Jenna Mindel - A Temporary Courtship

She didn’t bother addressing that issue. She had plenty of time. Even if she didn’t, she’d never been comfortable around small children and wasn’t sure she even wanted a family of her own. “So, you haven’t met him.”

“No. Someone called to tell me about the change a week ago. And then this happened.” Her mom lifted her ankle.

“He did a great job. He’s knowledgeable.” Bree didn’t mention that Darren was also attractive and single. Or that Ed had given him grief.

“Well, good. If it’s successful, we might offer this class every year.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Would Darren teach it? If so, she’d be sorry to miss it.

Bree definitely thought this class more fun than most of the interest offerings available through the summer season at Bay Willows. Pottery, painting and bridge were only a few. Her mother, as president of the garden club, had organized the wild edibles course months ago.

“Well, I’ve got to run. Stella had just started making dinner when I called her. I left a bowl of cleaned morels in the fridge for you and Dad.”

“Your father will enjoy them.”

She’d split half her bundle with her parents; the other half was going with her. A convenient escape for tonight, but her mother was bound to tell her father the news, and then they’d both sit her down for more information.

Her father would want to know what kind of living she could expect over the next two years. Bree had cashed in her 401(k) to handle incidentals, plus she had a good savings. Room and board were covered in a dorm-like setting as there were other residents working in other areas, but that was pretty much it when it came to compensation.

She had a little over a month up north where troubles melted away in the deep blue waters of Lake Michigan. Only she’d be gone before the lake was warm enough for swimming.

Bree took a deep breath and then let it back out. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

Her mother stared over the rim of her reading glasses and lifted her needlepoint. “I’ve got this to keep me busy, and your father’s outside. I’ll be fine.”

Her father would be around all week before heading back home to his job in Detroit. He’d make the four and a half-hour trek north to the cottage every weekend, though. Bree had grown up that way. Seeing her father only on weekends during the summer months.

Bree headed out the door. From the front porch, she scanned the gorgeous view of Maple Bay and sighed. The dark blue waters of Lake Michigan slapped rhythmically against the shore while birds sang their hearts out. If only she could capture these sounds and turn them into chords and notes. The view always inspired a chorus in her head. Could sight somehow be translated into sound? A good composer used all the senses.

Could she be good?

She’d written oodles of movements with the hope of putting it all together. One day, she’d hear her own piece played. If she was successful in her residency, others would hear it, too, and she’d finally prove herself capable of not only playing but also creating good string music. She’d rise above the title of simple musician to something special. A real artist.

Bree walked the short couple of blocks away from the shoreline to Stella’s cottage, set back against the wooded area. Her stomach dipped when she spotted a big green passenger van with the DNR emblem on the doors. Darren stood on the porch, opening and closing the screen door. Then he went inside.

Bree bit her lip. Maybe he’d only stopped by. And maybe she was acting like a kid with a school yard crush, suddenly afraid to talk to the man. Good grief, she’d see him next week at class and the week after, so what was the big deal?

He was the big deal. Big and strong and attractive, Darren fell on the other side of the bell curve compared to the men she knew. Not that she’d dated all that much before Philip, but she was used to musicians, not strapping outdoorsmen with a chip a mile wide on their broad shoulders.

Walking forward, Bree stepped up onto the screened porch and rapped on the door, then opened it. “Hello?”

Stella hustled down the hallway and waved her in. “Come in the kitchen and you can help me finish dinner.”

Bree heard the sound of water running from upstairs followed by a clinking of metal against metal. Then the running faucet again.

“Darren’s fixing a couple of things for me. And he’s staying for dinner.”

“Oh, then I don’t want to intrude.” Bree backed up a step or two.

“Nonsense.” Stella dropped her voice to a whisper. “I purposely left my purse behind so he’d have to stop by. I wanted you two to get to know each other better.”

“Stella...” Bree followed her friend into the kitchen.

“Oh, come on. Have a little fun.” Stella wiggled her overly penciled eyebrows. “He could use a little female attention.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Bree couldn’t imagine Darren having any trouble getting a date.

“Broken engagement with my granddaughter. She did the breaking.” Stella pursed her lips, obviously not pleased.

“Oh, wow. Darren and Raleigh?” Bree had heard rumors a couple of summers ago about another man. She didn’t know Darren was the one who’d been jilted. Betrayed.

Stella nodded. “Be nice to him. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Stella!” Bree felt for the guy. She really did. It made perfect sense that he’d avoided her. Well, Darren didn’t have to worry. Bree had broken it off with Philip because he’d made her choose between him and her music. She couldn’t risk another romantic entanglement. No way.

Stella handed her a small cutting board. “He’s a good man.”

“I’m sure he is—”

“You cut up the morels,” Stella interrupted. “I’ll get to work on the marsala.”

“Okay.” She was glad she’d changed topics. Bree knew her way around Stella’s kitchen and grabbed a knife. She got to work slicing the rinsed mushrooms, then moved on to making a salad while Stella finished the chicken.

Her thoughts were tied up, trying to remember what she’d heard about Stella’s granddaughter. Bree recalled there had been some sort of scandal, something her mother had once said, but Bree hadn’t ever paid much attention to the Bay Willows grapevine. Too much fodder to take in.

Footsteps sounded on the wide plank floors, and Bree looked up.

“That smells awe-sssome—” Darren’s voice fell away to nothing when he spotted her and frowned.

“Hello.” Bree gave him a sheepish smile, feeling like she’d been caught with her hands in the cookie jar—knowing about him and Raleigh.

“Hey.”

The wild rabbits that ran around Bay Willows looked less twitchy than this man seeing her here.

“Darren, watch the chicken a minute, would you, while I set the dining room table.” Stella exited fast with an arm load of things from the fridge. She was more than a little obvious in leaving them alone.

Bree’s cheeks flushed red-hot. “I’m sorry. She invited me, too.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Darren stepped close to the stove and stirred the sauce. He turned down the heat. “I hadn’t planned to stay, and—”

Horrified, Bree blurted, “You’re not going to leave because of me, are you?”

He tipped his head and gave her a cool stare. “What I was going to say is that Stella twisted my arm with the promise of dinner if I fixed the faucet upstairs. Stella’s a good cook.”

“Oh.” Bree relaxed. Sort of. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“Sorr—I mean, okay.” Then she laughed. “It’s a habit.”

“Saying you’re sorry?” Darren didn’t look amused by that.

“When I’m nervous, yes.” Bree’s stomach dropped again. That was a stupid thing to say, but she was used to apologizing to Philip in order to stop an argument before it started.