“I arrived yesterday,” Walt said, and I couldhearthe smile in his voice. “And Rosie... it was perfect.”
“Yeah?” I dropped my scissors entirely, giving him my full attention. “Spill everything. Was Barbara even better in person? Did you trip getting out of the RV?Pleasetell me you didn't immediately start talking about farming.”
“Yes, no, and no.” He chuckled. “I pulled up to her place around three in the afternoon. Nice little house with a garden out front—she grows roses, would you believe it? Anyway, I'm walking up to the door, practicing what I'm gonna say, and it opens before I can even knock.”
I grinned. “She was watching for you.”
“She was watching for me,” he repeated, voice going soft. “Came right out onto the porch, and I just... stopped. All those video calls, all those late-night conversations, and suddenly she'sthere. Real. Standing in front of me.”
My throat tightened. “And?”
“And she said, 'Walter Sullivan, you're even more handsome in person.' Just like that. Bold as brass.”
I laughed, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “I like her so much.”
“We sat on her porch swing until sunset,” Walt continued. “Talked about everything and nothing. We're taking it slow, seeing the sights around here. Yesterday we went to this little antique shop she loves. I found a vintage feed scale I'm thinking about shipping back.”
“Uncle Walt.” I tried for stern. “You're not supposed to be thinking about the farm. That's a very farm-related purchase.”
“It's an antique.”
“It's afeed scale.”
“Fine, fine.” He laughed. “You're right. I'm supposed to be focusing on Barbara.”
“Exactly. You're on a romantic adventure. Leave the farming to me.” I paused, softening. “I'm so happy for you, Uncle Walt. Really. You deserve this.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. That means the world.” His voice shifted, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “Though I have to admit, much as I'm trying to keep my mind on Barbara... I wouldn't mind hearing how things are going back home.”
I smiled. “The farm's good. Really good, actually. Tomorrow's my first farmers' market.”
“Your first market.” Pride filled his voice. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Honestly? Pretty confident.” I surveyed my herb bundles, the loaded truck visible through the garden gate. “I've got eggs, flowers, these gorgeous herb bundles I’m just finishing. The booth setup looks amazing! I found a vintage tablecloth in your linen closet, the one with the embroidered corners? It’s perfect.”
“That was Grandma's,” Walt said softly. “She'd love to see it put to good use.”
Grandma Sullivan. I'd never met her, she passed before I was born, but somehow that made it matter more. Using her tablecloth at the market, carrying on what she and Walt had built here.
“Everything's ready to go.” I picked at a lavender stem. “I also made a new sign.”
“A sign?”
“Handpainted. It says 'Sullivan Farm' with little chickens around the border. Very professional.”
Walt chuckled. “Sounds like you've got it all sorted.”
“I do.” Pride swelled in my chest. “I've got this, Uncle Walt. Honestly.”
“That's my girl.” His voice warmed. “Oh, before I forget—have you paid the property taxes yet? The bill should've come in by now.”
My hand froze mid-reach for another rosemary bundle.
Property taxes.
Property taxes?
I stared at the bundles like they might suddenly reveal hidden knowledge about municipal finance.
