It was tight with just the five of us full-timers, but we managed.
I worked during the off-season too. A farmer’s work was never really done. Joan and I had pruning to do in the winter when the apple trees were dormant. And in the spring, we kept an eye on the fields for any sign of blight or disease. We brought in bees to pollinate, hand-thinned the trees to guarantee longevity and production, and administered pest control.
The whole county was big in agriculture. Across the highway, Grandpappy’s Farm did good business too. Their public-facing operation was a year-round affair. With more acreage and a wider variety of produce, they catered to tourists on a much larger scale. They went all out with hayrides and corn mazes and even an apple cannon.
I’d interviewed with William Clark before accepting my position here with the Judds. Between the two apple farms, I’d been more comfortable with the smaller setup. I couldn’t imagine working in the Clarks’ large General Store, which stayed open year-round, or being part of a whole team of farmers who worked the fields planting everything from cucumbers to potatoes to pumpkins to apples.
I liked where I’d ended up, and I liked the people I worked for.
And it appeared we’d have one more Judd on the property this fall. I wasn’t sure how Candace’s presence would affect the consistency and balance we’d established. However, it wasn’t my place to question it. Kirby Falls was more Candace’s home than it had ever been mine.
Nick and Amy had warned me just over a week ago that their youngest daughter would be returning to North Carolina. They’d said she’d be using her marketing know-how to work her magic behind the scenes. So if all went according to plan, I shouldn’t have to deal with Candace Judd at all.
Maybe today would be the only awkward amnesia-riddled encounter I’d have to endure.
I thought of her fancy black slacks and her silky-looking blouse, not evenmuddledfrom travel. Her brown ponytail, sleek and sophisticated, just made her seem that much more put together and untouchable. Her gorgeous hazel eyes were the perfect swirling combination of green and gold and warm brown. Unlike me, Candace had a face you couldn’t forget.
But something about that copy-and-paste smile made me wonder about her—probably more than I had any right to, even now, twenty minutes later, as I turned toward my house.
Candace had always been tall and beautiful, even when she’d been Candy, captain of the debate team and cross-country star. Now, though, she was elegant in a way that teenagers couldn’t really manage. She looked like she knew the best restaurants to recommend and always ordered the priciest thing on the menu. Like she drank wine instead of beer and had a ten-step skincare routine. The years of city life had turned her into someone unknown and unpredictable in a town filled with the same old, same old.
I wasn’t sure how the polished young woman would fit back into farm life here in Kirby Falls. But I guessed that she’d be welcomed with open arms and widespread curiosity. That was what happened when a successful hometown favorite returned.
Reaching toward the visor over my head, I hit the button to open my garage. The house was quiet, as usual, when I entered. I lived at the end of a quiet one-lane road between the orchard and town.
When I reached the kitchen, I hit preheat on the oven and dropped a frozen pizza inside. No sense in cooking something real when it was just a party of one.
Setting the timer, I figured I’d have enough time to do some watering.
After grabbing a beer from the fridge, I slid open the back door to the deck and stepped outside. The garden in my backyard was full to bursting this time of year. I’d left the center of the yard open and lined the perimeter with raised beds. Colorful spots stood out from the plantings on the left, where yellow and orange bell peppers were ripening. The tomatoes were on the opposite side of the yard but were no less vibrant. They’d be producing well into September. I grew heirloom varieties in bold reds and striped yellows and pinks. The zucchini and summer squashes had their own space in the back near the fence line with plenty of room to spread out alongside the vine-like cucumbers. And the blackberries twining through the lattice below the porch were nearly done producing for the year.
First, I went around checking to see what could be picked. With my arms full of zucchinis and cucumbers, I briefly considered dropping some off with my next-door neighbor but then decided to just bring them inside for the time being. After depositing the vegetables on my kitchen counter to wash later, I went backoutside by way of the back porch and started watering all the plants that needed it, sipping my beer as I went.
I could have set up an automated irrigation system to ensure regular soil hydration, but I was always home in the evenings. Besides, I liked to monitor the rainwater the plants received and supplement as needed. I’d spent several hours this past weekend weeding the beds, so my work tonight was nearly done.
My phone vibrated in my pocket just as I turned off the sprayer. I pulled my cell out and saw a text.
Brady: Here’s your weekly invitation to trivia night at Trailview, even though I know you won’t come.
I sighed, staring down at my phone.
Brady Judd asked me to join him at Trailview Brewing nearly every week. And every week I said no.
The familiar weight of guilt made my feet feel heavy as I climbed the porch steps.
I liked Brady. I really did. He was a good guy and a good friend. Brady had been a senior when I’d been a sophomore. But in a lot of ways, I felt like the older one between the two of us. He just wore his youth so blatantly. Brady had this carefree quality that made him seem like a perpetual frat boy. He lived to joke around and play pranks and tease. He had freedom, though, that other people didn’t. And he hadn’t lived the life I had—growing up fast out of necessity—so he couldn’t really understand my inclination to keep to myself.
None of that was Brady’s fault, but it did make things, like invitations to trivia nights at a local brewery, a little more complicated. There was a reason I chose to avoid Kirby Falls. I didn’t go out. I spent my free time at home, for the most part.
And tonight—like most nights—I didn’t have it in me to deal with an evening in town and the folks I might encounter there. So I texted back a quick,No, thanks, man. See you tomorrow, and put my phone away.
I snagged the small food and water dishes from the back porch and brought them inside to refill. The cat would probably be by soon for his supper.
Eyeing the placement of the sun in the sky, I briefly considered heading up to Juniper Point for some shots of the sunset. With the cloud cover moving in tonight, it had the potential to be a dramatic one with a sky full of pinks, purples, oranges, and everything in between.
But I figured the popular spot would be packed with tourists this close to the start of the season.
So I went inside, checked on my pizza, and finished my beer.
