“Isn’t that something?” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s voice was wistful. “I remember going to Hughes Family Orchard with my grandmother when I was a child. It was our favorite place to get apples in the fall. In fact, it’sstillmy favorite.” She lowered her voice and tipped forward as if sharing a juicy secret. “I always thought your apples were better than McClains’.”
Pride glowed on Jake’s face, and Emily’s heart squeezed.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Now, about those baskets. If you’re going to use them for the orchard, then I can’t take your money.”
Jake looked as stunned as Emily felt. “W-why not?” he stammered.
“Honey, I’d be honored if you used my baskets as part of your celebration. Your orchard is part of my family history too.”
“Then what will you take in exchange for them?” Emily asked.
Mrs. Cavanaugh smiled. “How about a bag of those Carolina crisp apples?”
“I’ll save you a bag of the best ones,” Jake promised.
“You got yourself a deal.” Mrs. Cavanaugh beckoned them to follow her to the back room.
Thirty minutes later, they had one hundred baskets loaded into the back of Jake’s truck under a tarp, and they’d placed an order for another hundred.
Emily pointed down the street toward Morningside Bakery. “Let’s go get a cookie to celebrate. And we can also ask Dani if she’s decided about having a booth at the orchard.” They started down the street, and a cool mist kissed Emily’s cheeks. “I guess we’re going to get that rain after all.”
As they moved past an empty storefront, Jake caught her arm. “Hold up.” He pointed to the glass window. “I just had a great idea. You should open a gallery here.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She studied him, searching for his signature lopsided grin, but he wasn’t smiling. “You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m completely serious.” He took her hands in his. “You’ve been searching for something to do for years—for a purpose. This could be it. How many paintings do you have in my parents’ basement?”
“I have no idea.”
“Guess. How many?”
“I don’t know.” She tried to calculate in her head. “Maybe a few dozen.”
“Take all of those paintings and drawings out of my folks’ basement and open a place here. In your hometown.” He pointed to his chest. “Ourhometown.”
She shook her head. “Who would buy my paintings?”
“Are you kidding?” He scoffed. “Tourists come here every summer. That’s why Mrs. Cavanaugh sells little signs that saySplendid Lake.” He pointed to the shop across the street. “And Mr. and Mrs. Cox sell Splendid Lake T-shirts.”
He gave her hands a squeeze. “But you’ve painted dozens and dozens of lake landscapes, and they’re just sitting in my folks’ basement collecting dust. You need to bring them here and sell them. The tourists would love them. They’d hang them above their mantels, and every time they look at one of your paintings, they’ll remember the fantastic vacation they spent here in our town.” The passion in his voice took her by surprise. “Thisis what you’ve been searching for. This is your calling: to bring the joy of our hometown to people all over. What do you think?” His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she couldn’t find her words.
“I... I have to think about it.” She pulled her hands away and started down the sidewalk.
Just then, the heavens opened and rain began to pour down on them.
She squealed, and he took her hand before they ran through the rain, their shoes splashing through puddles. He guided her under an awning, and they both started to laugh.
“We’re soaked!” she declared, taking in her wet jeans and hoodie.
When she looked up at Jake, his smile had smoothed out. His soft expression had transformed into a smolder.
She held her breath as her nerves stood on edge.
