Yesterday at the pie shop had been nice. I hated that Candace was hurting over her encounter with her former friend, but it had felt good to do something to make her smile. Seeing her frozen on that sidewalk, left in the wake of Lauren’sdestruction, had me feeling helpless. The devastation written across her face made me want to protect her from getting hurt. The hug had been instinctual. Candace had needed comfort, and I’d been willing to give it. More than willing. I wanted to be the person she relied on. Her sounding board. A shoulder to cry on.
Maybe it was that same foolish desire to mean something to her that brought me here tonight. But I wanted to show my support. I needed her to know that she had someone in her corner.
In my hesitation, Candace rushed to fill the silence. “I know we have the Orchard Fest bright and early tomorrow, so if you need to turn in and head home, that’s totally fine.”
She was giving me an out. Smoothing over my indecision and shoring up her defenses—mitigating her expectations and tucking her disappointment carefully away behind a copy-and-paste smile.
I wanted this to be the last time I saw that careful imitation on her face.
“Let’s grab a drink. That sounds good.”
“You’re sure?”
I smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I tilted my head back toward Firefly. “I saw some open chairs by a fire in the back. Why don’t you go grab those before some leafer takes them? I’ll go in and get the cider. What would you like?”
Candace followed the direction of my gaze. I could tell when she saw the unoccupied chairs surrounding one of the fire pits because her expression smoothed out, the doubt clearing from her face like fog burned away by the sunrise. I hoped she credited my hesitation to simply searching for a seat and not the real reason I’d been hesitant to stay. I didn’t need another encounter like the one at the farmers’ market. I wasn’t eager for a repeat of the judgmental stares, ready gossip, and blatant ignorance. All with Candace as a witness.
She smiled and gave me her order, promising to save our seats by the bonfire.
When I returned with two seasonal Don’t Fear the Reaper ciders in hand, I passed one to Candace where she was seated in a two-person wooden Adirondack chair. Each seat was connected by a small table in the middle.
“Thank you,” she said and took a sip.
“You’re welcome.”
I placed my drink down between us and settled in beside her. The warmth from the orange flames was welcome as the night air grew chilly.
It was fully dark now, save for the firelight and the glowing bulbs highlighting the perimeter of the seating area. We were far enough away from the outdoor stage that we could speak easily to one another and be heard over the band’s rendition of “Annie’s Song.” The remaining seats around our fire pit were empty.
“So how do you feel?” I asked. “Are you one of those introverted extroverts who needs time to recover after being around people?”
Candace smiled and met my gaze. “No, not really. I’ve always been fine around people. No recovery period required.”
I nodded and picked up my cider. “That checks.”
She laughed. “But not you though,” she said confidently. “You’ll probably need some quiet after all that peopling.”
I snorted. “I’ll need a week to make up for it.”
Her amusement was contagious and soon we were just grinning at each other—sharing a moment of comradery after an evening spent in the trenches of working with the public, basking in the success of the night.
Candace looked relaxed and happy—her smile wasn’t the watered-down version from earlier nor the overly bright one she wore for the leafers. It was like watching her come up for air.
The firelight painted her skin in warm golden hues. For a wild and reckless moment, I wished I had my camera so I could capture the contrast of light and shadow, the way the dancing flames lovingly highlighted the planes of her face—her high cheekbones, the straight line of her nose, the elegant column of her throat, the jut of collarbones just above the neckline of her shirt.
I forced myself to grip my glass and take another drink.
“I guess you prefer working in the fields, instead of with the people,” she said a moment later.
The statement sounded like a question, so I answered, “I do. But I’m not opposed to helping out wherever I’m needed on the farm.”
“Is that what you studied in college, agriculture?” Candace asked, almost tentatively as if she were skirting the edges of a particularly narrow balance beam.
I knew where her cautiousness came from. I hadn’t reacted well when she’d brought up me being a dad. The instinct to shut down and protect myself had been unavoidable. It was obvious that Candace didn’t want to get too close to the imaginary line I’d drawn, so she was proceeding carefully.
But it was easy enough to talk about this part of my life without thinking about Hannah or lying about our relationship. “Yeah, agronomy. Crop and soil sciences at NC State.”
“That’s a good school. Did you like living in Raleigh?”
