Page 35 of Manors & Mischief

Devon clamps down on my arm again as if to warn me that I’m not going anywhere, but he doesn’t have to tell me. I have the cider in my sights. Well, sort of. I have half the cider booth in my sights because the other half is Devon’s mom’s smiling, hopeful face.

“No can do, Mom. Ember’s about to have her first glass of real apple cider.”

“But…” She looks at me for help, but I move my gaze to the grass. She’s been so helpful, so accommodating, and I can’t stand letting her down.

“She’s got time for that after cider and doughnuts.”

“Well, I suppose.” Mrs. Lachey checks the thin, gold watch on her wrist, her shoulders drooping. A second later, she spots someone else and scurries off.

A deep breath of relief takes over, and Devon needles me with his elbow. “You were going to let her come between you and the cider. Don’t deny it. You were two seconds away from folding like a cheap tent.”

“Your mom is a…”

“Character,” he supplies.

“Yes, that. A formidable one.” I hold on to his arm more securely. “Plus, she’s done a lot for me since I got here. She got me the best carpenter in town. And the money for the porch.”

He shakes his head, an almost smile coming to his lips. Instant pleasure washes over me. I know Devon enough to conclude that he doesn’t smile a lot. He glares. He stares pensively. He concentrates a lot. But smiling? Not so much. It’s a personal achievement to get his lips to move just that little bit.

“Well, the best carpenter in town is going to buy you a cider and doughnut.”

“I can⁠—.”

He starts walking, effectively cutting me off. He stops near an empty picnic table. “You wait here. I’ll be right back.”

I have the chance to look around again at the quintessential small-town life, taking in the leaf garlands people lined their tent poles with along with witchy crafts and leaf-themed signs. To my right, one of the baristas who works for Bea’s café waves, but then Devon sits across from me. “Are you ready for this?”

“I was born ready,” I state, mimicking his serious tone.

He starts unpacking a drink carrier, lining up two in front of me. “Cold cider, and hot apple cider.”

“Hot apple cider?”

He nods slowly, then takes out an orange napkin, placing it in front of me before adding a sugary doughnut. My stomach grumbles even though it hasn’t been that long since I’ve eaten.

“Which order should I do it in?”

Devon braces himself to answer, but I go right for the cup that doesn’t have steam wafting off it. I chug a few swallows down, the flavors in my mouth exploding with apples and spice. I take the cup away from my lips, my eyes wide. Now that’s cider. I have nothing good to compare it to, but I know that’s what it’s supposed to taste like.

“Well?”

“Delicious,” I groan, my eyes nearly rolling into the back of my head.

I go in for another drink and when I open my eyes, Devon has his phone trained on me, pressing the screen a couple of times.

“Hey,” I protest.

He smiles wide, and it’s like a douse of warmth spreads over my skin like wildfire. “Couldn’t help myself. Everyone should have their first experience with cider documented. It’s a rite of passage in New England, actually.” My phone buzzes as he taps on his screen again. “Now you have another photo to share with your family as proof we just have it better up here.”

A full belly chuckle takes over my body. I love how unapologetically people love it here, especially on an evening like this. And I love how easily I’ve been accepted as an outsider, taken in under the umbrella of Harvest Falls like a chick with a broken wing.

“Just how did you get my number?”

“You mean the number you called me from when you didn’t know I was the handyman?” He grins. “Now if I were you, I’d take a bite of the doughnut and wash it down with the hot apple cider.”

Now we’re talking. I do as he says and moan out loud again. I’m simultaneously sad that I had to wait this long to try this and happy that this will become my new norm. Well, seasonally anyway. “It’s delicious,” I announce, covering my mouth as I talk.

He sips his own cup of cider, then a bite of doughnut when some of the cinnamon gets stuck in his scruff. He wipes it with a napkin and keeps going. Conversation flows easily. There are more smiles from him, and even more laughs from me. After we finish, I buy a gallon of cider for the manor as Devon introduces me to the owners. We chat for a while, and I ask them about supplying some drinks and possibly some doughnuts for the events I have planned at the manor. I get handed my first business card, and I walk away feeling confident, assured.