and she grinned.

She turned back to her baking, and he smiled, feeling strangely comfortable with her. It had been a very surprising afternoon, he reflected, as he took another sip of the delicious beverage.