Page 10 of Good Directions

It reminds me of home.

“Sawyer, right?” the bright-eyed blonde asks. I nod, opening my mouth to introduce myself, but she cuts me off. “I’m Dolly. You’ve met Miss Belle. Come sit. Let’s get you something to drink; you look like you walked here.”

“I feel like it,” I reply, following her over to the counter and crashing down onto a stool. “My AC went out on my way down from Atlanta, and it was a long drive without it.”

“Ew.” Dolly scrunches her face. “Tea? Water? Soda?”

“Tea, please.”

She nods, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice before pouring the rich, honey-brown liquid over it. My mouth waters as I watch, my thirst starting to take over.

“So, what brings you to Hickory Hills?” Miss Belle asks, rearranging a set of paint chips she’d spread out on the counter. “As much as I love Ken, and I do—his late wife was one of my best friends and he and my husband are still like teenagers sometimes—I cannot imagine it’s his legendary mechanic skills that brought you to our map dot.”

I take a long sip of the tea, the cool liquid spreading through me like butter melting over hot toast. Letting out a long sigh, I relax, turning to the maven next to me to answer her.

“Well, he did come very highly recommended by some random fruit-stand guy I asked for directions.” I chuckle. Miss Belle starts to speak, then stops, letting me continue. “But I was on my way here anyway. I work for the Georgia Department of Agriculture, and am going to be helping Dr. Cary Adler of Hayes Industries for a while this summer.”

Miss Belle’s eyes go wide, a knowing but serene smile spreading across her face. At first, I don’t know what to make of it, but there is something so comforting about her presence that I can’t help but continue to talk.

“I came down a couple of days early, thinking I’d get settled and learn my way around town before Monday. I’m originally from Alabama, if that’s not obvious”—I gesture down at my tee—“and have never been to this part of the state. But then, my car apparently had other ideas.”

“Ken’ll get you fixed; don’t worry,” Dolly tells me, handing me a menu.

I don’t bother looking it over, sliding it right back to her. The mention of a BLT earlier when she handed it to Ken was enough to make my mouth water, making this an easy decision.

“Good choice. I had some fresh tomatoes dropped off this morning from the Hayes greenhouse and they are gorgeous!”

Hayes has a greenhouse? Racking my brain, I dig through my mental archives to figure out if this is something I knew. They’re known in the ag space for three things— peaches, peanuts, and pecans—three of Georgia’s biggest ag exports. Past that…well, honestly, past that, I don’t know a whole lot about their operation.

No time like the present to learn.

“I didn’t realize that Hayes did other produce,” I toss out casually, hoping it doesn’t make me look ignorant.

“Only locally,” Miss Belle explains. “It’s a bit of a…pet project, if you will, for a couple of the boys who run the agriculture department. They got a wild hair a bunch of summers back and built this greenhouse, wanting to play around with some sort of hybrid breeding or something or other.”

She waves it off, like all the science means nothing to her but that she respects that it’s important to them so she lets them have it. A concept my own family has never understood. Something that only endears me to this stranger even more.

“I’m sure Cary will tell you all about it. He’s rather proud of that thing. And really, he should be. It produces some beautiful veggies.”

“Like these,” Dolly adds, depositing a plate in front of me.

The massive sandwich takes up three-quarters of the plate, the large, bright red tomato slices, looking too good for words, sticking out from under the multi-grain bread. Homemade multi-grain bread too, by the looks of it. I take a moment to examine it, the ruby-colored flesh of the tomato the perfect shade, the insides bright and juicy looking, begging to be bitten into. Everything a perfect summer tomato should be.

“You know Dr. Adler?” I ask, unable to hold back my curiosity.

That knowing smile returns, this time paired with a bit of mischief in her eyes. A single, soft chuckle escapes from behind Miss Belle’s closed lips, and I can’t tell exactly what might be going on inside her head. This is one of those moments I wish I had the people skills that Eliza has. Because maybe I just asked the very wrong question.

Quickly, I pick up the sandwich and take a large bite, hoping that I can buy time in having to react to whatever her response is if I’m chewing. Because that’s about as smooth a move as I have up my sleeve.

Holy shit…that tomato is good…

“Oh yes…” Miss Belle coos. “In fact, I bet I’ve known everyone that you’ll be workin’ with over at Hayes for their entire lives. This is a small town, after all.”

She has a point there. Any townie of a certain age could say that same thing about my siblings, friends, and me back in Hurricane Shoals. Then again, this woman does not look like just any townie.

“Tell me, Sawyer, what do you think of this color?” she asks, changing the subject abruptly.

I take the paint chip she hands me, holding it up to get a better look at it. Watermelon Slice. Well, that’s a name. Although, this color doesn’t resemble a watermelon slice in any way, which makes me wonder if whoever named it has ever actually seen a watermelon.