“But I can see how it would work,” I said, my mind filling with images of intimate dining tables in high-ceilinged rooms. “You’d have to put in a brand new kitchen, I’m sure, and—”
“This is ridiculous. Do you know what a new commercial kitchen costs? And that’s on top of the price of the house!” Jack grumped. “And there’s no guarantee people will even want to get married here.”
“You did,” I pointed out.
The look he gave me could have cut steel. “That’s because I belong here. It means something to me. Other people want fancy halls with marble and glass, not some tent right next to a barn.”
“Calm down. It’s worth considering, Jack,” Pete said. “That’s all we’re doing. Considering ideas.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to change things around here, make this farm into something it was never intended to be, and you don’t care what I say about it.” He stood, his chair scraping the wood. “So go ahead and make your website and take your pictures or whatever if she’s got you convinced that crap will make a difference, but she knows fuck-all about this farm and this family. She’s been here, what—two days? You can’t just show up somewhere and start messing with people’s lives like that.” He glared at me across the table, and suddenly I knew what this was about.
“Hey!” Pete stood up too. “Apologize to her, right now. She’s a guest in this house and you have no right to treat her that way.”
Jack’s face went even darker, and his fists clenched at his sides. His expression was a mixture of anger and shame, but his posture was pure Fuck-You-I-Won’t-Back-Down. No way would he apologize. Instead, he turned around and stomped out, slamming the back door behind him.
My own temper flared—and I didn’t need a tray of scones to hurl at him, I had plenty of words to use.
“Excuse me,” I said to everyone at the table. Then I raced out after him.
“Hey!” I yelled, my heels poking into the grass as I chased him across the lawn. “I want to talk to you!”
He didn’t even turn around.
I broke into a run. “I said stop!” Catching up with him as he reached the path through the woods, I yanked on his arm.
He turned on me angrily, shook off my hand. “I don’t want to talk to you, Margot. Get away from me.”
“What the hell is your problem?” I demanded.
His eyes were dark and tortured. “My problem is you, OK? You come in here with your fancy ideas and expensive clothes and shiny hair and big blue eyes and everyone loves you and it’s fucking with me. Everything about you is fucking with me. Just leave me alone.” He turned and took off again.
“Get back here!” I yelled. “We’re not finished!”
He didn’t even glance back, just kept marching through the woods toward his cabin.
Dammit. Dammit! I stifled a scream that threatened to claw its way out of my throat and fisted my hands in my hair. He was so frustrating! So stubborn! So irrational! Why couldn’t he see that his family wasn’t trying to ruin his dream, they were trying to make it better? And I wasn’t trying to fuck with him, I was doing my job. It’s not like coming here had been my idea—they’d hired me!
And what the hell was that about my eyes and my hair? What did he want me to do, put a bag over my head? I couldn’t help it if he was attracted to me! Did he think I enjoyed being attracted to him any better? Because I didn’t! I wished to God I’d never laid eyes on him! Fuming, I watched him disappear around a bend in the woods.
Calm down, Margot. Pull yourself together.
After a few deep breaths, I walked slowly back toward the house, trying to think of a way to explain what I’d just done. Jesus, I was a disaster these days.
What was going on with me?
As it turned out, the family members left at the table were twice as mortified as I was, and bent over backward apologizing for Jack’s behavior, assuring me they loved my ideas, and begging me not to take his words to heart.
I said I was sorry for running out, promised I was OK, and asked them to contact me in a few days, after they’d had a chance to go over everything I’d proposed. “I have some vacation time coming, so I’ll just be parked in a beach chair,” I said, hoping my smile looked genuine.
Georgia walked me out and insisted on giving me leftovers. “Please, take it,” she said, holding out the plastic container. “I’ll feel better.”
“You’ve got nothing to feel bad about, Georgia.”
“I do, though.” She shrugged helplessly. “I went to see Jack last night and pleaded with him to come today. I thought he’d listen with an open mind.”
“Really?” I could have told you he wouldn’t.
“Yeah. He’s not always this bad, it’s just…” She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “I don’t know what it is. Something is going on with him, but he won’t talk about it.”