A/N: Hey! If you haven't already, follow me on twitter! I post shit there too! Hah! And I'm going to do a Hiddleston giveaway in the next few weeks. https://twitter.com/GermyRunner

"Don't put your hand there." Sam barks at me, as I lean up against the house.

"Why?" I yank back, suddenly getting visions of hornet's nests and poison ivy flooding my mind. Sam sighs, standing up straight. He's sweaty, his hair pushed back from his face by too many swipes with the back of his hand. It's finally getting cold out, but he's in a tshirt, a long forgotten hoodie lying on the front porch. His normal work pants are covered in splotches of paint, and various other unidentifiable stains, which seem to perfectly match his heavy leather boots.

"Because." He says shortly, looking at me like a child he wants to throw over his knee and punish. Oy. He's in Mr. Donky mode, and I know why. The heavy storm from a week ago set him back, screwing up his work timeline. I don't know the man well, but I know that he likes to be punctual. He's a big fan of being on time, and staying on track. As for his penchant to spank, I know nothing of that. Seriously.

"Aren't you a bright little chipper daisy this morning." I watch as he moves siding around, throwing things into a trash heap. He's nearly finished with the siding, and it's completely revitalized the outside of the house. Sure, the window trim could use a coat of paint. And the front porch still looks pretty shabby. But the farmhouse itself has come alive.

The majority of it is white siding, new and nearly blindingly white in color. The portion of the house, where the kitchen and family room reside, are still old fieldstone. We couldn't bare to part with the unique, rustic looking finish, and Sam had agreed. Keeping the integrity of the house is important. It was, afterall, my mother's home. I wanted it just as I remembered it growing up. Whoever moved in there, would have to love and appreciate the rustic aspects as well.

"Do you need something or are you just here to get in my way?" Sam asks over his shoulder. Chipper daisy, indeed. I traipse after him as he works.

Ever since the storm, things have felt different. Don't get me wrong, we're not BFF's. I don't call him to get mani pedis and do brunch. But things have been warmer, a bit friendlier. I've forgiven him for being a pigheaded misogynist when we first met, and he's been...almost sweet to me. Not counting this morning. Sweet is the wrong word. He's been civil, and sometimes friendly.

"I was wondering if you were busy this weekend." I ask, checking my watch. I need to be at the Shaky Spoon soon. Sam stops moving, and looks at me. His face is blank, a bit surprised, and then, he looks completely shocked and confused. Almost insulted.

"Are you asking me out, Max? I didn't think you the type." He's looking at me as if I've escaped from an mental institution. I scowl at him and squint.

"No. I'm not asking you out, you ass." I put my hands on my hips. Sam frowns as he goes back to work. I hear him grumble something, but I ignore him. Let him think what he wants. He's the last person I'd ever consider dating. If I dated.

"I'm helping plan and set up the big Fall Festival. It starts mid October. I was just wondering if you'd help us. We need people...and you're a person. I think." I shift, suddenly wondering how I got talked into asking a serial killer to help set up corn mazes and silly haunted hayrides for children and other innocent, unsuspecting victims.

The Fall Fest is a big deal, every year. It runs for four weeks in October and November. At the committee meeting the other night, a few of the House Wives were panicking over volunteers. Apparently, the local college usually throws a few co-eds at us, to help with set up and organization. We'd had less volunteers than normal, so now we are scrambling to cover all the bases. Not surprisingly, Sam's name came up first (as the House Wives are rather enamored with him) and I was elected to ask him.

"Fall Festival..." Sam doesn't look up from what's he doing, which to me looks like banging a rock with another rock. But what do I know.

"Yes. Fall. Autumn. You know, leaves, pumpkins, ghouls." I quip. "I usually help paint sets for the haunted hayride. But they need help everywhere. Setting up the corn maze. Making sure all the food stations and game stations are ready. It isn't hard. And we're desperate." I throw that in there, hoping to appeal to the softer side of Sam. Which, I think exists, but I have not yet confirmed. He did sit on a sofa and watch all 3 hours of Titanic with me.

"I can help." He says, banging rocks.

"Oh! Good!" I say, unsuccessfully trying to hide my shock.

"Now leave me alone. You're distracting." He mumbles, pulling a pencil from either behind, or inside his ear, I'm not sure. I nod, smiling brightly, and start toward my car.

"Thanks, Sam! I guess you aren't totally useless!" I yell over shoulder as I jump in. He doesn't acknowledge that I've said anything, but I know he heard me. I can almost see a tiny smile on his lips. But maybe that's my imagination.

****

"Max, you got an alright head on your shoulders, kid. This is damn good." Jacob barks down the breakfast counter, nudging a fresh blueberry muffin with his hand. Henry has been in the kitchen all morning, whipping them up. We've barely been able to keep up with demand. Probably because Jacob has eaten at least a baker's dozen, it seems.

"You have Henry to thank for that." I say over my shoulder. Henry looks up, through the window into the kitchen, and waves a spatula at Jake.

"You're welcome, sir." Henry bows slightly, and winks at me. I don't know how I got so lucky with the people I hired. Henry is here every day. He stays mostly confined to the kitchen, by choice. It's like a submarine in there-- a small space that he's set up to be as efficient as possible. I cook sometimes as well, but I leave the bulk of it to him. He's married to his job, which I appreciate, but he's also married to his partner, Josh, who thankfully understands the long hours. I've offered to hire another cook, but Henry only looks insulted when I do.

Libby is a pain in the ass, but she's completely reliable and also, my closest friend. We've known each other most of our lives, small town and all, but have only recently become close in the two years that she's worked at the Spoon. Today is her day off, and I'm sure she's ensconced at home, buried in blankets and watching documentaries on Netflix.

"Fresh blueberries. It's the key. Enjoy, Jacob." Henry leans against the kitchen window. We are in a nice little lull. The breakfast and early morning rush is over. Lunch rush will start soon, but it's a Wednesday, so it won't be too crazy. Then, it will be time to prep for tomorrow, and close up. I like my days. They're full-- busy and fast paced in the mornings, but then quiet and much calmer in the afternoons and evenings. The late evenings are spent at home, or with Rock. The Spoon has been life saving, in a way.

After my break up with Evan, it kept me focused. Made me get out of bed in the morning. Instead of hiding, and sobbing into a pint of double chocolate chip, I was forced to face the world. The cold, dark, unfair world. A world where love didn't last, and where your greatest embarrassments are broadcast to everyone you know. It wasn't easy. It still isn't easy.

"Reminds me of the muffins my mother made." Jacob huffs, and sits back. He'll stay for another half an hour or so, and then he'll go to meet Rock at the shop. Jacob retired some years ago, as a construction foreman. His age shows on his face, though not in his attitude or spirit. He spends his days haunting the Spoon and shooting the shit with my Uncle.

"Your mom was a good baker?" I ask, wiping down the counter. Jacob laughs, a harsh, but somehow melodic noise.

"She was a shit baker." He scoffs, but offers no explanation. I smile at him, and shake my head. The stories an old book like Jacob must hold, but he barely ever cares to elaborate. Things just are as they are, to him. No need for explanations.

The door to the cafe opens, and a whirl of curly blond and sleek brunette hair saunters in. Burberry coats, shiny leather bags by designers I barely recognize, perfectly tailored clothing.

"Elaine. Skylar. Good afternoon." I walk to the bar, and start readying a latte and a hot tea. I know their orders by heart. A byproduct of living in a small town.

"Hi Max!" Elaine comes up and rests her hands on her hips, looking in the small bake case we have set up by the register.

"God, those tarts would go straight to my ass." Skylar laughs, and smooths her hands against her jeans. Both women are in terrific shape. I know for a fact that Skylar goes to spin class every day. And Elaine leads a yoga group, every Thursday morning on the pier. A fruit tart isn't going to add a dimple on either of their perfect asses, but oh well. Their loss.

"Men like a little extra something." Elaine shrugs and smiles at her friend. Skylar scowls and starts rummaging through her handbag. Jacob has gone back to reading his paper-- a tradition he does every day. Who knew they even still made newspapers? And Henry is back at it in the kitchen, prepping for lunch and for tomorrow morning.

"What are you ladies up to today?" I ask, making conversation. Owning a coffee shop is like being a therapist. Everyone tells you their problems, whether you want to know or not. I've gotten used to playing the part.

"Finalizing vendors for the Fall Festival. Did you know that Gram's diner wants to sell churros at the festival? Churros!" Skylar shakes her head, her dark silky hair moving like a waterfall. I wonder how she gets it so shiny. Perhaps a serum using virgin's blood and the hopes and dreams of small children. Yikes. She should market it.

"I love churros." Mmm. Fried dough and sugar.

"It's hardly Fall Fest material." Skylar takes a deep breath, as if just the thought of fried dough makes her blood pressure rise. She looks as if she's questioning my moral fiber and I shrug at her good naturedly. I'm in a good mood this morning, so I hold back on my normal smart responses.

"So, churros are out then. The devil's dough." I whisper. Okay, I sort of hold back. Elaine flashes me a look, and I can tell she's trying not to laugh.

"Churros are fun and easy to eat." She offers, accepting the hot tea I'm passing to her in a to-go cup. She thanks me, and turns to Skylar, who looks as if she's seriously considering murdering her friend.

"No. Absolutely not. I told Mark at Gram's that they can sell those pumpkin funnel cakes, or the spiced apple fritters. But this is the FALL FESTIVAL for goodness sake. We have a THEME!" Skylar is getting a bit shrill, and Jacob is raising a bushy eyebrow, looking at her over his newspaper.

"Ok. You've got a point." Elaine soothes her friend. I smile and turn away, finishing up Skylar's latte. "Oh, Max? Did you find anymore volunteers?" Elaine asks. I turn around and nod.

"I did. I talked to the principal at the high school. She said they can round up some kids for volunteers- kids that need student service learning hours. And I asked Sam. He said he'd help." The mention of Sam seems to send a ripple through the two women standing in front of me. I try to ignore it, but Skylar squeaks softly, and I worry she's going to drop her latte.

"Everything ok..." I narrow my eyes.

"Sam fixed my radiator the other day. Damn thing wouldn't stop rattling and poppin'. I couldn't get a wink of sleep, sounded like the devil herself was coming for me." Jacob pipes up, confirming that he eavesdrops on every conversation while sitting at the end of the counter.

Elaine raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and Skylar is still set at a low grade squeal. Something only animals can hear.

"What's his story? You seem close to him." Elaine leans forward, her pretty eyes glittering. I frown and shake my head.

"No, not close to him at all. I don't really know his story."

"His tattoos are so sexy." Skylar hums. Elaine nods. Sam is definitely different that most men in Brush River. Sure, he's got the blue collar essence. He works with his hands. He knows how to get dirty. But there's something else. A mystery to him. A darkness, and perhaps a danger. But, then he smiles. And it's hard to remember your name or your mother's name or where you live.

"Have you seen him shirtless? I drove by the other day while he was outside working, and good lord. I had hot flashes. I felt like my menopausal mother." Elaine laughs and leans against the counter.

"The old house is on a dead end road..." I fade off and Elaine just giggles and shrugs. I shift and chew on my lip. I don't know why I feel uncomfortable. Talking about men has never been something I do. I was with Evan so long that the girlish gossip that runs rampant among women in this town never really touched me. I only had eyes for one man. Nothing and no one else mattered. I was an idiot. An absolute, blind, utter idiot.

"Oh god. Are you and Sam..." Skylar looks horrified, as both women seem to pick up on how uncomfortable I am. Elaine perks up, like a dog who just saw a squirrel. I shake my head quickly, snapping out of my reverie.

"No. Please." I roll my eyes and begin straightening things up on the already neat counter. Elaine and Skylar exchange looks.

"I don't mean to pry, Max. But, have you dated since Evan dumped you?" Skylar asks. Thanks, Sky. Just ground it in there. Use the heel of that expensive boot of yours. At least it'll be good for something other than carrying around your vapid ass. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath.

"I'm not really interested right now. Thanks." I say succinctly, hoping it will end the conversation. Instead, it seems to egg Skylar on. She leans in, conspiratorially.

"You know, I heard he and Andrea set a date. It was going to be in the spring, but they moved it to sometime in the summer." She whispers. I feel a cold sweat wash over me. Elaine is looking at me with pitying eyes, and I don't know what's worse. Skylar, who has no regard for my feelings and not an ounce of couth in her body. Or Elaine, who is looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy.

"Drinks are on the house, ladies. I'm super busy. I'll talk to you later, k?" I grimace, wondering if I look like a grinning skull, and turn around. They take a minute, but they finally get the hint, and they leave with cheerful, oblivious goodbyes.

I take a minute to get my shit back together. I'm over Evan. I really am. But I don't want to talk about him. Or Andrea. Or their upcoming wedding. They got engaged two months after Evan called off our wedding. It seems fast, but then, who knows how long they were sneaking around behind my back before Evan grew the balls to tell me the truth. I still remember his face. I still remember her, begging for forgiveness. Yuck.

"Moved it to the summer, huh?" Jacob calls out, face hidden behind his paper. I grunt.

"Guess the Landfill was all booked up in the Spring." He chortles and I can't help but grin. I turn and look at him, and he lowers the paper so just his eyes are showing. They're glittering with mirth over his dumb joke, but we both are laughing.

"Many happy years to the Trash King and Queen." He winks at me and I feel my tired, shrunken little heart swell. Who needs a doctor husband when you've got a grumpy, ornery septuagenarian?