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Lots of companies in Blossom Branch did that, used peaches in their offerings or gave their businesses peach-themed names. Sometimes both. Tourists loved it. Staying on brand kept the small town alive and flourishing.
A female employee delivered food to a nearby table and then crossed the room with a notepad in her hand. The fifty-ish waitress looked familiar. “Shirley?” Cate beamed. “I can’t believe you’re still here.” Cate remembered the server from summer visits with her grandparents.
The other woman pulled a pencil from behind her ear and laughed. “Where else would I go? Some things in this town may change, but not the Peach Crumble. They’ll probably take me out of here feet first.” She cocked her head. “What brings you in today? I heard your grandparents are out of town.”
“Just a nostalgic visit,” Cate said lightly.
Shirley’s expression sobered. “Me and my big mouth. I heard about the wedding, darlin’. I’m so very sorry. But don’t you worry. Lots of fish in the sea and all that.”
“Thanks. I’m going to be okay. Blossom Branch is good for me.”
“Damn skippy. If the world was more like Blossom Branch, I wouldn’t be afraid to watch the evening news. You take care of yourself, Cate. And enjoy your visit.”
Once Cate’s BLT and Diet Coke were in front of her, she felt a teensy bit bad for avoiding Harry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Cate’s weird reactions the night before that had caused the kerfuffle.
She wasn’t exactly ghosting him. She had sent a text.
But she still felt guilty. For so many reasons that went far beyond Harry. She had let the wedding get out of control. She had suppressed her doubts about marrying Jason. And now that her original dreams were crushed, she felt guilty for being unable to find a new path.
During lunch, she studied her fellow diners. The old-timers were easy to spot. Farmers in overalls. Gray-haired women who knew the restaurant workers by name.
Then there were the more upscale residents of Blossom Branch. Many of them had bought vacation homes here. Weekend getaways from Atlanta. The women were fit and tanned. The men were glued to their phones, dealing with business calls.
And then, of course, there were the children and grandchildren of the longtime residents. The newer generations who worked as mechanics or bank tellers or teachers. Blossom Branch was an eclectic meld of demographics. As far as Cate could tell, the mix worked.
Though the peach crumble sounded good, she decided to save that rich dessert for a later day. She had seen an ice cream shop a few doors down. A kid-size cone was just what she wanted.
Peaches and Cream sported an eye-catching red-and-white-striped awning over the doorway. When Cate entered the bright, airy shop, she was in luck. Only one other customer stood at the counter.
The flavors were handwritten in colorful chalk on a huge blackboard on the back wall and bordered with whimsical drawings. When it was Cate’s turn, she smiled. “I’ll have a kid cone of mint chocolate chip.”
“Coming right up.” The woman behind the counter was about Cate’s age. She had strawberry blond, naturally curly hair, most of it tucked under a red-and-white ball cap that matched the awning.
“Are you the proprietor?” Cate asked. The woman’s name tag saidGinny Black.Something about her confidence suggested she might be the owner, rather than an hourly employee.
Ginny handed over the cone. “I sure am.”
Cate took a lick and sighed. “This is great.”
“Thanks. Are you new in town? Just visiting?”
“Neither really. I lived here until I was twelve. But I haven’t been back in some time. I’d forgotten how much I love Blossom Branch.”
“This little town is a peach,” Ginny said, grinning.
“Very funny.” Cate rolled her eyes. “So what’s it like to own a business here?”
Ginny wiped her hands on a clean towel. “Honestly? Good and bad. We’re dead from the first of January until the end of March. April is so-so. Things start picking up in May. Right now, I’m busier than ever and will be through the October fall boost, but November is dismal. Then December shoppers come.”
“So what you’re saying is that you love it, but it’s a struggle.”
“How do you know I love it?” Ginny asked, her head cocked.
“Just a hunch. Did you do the chalkboards?”
“Yep. That’s what happens to an art major who didn’t get certified to teach.” She laughed.
“We have that in common,” Cate said with a rueful smile. As far as she could see, Ginny was happy with her situation. “I suppose the freedom to be your own boss is nice. And the down months.”
