Alderbrae

By late afternoon, the barn has settled into the hush Isabelle loves most. The hunt horses are turned out in their pastures in their green blankets. The stalls are clean and bedded down for the morning. Isabelle shines the seat of the last saddle with leather conditioner, then hangs the rag up. She lifts the saddle to its rack, then leaves the tack room, locking the door behind her.

A little shiver goes through her, and she can smell a bit of a chill over the scent of grass and hay. October in Maryland. She pulls a burgundy quilted vest on over her long sleeved shirt, then heads for her car. As she walks, she takes her long, auburn waves out of the bun they’ve been in, fluffs them, and tries to tame them into a ponytail. She checks her phone for the time - enough time for a coffee before dinner.

She’s meeting her sister for dinner, but after the long day of hunting and horse care, she needs some caffeine first - especially with her sister’s energy level.

Isabelle gets into her car and starts it. Iron and Wine floats gently out of the speakers. She puts her car in reverse, backs out of her spot, then heads to the coffee shop, which is only five minutes away from the farm.

The little coffee shop sits on a corner lot with a feed store and an antique shop, its white clapboard siding and flower boxes making it look more like a cottage than a café.

Isabelle hops out of her little hatchback car. She smiles as the bell above the door chimes. Warmth wraps around her almost instantly, carrying the rich scent of freshly ground coffee and cinnamon. After a day spent in the cool October air, it feels like stepping into another world. The barista looks over the espresso machine to wave to her.

A handful of customers lingers at small wooden tables, their conversations low enough to blend with the soft music drifting from hidden speakers. Isabelle joins the short line at the counter, stepping in behind a tall man who stands just ahead of her, working on getting his wallet back into his pocket.

The bell above the door chimes again.

Isabelle steps aside automatically just as the tall man turns from the pickup counter, a large iced coffee in one hand and a paper bag tucked beneath the other arm. He doesn’t seem to see Isabelle as he turns, a little too quickly, not focused on where he’s going.

He bumps right into Isabelle and loses his grip on his iced coffee, onto which he hasn’t managed to get the lid all the way. A wave of coffee and ice splashes straight across the front of Isabelle’s shirt.

For one perfectly silent heartbeat, neither of them move.

Then an ice cube slides down the front of her vest and lands on the floor with a tiny clink.

The man’s face drains of color.

“Oh, no.”

He sets the mangled cup and paper bag on the nearest table without a second thought and grabs a stack of napkins from the counter.

“I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he says in a Scottish accent.

Isabelle stares down at the growing coffee stain before looking back up at him.

He looks miserable.

A laugh escapes Isabelle before she can stop it. Only then does Isabelle really look at him.

He’s broad-shouldered beneath a faded navy quarter-zip, with shoulder length sandy waves that look as though he’d spent the day outdoors. His cheeks are pink from the October air, and a pair of well-worn paddock boots peek out beneath his jeans. He looks every bit the horseman.

What catches her attention the most, though, are his blue eyes.

They are fixed on the coffee soaking into her vest with such genuine dismay that she almost laughs again. Instead, she snorts and covers her mouth with her hand.

“I promise I’m not laughing at you…” she says, but he doesn’t look so convinced.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a sheepish smile.

“I’ve made quite the first impression, haven’t I?” he says.

“I’m not likely to forget you, anyway,” Isabelle chuckles again, brushing more melting ice cubes from the front of her vest.

The man lets out a quiet laugh and puts a hand on Isabelle’s elbow to guide her to the side as a staff member brings a mop.

“I really am sorry,” he says. “Can I pay for your coffee?”

Isabelle looks down for a moment, trying to compose her face.

“Oh, it’s totally fine. You don’t have to worry about it,” she says, finding his blue eyes again.

“I insist,” the man says. Then he seems to think of something, and holds out his hand. “I’m William Crawford.”

Isabelle puts her hand in his. “Isabelle Graham.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Isabelle,” William says, looking down at her vest. “Even under these, uh…circumstances.”

Isabelle chuckles again. “I’ll survive. I’ve been doused in worse.” She immediately blushes furiously as she realizes how questionable that might sound. “I, uh…I work with horses,” she adds, hoping that will explain it.

“Horses?” he asks.

“Horses,” she says, and points to his paddock boots. “Which either you work with too, or you’re trying to make a fashion statement.”

It’s William’s turn to blush as he steps forward to the counter. The barista tells him that she’s already made Isabelle’s coffee, as Isabelle is a regular. He pays for the coffee, then picks it up and hands it to Isabelle. They stand awkwardly off to the side for a moment, then William motions to a table.

“Shall we sit?” he says.

A pang goes through Isabelle. She glances up at the clock behind the coffee counter. “That sounds lovely…but I’m meeting my sister for dinner in twenty minutes.”

Isabelle tries to figure out if she sees William’s face fall, but if it does, he composes it very quickly.

“Of course,” he says politely.

“I’m so sorry. It’s so kind of you to offer.”

“I understand.”

There’s a tiny awkward pause, which Isabelle fills with, “It’s been so nice to meet you. Thank you so much for replacing my coffee.”

“Of course. It’s the least I could do,” William says. He steps forward to open the door for Isabelle, who gives him a warm smile.

Isabelle tries to think of something else to say to him, but she can’t, so she gives an awkward little wave and heads out to her car. She walks a little quickly, feeling jittery, and hops into the car. She lets out a sigh as she gets in and shuts the door.

“Isabelle Graham, why must you be so awkward?”

She starts the car and punches the straw into her own iced coffee.

As she pulls into the restaurant parking lot a few minutes later, she decides to ditch the coffee stained vest. She has a pink fleece on the passenger seat of her car anyway. She catches herself smiling as she pulls off the vest.

She snorts as she thinks of poor William’s face, horrified at his clumsiness. And yet, she realizes she has been smiling the entire drive to the restaurant.

“Button it up, Isabelle,” she says to herself, checking her appearance once in the rearview mirror before going in.

Her sister Emily is already sitting at their usual place at the bar. She waves to Isabelle, who slides onto the stool next to her. Emily is tiny, of very slight build where Isabelle has an hourglass figure. Emily has dyed black hair and bangs she cuts herself. She has large, sparkling hazel eyes that are expressive and tell you exactly what she’s thinking - even though Emily never holds back what she’s thinking.

They hug briefly, but Emily comes right out with it. “You. Why are you blushing?”

Isabelle ignores her, placing a drink order, then turns back. “I’m not blushing. There’s a chill in the air.”

“Oh please. It’s not that cold. Why are you blushing?”

“A guy at the coffee shop…literally bumped into me. He spilled his coffee all over me.”

“I’m sorry, what? Please tell me it was iced coffee.”

“Of course it was iced coffee, Emily.”

Emily bursts into laughter, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

Isabelle tries not to laugh herself, remembering William’s embarrassment. But she does keep smiling. “I felt awful for him. He was so embarrassed.”

“You felt awful for him? You’re the one who got coffee spilled on you.”

Isabelle rolls her eyes at her baby sister. “Emily…”

“Was he cute at least?” Emily asks.

“Emily!” Isabelle says. Now she’s definitely blushing.

“Ah, so he was cute.” Emily reaches for the bread basket.

Isabelle thinks briefly of William’s clear blue eyes with the faint lines around them, and his sandy waves falling out of his ponytail.

“Yes. He was.”

“So. Did he ask for your number?”

“Uh…no.”

“Well. His loss,” Emily says, turning to the bartender, who has come around to take their food order.

Isabelle takes a moment to think about it. She finds it strange that she has never seen William in the coffee shop before, considering how many horse people usually frequent it. Maybe he was traveling to check out a horse for sale? Shopping at a tack store carrying something specific he needed?

She admits to herself that she feels a slight pang at the missed connection. He’s a kind, handsome horseman that obviously is not in the inner circle of the Valley where Isabelle works - all the better. The dating pool of classy horseman around here is thin.

Isabelle takes a deep breath and tells herself, “You only met him for five minutes. You don’t know if he’s classy or not.”

Then it’s her turn to give her order to the bartender, and, at least for the rest of dinner with her energetic sister, Isabelle shoves down any thoughts of William.