Rebecca Winters - One Winter's Sunset

He chuckled as he followed her into the inn and down the long hall toward the dining room that flanked the western side of the house and looked out over the lake. “It wasn’t that awful.”

“Your memory is faulty. The chicken was burned, the peas shriveled and dried, and the potatoes undercooked.” She shook her head. “But you ate every bite.”

“Couldn’t disappoint my new wife and tell her that she couldn’t cook.”

“I still can’t cook.” That had been the one benefit to Cole’s sizable income—the convenience of ordering already-made meals. Emily vowed to learn to cook before the baby came. She imagined herself baking cookies and whipping up macaroni and cheese, with Sweet Pea helping measure and stir. Emily would never be Betty Crocker, but if she could at least master the basics, she could create the kind of warm, cozy home she’d always wanted.

“You might not be able to cook,” Cole said. “But you can make a pie that sticks to my forehead.”

She laughed. The laughter felt good, and she realized it had been far too long since she’d had a damned good laugh. “I didn’t mean to throw it at you, but when you ate it like it was the most delicious pie you ever ate, I got so mad.”

“It was the most delicious pie I ever ate, Emily.”

They had stopped outside the dining room, lingering by the doorway while Carol put the finishing touches on the table. Harper sat in the corner, waiting and hoping for a scrap.

Emily stood within inches of Cole. Close enough to touch, to see the gold flecks in his eyes, to get wrapped up in the tempting scent of his cologne, the draw of his warm body. She moved away, headed for the table before she did any of those foolish things.

“How could you say that pie was good?” She reached for the pile of silverware on the corner and placed it beside the place settings. Avoiding the desire washing over her, the need to kiss him again, as strong as when they’d first dated. Damn. When would she stop wanting Cole? The separation and divorce would be much easier if her body got on board with her brain. “I forgot the sugar. That was the worst pie ever.”

Cole slipped in beside her, tucking the folded napkins under the knives. “It was the most delicious pie ever, Emily,” and he paused a beat until she looked up at him, “because you made it with love.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head and stepped away. Oh, how she wanted to believe in that look in his eyes, the words he spoke, but she was afraid, so afraid, that if she did, they’d end up traveling the same path as before. They’d done it countless times over the years. Now, with a baby caught in the mix, Emily couldn’t afford to hold on to a fairy tale that she knew had an unhappy ending.

“Unfortunately, you need more ingredients than love to hold a recipe together and make it work,” she said and turned away before he saw the tears brimming in her eyes.

* * *

Cole had to admire Carol, the inn’s owner. She could have brokered a Middle East peace treaty with ease. She’d sensed the tension between Cole and Emily the instant she sat down at the table, and managed to shift the conversation to subjects that kept the room feeling light and lively. As they ate, they talked about the weather, the repairs to the inn, the Patriots’ chances of making it to the Super Bowl. Fun, easy, small talk.

“Did Emily ever tell you the story about the lake’s history?” Carol asked Cole as she laid warm plates of homemade apple pie before them. Melting scoops of vanilla ice cream puddled over the flaky crust. The impressive dessert could have starred on a magazine cover.

Emily let out a little laugh. “Oh, not this one. It’s not even true.”

“It is, too,” Carol said, then grinned. “Or at least partly true.”

“Let me guess,” Cole said. Even though he was stuffed from the amazing roast chicken, potatoes and green beans, he dived into the pie with gusto. “Barrow’s Lake has its own resident Loch Ness monster?”

“No, no, though that might draw in more visitors, and that’d be good for business.” Carol put a finger on her lips. “Hmm...if only I could buy a Loch Ness monster in the pet store.”

“Two words,” Cole said. “Inflatable toy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the summer tourists.” Carol laughed. “Well, our lake story is a little more innocuous. Way back, years ago, before the invention of the car—”

“When dinosaurs roamed the earth,” Emily added.

“Well, maybe not that far back in time. But close.” Carol leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement as she told the story. “There used to be two families, one on either side of the lake, one with a daughter, one with a son, about the same age. They didn’t know each other, and in these years when this area was just beginning to get settled by people in wagons and log homes, there was no Facebook or Skype or high school to bring them together. Then John Barrow, one of the original Barrows to settle here, opened a little store smack-dab in the center of the road between the two families. You can still see the remains of its foundation, past that big pine tree.” She pointed out the window. “The shop wasn’t much, just a general sundries kind of place. The teenagers ran into each other there one summer day, and fell in love. They’d meet at the store every afternoon after they finished their chores and spend time together. But the families were at war over something no one can remember now, and the teens were forbidden from seeing each other.”

“Nevertheless, they sneaked away every afternoon,” Emily put in, “because they were deeply in love and couldn’t bear to be apart.”

“That’s right. Sometimes true love is stronger than parental rule.” Carol grinned. “And that was how it was for these two. But oh, the ruckus it raised in their families. So one stormy fall night, they made plans to run away and get married. Before they could leave, their parents found out and rushed down to the store to interrupt the rendezvous. The kids panicked, took a boat and rowed out to the middle of the lake, thinking they could make it across and leave from the other side. The storm that night was strong, and the water rough, and the boat capsized. Sadly, both kids drowned.”

“That’s terrible,” Cole said. Even though the event had happened decades ago, he could imagine the heartbreak and loss, particularly on such a small community. “How devastating for those families.”

“It was an awful tragedy, and one that haunted this area for years.” Carol gestured toward the moon-kissed lake outside the windows. “There are people who say you can still see the ghosts of the doomed lovers in the fog that rises over the lake at night.”

“And according to Carol, if you’re out in that fog, you’re destined to fall in love.” Emily grinned. “When us girls were teenagers, we’d run outside if we saw the fog, but none of us fell in love with the boys here for the summer.”

“That’s because none of them were right for you,” Carol said. “You have to be with the right one for the fog to work.”

Emily laughed and got to her feet, grabbing the empty plates as she did. “And all the stars and moon have to be aligned just right, too. It’s a legend, Carol, and not one I believe in.”

Carol wagged a finger at her. “You’ll see. Some foggy night, true love will come your way.”

Emily didn’t answer that. Instead, she brushed open the swinging door with her hip and set the plates in the sink, then filled it with soapy water. By the time she returned, Cole and Carol were talking about the repairs on the Inn, instead of silly age-old legends.

Just as well. The last thing she needed Cole to do was drag her down to the lake in the middle of the night because he believed some legend about dead teenagers would fix their marriage. No kiss on a foggy night was going to repair the damage the years of distance had created.