“I’ll go along with the Friday night food trucks and Candy’s pumpkin-patch thing,” Joan announced loudly and robotically, as if she’d practiced the words and hoped I’d be across a ravine when she delivered them.
I felt my eyes go wide in surprise, but I did my best to rein it in.
Joan continued, “We’re already open through Halloween anyway. But there should be a budget, and Candy should call Will over at Grandpappy’s to see if they have any excess produce they’re interested in unloading. He’ll give us a fair price.”
Then she turned and exited just as abruptly as she arrived, the screen door snapping shut behind her.
Mom and I turned to glance at one another, our shock mutual, but my mother recovered quicker than I could.
She called out to my sister’s slender retreating form, “You coming for dinner? I’m making spaghetti.”
That was a low blow, I thought. Spaghetti was Joanie’s favorite. Mom made the sauce and the meatballs from scratch, and Joan used to request it for every one of her birthday dinners as far as I could recall.
At my mother’s invitation, Joan paused her long-legged stride.
Mom shot me a knowing look and a sly wink.
My sister muttered something under her breath that I was too far away to hear before calling over her shoulder, “Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Have a good day, honey,” Mom hollered back, and I fought a smile.
Then I didn’t bother fighting it because my sister was speaking to me again. Well, speaking in my general direction. Maybe I could get more out of her at dinner tonight. But the most surprising development was that Joan had agreed to the pumpkin patch. I was thrilled. And I was confident that moving forward with it would have a big impact on the orchard.
I couldn’t wait to get to work. The budget would be upheld, and I’d call over to Grandpappy’s like my sister wanted. They’d been on my potential vendor list anyway. I hadn’t been to the big farm across the highway in nearly a decade, but I knew my parents were friendly with the Clarks, who ran the place.
“Thanks for the tea, Mom,” I said happily, rising from my chair and heading toward the kitchen so I could put my mug in the dishwasher. “I better get started on the pumpkin patch.”
My mother smiled back. “You have a good day, too, Candy.”
I was in such a good mood that I didn’t even mind it when the nickname slipped out.
I’d been loitering in the Apple House rather than my office, hoping to catch Mark, when he drove by. I had my laptop, cell phone, and my worn notebook laid out on the worktable.
When he spotted me beneath the covered awning, waving like a dork, he pivoted away from whatever task he’d been in the middle of and walked toward me. I watched as he glanced at the ground, but not before I caught the edge of a smile.
As I waited, my eyes drifted over Mark’s body as he moved. His blue Judd’s Orchard tee shirt was worn and threadbare, the sleeves straining around his defined biceps. He wore a five-panel hat that covered his dark blond hair, for the most part. The light-wash denim encasing his powerful thighs shifted as he bounded up the stairs of the Apple House’s front porch.
“Hey,” he said in greeting.
I dragged my horny eyes away because, oh my God, I’d totally been checking him out...for an embarrassingly long time. What was wrong with me?
Clearing the residual embarrassment from my throat, I finally managed an awkward, “Hey! Hi!” in return.Good Lord.
“What’s up?” he asked, his blue-gray eyes sparkling, if I wasn’t mistaken. “You looked like you had some news.”
Oh, right.
“Yes! Joan came by this morning while Mom and I were having tea, and she agreed to the pumpkin patch. And Food Truck Friday. I’m getting started on everything.”
“That’s great,” Mark said. “We talked a little about it. I’m going to work on getting the blackberries ready in the space behind the Apple House. They might not be ready next July for the u-pick operation though. New blackberries can be sour for a few seasons. But it’ll be good to get them started—plan for the future. That space will work great, and it gets plenty of sun. I can bring clippings from some of the plants I have at home.”
I frowned. “We’ll compensate you for that.” He was already shaking his head, but I persisted. “No, I don’t want you to put yourself out. And I can help with the planting. You don’t need to take this on if it’s going to add to your workload.”
“It’s okay. We’ll start small. They don’t require a whole lot of maintenance once we get them set up. And you can help if you’d like.”
Smiling, I said, “Thanks, I would.” And then his prior words registered. “You have a garden at home?”
Mark nodded and put a hand in his jeans pocket before taking it back out again. “Yeah. Mostly vegetables, but I grow some fruit too.”
