One big obstacle, though, was the woman working efficiently and quietly at my side, picking bag slung over her shoulders.
It had been a week since the “staff meeting” where Candace had presented her big ideas, and Joan was still barely doing more than grunting in my direction. I knew she hadn’t joined her family for dinner at all this week because Candace had mentioned it this morning when I’d stopped by the office in the Apple House to say hi.
She’d been typing away on her laptop, sunglasses perched on top of her head, and wearing a pale yellow tank top that had me noticing her sun-bronzed skin before I’d forced myself to look away. We’d chatted for a bit. Candace had wanted to know if Joan was speaking to me yet. I’d tried to reassure her that it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her sister to keep to herself. But I could tell Candace was still worried over Joan’s reaction to her recommendations for the farm.
I hadn’t lied. Joan isolated herself at times. She could be personable and friendly, but those moments were few and far between. It was usually around kids at the orchard that Joan let herself be free with her smiles. She was good with children, despite how unpracticed she was with adults. But now she was shutting everyone out deliberately. And it was probably time to broach the subject, or I’d be lifting, twisting, and pulling for the next four hours beside a silent apple-picking sentry.
“You ever gonna talk to me again?” My gaze was still fixed on my task, but I heard the rustle of leaves to my left pause momentarily.
When Joan didn’t answer and the leaves resumed their movement, I rolled my eyes as I gently tugged another mottled-red apple.
“I don’t like to get involved in this stuff, but your family wants to talk to you, Joan. They asked for your opinion because you know best where this farm is concerned. Even if your opinion is to keep things the way they’ve always been.”
Joan abandoned her crouch and stood to face me, hands on slim hips, eyes narrowed beneath the bill of her Judd’s Orchard ball cap. “Oh, you don’t like to get involved in this stuff. Is that right? You didn’t seem to mind when you were helping Candy with herstaff meetingand all her brilliant plans.”
I resisted the urge to sigh and instead scrounged around for some courage under that icy blue glare. “They’re good ideas. And you’d see that if you weren’t so busy being angry that your sister was the one who thought of them.”
She scoffed as she busied herself carefully dumping the apples out of the picking bag and into the basket.
“Candace wants to help,” I said gently. “She loves this farm too.”
And maybe she hadn’t been here for the last seven years, but it was obvious to anyone who wasn’t too angry and bitter to notice that Candace really did love this place. She was a hard worker—the first to volunteer for any task required and equally determined to help out so the shared load was lessened.
She’d helped her brother load up the produce for the farmers’ market when she hadn’t even been on the schedule. Then she’d worked concessions over the weekend with her mother in the refreshment stand. Candace made that social media calendar she’d mentioned, and she was dividing up the work with Brady. She was there, in the office, every day when the orchard was closed to the public. And then, Thursday through Sunday, she greeted out-of-towners and handed out buckets and sold merchandise and generally chipped in wherever she could. And she did it all with a smile on her face. She seemed to genuinely enjoy the tourists and spending time with her family. Nick and Amy were so happy to have their daughter back. There was no denying that.
And I couldn’t ignore Candace’s sincere desire to see this place succeed—to do more than break even.
“She left.” Joan’s words were clipped—jagged and bitten off, like they nearly didn’t make it past her teeth on their way out. “She couldn’t get out of this town fast enough. She shouldn’t get to waltz back in here whenevershefeels like it and make demands and changes.”
I nodded because I could see where she was coming from, why someone like Joan—proprietary and possessive and fiercely loyal—would see Candace’s well-meaning attempts as affronts.
I made sure my tone was soft and lacking all judgment when I said, “When does someone get to come home? What’s the timeline that would have made it okay for Candace to return and be involved? When would you have welcomed your sister back?”
Joan sighed, equal parts resigned and bitter, and then closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the sky, sunshine highlighting the planes of her narrow face. “I don’t fucking know, Mercer.”
“Candace means well,” I offered.
“I know that,” she said before opening her eyes and frowning at me. “Why do you keep calling her Candace?”
I blinked. “That’s her name.”
Joan made a face.
“That’s what she likes to be called,” I argued, then swallowed uneasily as Joan kept right on watching me. I wasn’t sure what she saw written across my features, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn’t the ever-expanding crush I had on her sister.
The more time I spent with Candace, the more unsteady I felt. She was pushing me outside my comfort zone, making me want more—making me wish I was braver and bolder. She was endearing in a thousand ways.
The crush I’d had in adolescence didn’t really compare to knowing the very real version of her now. There was so much more beyond popularity and objective beauty. Grown-up Candace had layers and depth that a teenage boy couldn’t understand or appreciate. I’d seen past the friendly extrovert to the woman who got nervous talking to her own family. She carried secrets behind fake smiles, and the mystery of her made me curious beyond the boundaries of being co-workers.
Finally, Joan’s scrutinizing gaze relented, and she said, “Well, what do you think we should do since you’re captaining Team Candace?”
I ignored the snark and pretended we were having this conversation like adults—like we should have done a week ago with everyone present. “Her ‘Friday night food truck’ idea is extremely low-risk, and she’s happy to handle the scheduling. It’s a no-brainer. And I think we should try the pumpkin patch. And the u-pick blackberries behind the Apple House for next summer. I’ll get those situated. You won’t have to do anything. Let’s see how a few of the special events go. Candace said she’d run those in the evenings. Again, you won’t be expected to help.”
“I don’t mind working?—”
“I know,” I cut her off before she got defensive again. Joan was finally listening. I didn’t want her to shut everyone out again.
“It doesn’t have to be everything all at once. Candace didn’t march in there and make demands,” I reminded her evenly. “She gave us options and short-term and long-term goals. We can implement those as we see fit. We could hire seasonal workers after a time?—”
