The boy looks at the money like he’s not sure what to do, then he puts it in the register. “Thanks. You’re Riggs, right? Is Ash here too?”
I try to give him my friendliest smile. “No, unfortunately he couldn’t make it. But I think there’s a good chance he’ll be around later this week, and I know he’ll want to see this place for himself. I’ll be sure to let him know to stop in and say hi.”
“That would be great!” he practically stammers, then blurts out, “It was really nice to meet you. I watch all your videos.”
“Thanks, that means a lot to me and my brother.”
We step out of the way so the people behind us can order while customers to our left are picking up their food. Everything is to-go in plain brown paper bags, and they serve their coffee in huge paper cups that look like wine barrels—narrower at the top and bottom and wider in the middle—with cardboard handles on the side. From an engineer’s point of view, they’re anintriguing design.
We take our food and coffee back to the truck, then Maddie shows me the way to a nearby river. On the way there, she pulls out the newspaper and starts reading out loud.
“By the narrowest of margins, Olivia managed to take this week’s top spot with impressive sales of 524 jars, outselling Sophia by one. Last week’s top seller, Charlotte, dropped all the way to last place with 233 jars, citing an ‘unexpected health issue.’ Emma came in third with 468 jars. Meanwhile, Charlotte is rallying her supporters with a new swimsuit layout on her Facebook page. ‘I think my fans are really going to like it. Who doesn’t love a vintage pinup girl?’ she told The Caller.”
“Looks like I have some jams to taste.”
“Right? You need to pick one before you leave.”
“I think I will. It’s brilliant marketing. If you’re a fan, you might buy an extra jar or two to help your team out.”
“But no more than two,” she insists, and from her tone, I don’t think she’s joking. Maybe jam is a serious business in these parts.
Now she’s giving me the eye. “What?”
“You know darn well what. Someone like you could make sure your jam wins every week. So, let’s just agree right now that you’ll never buy more than two jars in any given week.”
“Can you buy them online, like anonymously?”
“Riggs!”
“Okay,” I acquiesce with a chuckle. It’s not like I’d ruin a good thing by being a dick. “I promise I’ll never buy more than two of one kind in any given week. But I may buy a few of each kind as gifts. Elsie would really get a kick out of this, and I know a few others who would as well.”
“That’s fair.”
She points to a gravel road up ahead. When I take the turn, the river, with its densely wooded tree line, comes into view. This whole place—the town, the farms, and the pine-forest scenery—is something else.
There are a lot of trucks here, and it looks like everyone is having breakfast on their tailgates. As I pull up, they all stare. This truck really stands out among all the old work trucks, and I wish I had Betsy.
I drop the tailgate, noticing that a cowboy about Maddie’s age at the truck next to us hasn’t taken his eyes off her. He’s with a woman, probably his wife, since they’re both wearing wedding rings.
“A real tragedy about your mom,” he says. “We were sorry to hear about it. Do you need anything?”
“Thanks, Zane, but I’m okay.”
“Honey, you don’t hesitate to ask, you hear me?” the woman says.
“I won’t.” Maddie turns to me. “This is —”
“Riggs Dwyer,” Zane says. “I recognized you when you were pulling in.”
“I was right, it is you! Oh my God!” the woman cries out. She rushes over, throws her arms around me, and gives me the biggest hug. “I love you guys.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. Her husband is standing right there. Thank goodness I don’t have to figure it out because she quickly lets me go and looks toward the cab of the truck. “Where’s your cute brother? Is he here too?”
I laugh. “Ash couldn’t make it.”
She looks seriously disappointed but pulls her phone out anyway. Without asking, she wraps her arm around mywaist, lays her head against my side with a bright cheesy smile, and holds her phone out for a selfie. I lean down and offer my best smile for the camera.
Zane chuckles as his wife comes back to his side while checking out the photo she just took. Then the cowboy holds out his hand with, “I’m Zane Shackler, and this is my wife, Chelsea. It’s nice to meet you.” As I shake his hand, I can feel some power in his grip, more than I would have expected from his wiry frame. “You know you’re the lucky one in this deal, right?” he says as he gives Maddie a wink.
