Meant To Be by Fiona McCallum Page B

strode up the long enclosed verandah to the room he was using as his office before returning to the kitchen. He dumped his laptop and a few pads of paper, loose sheets, pens, pencils, and erasers on the table. Emily stood by, feeling a little dazed and a lot useless.
    â€˜It might help to have your photos of the cottage,’ Jake suggested.
    Emily went to the bedroom and got her folder out from under the bed; the scrapbook of ideas she’d put together for the original cottage, which contained notes, photos, fabric samples and paint charts, and old magazine clippings of furniture, interiors, exteriors, and landscaping ideas. On the way out, she also grabbed her selection of glossy new house magazines, despite knowing it was way too early in the process for interior decorating. She added her contribution to the now cluttered kitchen table.
    â€˜You look over all this while I make your coffee,’ Jake said.
    Looking at the rough sketches he had laid out for her, Emily was impressed at how much work Jake had already put into the project. Clearly he’d been thinking about it for a while. No wonder he’d been spending more and more time up in the office.
    â€˜It’s more cost-effective to go bigger to start with than having to add on later,’ Jake explained, as he put down their mugs. ‘I’ve done what I think will give the most options,’ he added.
    â€˜Hmm, looks great,’ Emily said, nodding in agreement. Not knowing what all the little symbols and abbreviations meant, she struggled to follow the plans beyond where the doors, window, fireplaces and other features were. She turned to a list of projected figures.
    â€˜Without knowing exactly how you want to fit out the interior of the cottage, they’re pretty rubbery’ Jake explained. ‘And they’re just my suggestions; it’s your project.’
    â€˜It’s our project.’
    The figures were mainly rounded to the nearest five thousand, and when she looked at the total at the bottom she was neither shocked nor disappointed. When John’s estate was settled she would have plenty of money to play with. Not that she wanted to be silly about it; that just wasn’t in her nature. Emily Oliphant was conservative through and through, and proud of it.
    The lease on the farm would pay for most of her living expenses for the year, considering there was no rent or mortgage. David had assured her that the troughs, fences, and sheds looked pretty good and that she shouldn’t be up for any major maintenance bills for the next few years. Though there was always the chance of the unforeseen cropping up, he’d hastened to add. Emily had experienced plenty of unforeseen events in recent times, but she chose to trust that all would be okay.
    Anyway, if she was smart about the cottage she could make money from it. She’d have to do something with it or else in twelve months – or however long it would all take; they hadn’t got to that bit yet – she’d have an empty cottage instead of a pile of debris and still be wondering what to do with her life.
    She was sure she didn’t want to run a B&B. After spending ages thinking about it, she’d concluded that she didn’t want to cook and clean for other people and have to deal with potential complaints, mucked-up bookings, and non-payers and no-shows.
    Emily loved to cook. It was a release and a great form of relaxation, but she suspected that that would all change when she had to do it, and under pressure. She’d always coped okay with the pressure of feeding the masses during shearing, but that was only for a week or so each year. If the business was successful – which, obviously, she hoped it would be – she’d be under that sort of pressure every weekend.
    Maybe she could open a shop? Selling jam was a totally different proposition to running a B&B, because she could cook at her leisure. But she wasn’t convinced