Chapter 4

four

MARK

I hadn’t bothered checking the schedule this weekend to see who I’d be working alongside in the farmers’ market booth. I figured it would be either Joan or Brady, so it didn’t really matter.

Nick and Amy usually picked two weekends a month and worked together while Joan, Brady, and I rotated in and out.

I hadn’t expected Candace to put herself on the schedule or participate in that side of things when it came to orchard responsibilities. And I definitely hadn’t expected it her first weekend in town. In truth, I thought she’d be pretty hands-off with the crops and produce.

So, I was doubly surprised to see her boxing up apples alongside her brother when I got to Judd’s early Saturday morning.

“Good morning,” she said when she noticed my slow approach up the steps of the Apple House. She wasn’t quite as put together as she had been earlier in the week, right off the plane. But she looked relaxed and comfortable in a white orchard tee shirt, flowy skirt, and her brown hair long and wavy. There was a softness to her now. Still beautiful, just in a way that was approachable rather than intimidating. Despite the years away, Candace looked like she belonged here, and it was a shock to the system.

I’d never seen her in the context of Judd’s employee, only its long-lost daughter .

But I supposed she had grown up on this farm, and she’d probably worked her share of Saturdays, as a teen and adolescent who was part of a family business.

“Good morning,” I finally replied once I stopped gawking at her like a preteen with a crush.

Brady sat nearby on the surface of the worn worktable, booted feet swinging, while he scrolled on his phone. “Hey, Mercer.”

“You’re up early,” I told Candace once I’d returned her brother’s greeting.

She grinned and tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “You thought I’d be hiding out in the office.”

My gaze followed the direction she indicated, and I saw the door behind the counter open for the first time in my three years of employment. “I didn’t even know there was an office back there.”

“I cleaned it out this week. And while I do plan on using it while I’m here, I also intend to help where I can.” Her eyes slid away from me as she closed the sides of the box before scooting it aside. “Earn my keep.”

Speaking of earning one’s keep, I should probably be helping prep the produce to load up and bring downtown for the farmers’ market this morning. I reached for the flattened cardboard and folded it back into a box shape before joining Candace behind the worktable.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. You’re from here. Your parents are thrilled to have you home.”

Her hands stilled for a moment. “I know. I still want to help though. And taking a shift at the farmers’ market lightens the load, right? You okay being stuck with me today?”

Oh, so she was working the farmers’ market. Not just loading produce or helping out at the orchard today.

“Yeah, of course,” I hurried to say after a moment of hesitation.

“Good,” Candace said with a grateful smile. “Plus, I’m sure Joan still hates being away from the fields, and I’m sure Brady here is thrilled to have another warm body to man the booth. ”

It was true. Joan hated dealing with the public and answering questions about the farm. And while Brady was personable and a natural salesman, he did get bored easily and often looked for ways to keep himself entertained. Usually, by messing with a certain dark-haired employee at the Grandpappy’s tent.

Candace’s presence on the farm would be a help. I just hadn’t anticipated it, was all.

“You’re right about that,” her brother agreed without looking up from his phone.

“It’ll be nice to have another pair of hands around.” Then I offered her a small grin that she readily returned.

“Have you seen some of these comments, Candy?” Brady asked abruptly, blue eyes wide.

“What comments?”

Then Brady started laughing, which was never a good sign. “Holy hell. These women are thirsty.”

His sister straightened and moved quickly to his side so she could see his screen. “Oh, no,” she muttered a moment later.

Frowning, I wondered what the hell was going on. “What’s wrong?”

But then both Judds raised their heads and met my gaze. Candace looked pained while Brady appeared ridiculously pleased.

“Candy asked if she could help out with social media and post some photos she’s been snapping around the farm this week, and, let’s just say, some posts are more popular than others.”

“I’m really sorry, Mark,” Candace said. “I was just trying to help.”

I looked between them, not getting it. “What are you talking about?”

“She posted a thirst trap of you, and now the ladies—well, mostly ladies—of Instagram are taking notice,” Brady explained, then laughed again. “God, these comments. They are ridiculous. Is that an apple in your pocket or are you just excited for apple picking? He puts the spice in pumpkin spice. Oh, listen to this one by CeCeSlater. Man, that’s a great username. Anyway, CeCeSlater commented, Lumbersnack material? and then tagged some friends to weigh in. And someone else said you could handle her apples any day. ”

“Geez,” Candace said, reading over her brother’s shoulder, expression mortified.

There was a picture of me on one of the farm’s social media accounts? Attention was literally the last thing I wanted. I moved forward and snatched the phone out of Brady’s hand.

“Hey!” he protested, but I didn’t care.

As I scrolled up to find the image in question, I heard Candace say, “I didn’t post your face, Mark. I wouldn’t do that. I respect your privacy. But I was sharing photos from around the farm. I had some of Joan and Brady and Mom and Dad. I just wanted you to be included too. You’re an important part of Judd’s Orchard. I didn’t want to leave you out.”

My fingers swiped through the photos, distantly aware that she was telling the truth. There was a shot of Nick and Amy in the Apple House, smiling with their Judd’s Orchard tee shirts on. Another image showed Brady from behind while he picked apples and balanced on a ladder. Then there was Joan driving the tractor, gaze forward and focused as she hauled the giant apple cart out of the fields. With the light behind her, Joan was basically a dark silhouette.

The last picture in the carousel was of me holding an apple. Candace must have taken it when I wasn’t paying attention, right here in the Apple House. I was sorting and washing the fruit we’d harvested earlier in the week.

The image was cropped in such a way that you couldn’t see my face, but my torso was clearly visible. My shoulders bunched, my biceps flexed, and the hard planes of my chest were on full display beneath my white tee shirt. I must have splashed water on myself at some point, because my stomach was wet, abs shadowed beneath the fabric of my cotton tee.

I got through reading three of the top comments before I felt a fierce blush climbing up my neck. When I raised my head, I saw Candace looking remorseful and wringing her hands while Brady held his stomach and laughed some more.

“I’m really sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t realize it would, um, go that direction.”

Her brother rolled his eyes. “You can practically see his happy trail, Candy. Jesus. You knew it would get good engagement. Don’t lie.”

Before she could object or apologize again, I cut in, “It’s okay, Candace. I know you didn’t mean any harm. And you’re right. You can’t see my face. No one will know who I am.”

“Yeah, maybe they’ll think it’s me,” Brady offered with a grin. He hopped off the table and took the phone from my waiting hand.

Candace snorted. “Yeah, right. No one would mix up the two of you in a wet tee shirt contest.”

Surprise had my lips parting, and I turned to see her face go aggressively pink.

As if realizing what she’d said, Candace backpedaled. “I just meant that obviously you two are very differently shaped.” She made motions with her hands as she spoke, separating them and going from large to small, before stopping abruptly and hiding them behind her back.

I fought the urge to laugh.

“Hey, now,” Brady argued. “I go to the gym. No need to be rude.”

Candace rolled her eyes but then moved back to the table to resume her work, unwilling or unable to meet my gaze.

Part of me liked seeing her flustered. I knew that what she’d implied didn’t really mean anything. Brady was a fit guy, but he was lean from years of running and playing soccer. I was shorter and thicker, more muscular from weight lifting. I didn’t hate the fact that Candace seemed to notice. She may not have remembered me from high school, though judging by the heat in her cheeks, I had her attention now.

But like I said, it didn’t mean anything, and it didn’t matter.

With her attention focused on packing apples, Candace said, “I’ll be more careful in the future. I’m sorry for making you the target of unwanted internet attention, Mark.”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “Besides, I just work here.”

Candace paused at my words before meeting my gaze. Her hazel eyes were warm and earnest. “Yeah, and so do Joan and Brady. Mom and Dad may own Judd’s Orchard, but you help keep it running, just like everyone else.”

I appreciated what she was trying to do. Including me was kind of her. But this was a family business, and I wasn’t family. The Judds were good people. The best people. They’d never once treated me like the town pariah I was. They welcomed me and accepted me for who I was, regardless of rumors and perception. But this was their farm. They didn’t need my picture to represent their livelihood. The last thing I wanted was to reflect poorly on them or the orchard.

“She’s right,” Brady agreed. “You’re part of this place, too, Marky Mark.”

“Please don’t ever call me that again.”

He winced. “You’re right. I regretted it immediately.”

Candace was still watching me, so I said, “I appreciate that. Maybe just focus on highlighting other parts of the farm on social media.”

She nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Brady chimed in, “we don’t need him getting accosted on the street for being a juicy lumbersnack, now do we?”

I sighed, but Candace was ready. She pelted him square in the stomach with a shiny red apple.

“Oof,” Brady wheezed. “You know the rule, buttface. You throw an apple, you have to eat it. No crop wasting.”

“Worth it,” she called, eyes narrowed, as she bent and retrieved the projectile from the floor. “Now, get out of here. We have actual work to do.”

He shot me a grin, no doubt happy he’d irritated his baby sister. “See you later, Mercer.”

I shook my head at their antics, but I felt the tug of a smile. The Judd siblings weren’t perfect by any means, but they were entertaining.

Candace and I spent the next half hour packing up some Gala and McIntosh varieties and loading them in the farm truck. Then I drove downtown while she rode shotgun.

Candace was surprisingly quiet. Maybe she was still feeling embarrassed about the whole Instagram thing.

Eventually, with a flick of her wrist, she turned on the radio and navigated to an oldies station that broadcast out of Charlotte. Candace stuck her arm out the window in the early-morning air and let her loose hair blow in the wind. When I sneaked a peek at her, she had her eyes closed as the sunlight shone brightly over her features.

Despite my constant awareness of her, and some leftover awkward crush-adjacent feelings from high school, Candace was easy to be around. She had a soothing presence and was surprisingly laid-back. Not what I expected from a former gifted child and perpetual overachiever. Maybe she’d grown out of her people-pleasing tendencies and was comfortable in her own skin. It sure seemed that way.

I parked the truck, and with the two-wheel dolly, we unloaded the apples and made our way to the booth designated for Judd’s Orchard. Candace also carried a bag full of merchandise, like hats and tee shirts.

We worked side by side and got set up well before the 9:00 a.m. start time. There were a few early birds and the usual suspects moseying around the farmers’ market, but the out-of-towners wouldn’t be by until later.

Candace offered to walk the block and a half down to Cubhouse Coffee Shop and pick up some caffeine for us before the crowds descended. I made the mistake of telling her my order first because she took off down the street, refusing to take any cash from me and ignoring my protests.

I wasn’t sure how things would go today with us as co-workers. Part of me wondered if she’d want to talk about high school or if she’d even placed me in her adolescent memories yet. It was okay if she hadn’t. There wasn’t a whole lot worth mentioning from back then. She knew better than I did about what the friends from her circle were up to. Probably kept up with them on social media and whatnot.

“They had homemade strawberry Pop-Tarts,” Candace said as she returned to our table beneath the white canopy. “I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to resist such temptation, so I got us some.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” I accepted the bag she thrust in my direction. “Will you please take some cash?”

“Nope,” she replied, popping the p and grinning at me. “My treat. Plus, I’m trying to buy your vote for favorite Judd co-worker. I fully expect to be ahead of Brady before we finish here today. ”

I laughed. “You pulled ahead of Brady just by breathing.”

She cackled delightedly then took a sip of her iced latte.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Just be glad I wasn’t the one doing the cooking.”

I wondered at that. Candace’s mom, Amy, was a great cook. Joan and Brady both knew their way around a kitchen too. Maybe being in New York and surrounded by some of the best restaurants in the world made Candace a little less self-sufficient with meal prep.

“Not a fan of cooking?” I asked.

She finished chewing a bite of Pop-Tart and then admitted, “I’ve just never been very good at it. Not like Mom, at least. Do you like to cook, Mark?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Candace spoke again before I got the chance. “Can I call you Mark? I’m sorry, I should have asked before. Do you prefer to go by Mercer now?”

Now .

Maybe parts of high school were coming back to her after all. I had gone by Mark back then. Most people just called me Mercer now. I couldn’t pinpoint a reason or particular moment when things shifted, but the Judds all called me Mercer, so that was what I answered to.

I cleared my throat. “You can call me Mark. That’s fine.” Then I glanced in her direction to find her watching me. “And you prefer Candace now?”

Her smile was small but appreciative. “Yeah.”

We finished our coffees and pastries in comfortable quiet. Then Candace pulled out what appeared to be a stack of flyers and placed them neatly on the table, using an apple on top as a paperweight.

“I thought it would be good to advertise that it’s the orchard’s opening weekend,” she offered, almost shyly, as I scanned the bright green paper.

It featured a coupon at the bottom for a free turn on the farm’s giant bounce pillow. We typically sold wristbands for kids to enjoy it, and usually whoever was working behind the counter at the Apple House kept an eye on who was going in and out of the gate. It was a pretty low-maintenance attraction.

Offering the coupon here at the farmers’ market would advertise as well as entice families with kids to visit the orchard. “This is great,” I said, holding up the sheet of paper I’d snagged from the stack. “It’ll let people know we’re open for the season and get tourists to the orchard to hopefully buy some apples.”

“That’s the plan,” Candace replied with a grin, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Main Street was blocked off until 2:00 p.m., and the market crowd picked up as folks visited the booths lining the road. Candace let me take the lead with customers while she diligently bagged up their apples and I accepted their money.

“We should really set up PayPal or Venmo for the farm and offer those forms of payment,” she said when there was a break in customers. “Some people don’t always carry cash.”

I nodded. “I’m sure your parents would go for that if you walked them through it.”

We’d just settled into our chairs for a brief lull in foot traffic when I noticed Hilda Branson and Rose Brentwood strolling a few feet from our booth. Unease made its way along the muscles of my back, making everything tight with awareness.

There was a chance they’d pass right by. I took a breath and attempted to ignore the tension coiling within, but I was hyper-aware of the women’s shuffling steps.

They were close friends of the reverend and Mrs. Price and regular parishioners down at Kirby Falls Baptist Church. I remembered them from my days as a member and all the various church events and picnics the Prices hosted.

Now, the two older women eyed me with a fair bit of contempt. This wasn’t unheard of behavior. In fact, it was pretty typical. I was used to it by now and could usually ignore the glares and glances.

But something told me things would be a little more complicated today with Candace at my side. I rolled my shoulders back and tried to force away the anxiety that was slowly taking hold .

The women strolled a bit closer. Mrs. Brentwood, with her cane in hand, said, “Hilda, didn’t you need some apples to make your pies for the bake sale?”

“Oh, yes. I do,” Mrs. Branson replied, loud enough to be heard. “But I prefer to buy from the Clarks. They’re all good Christian farmers.” With a pointed look in my direction, she added, “Especially considering those present here today.”

Mrs. Brentwood’s gaze found her way back to our table and to me, sitting there quietly. “Oh, of course!”

I could feel Candace’s attention on the side of my face, but I was careful to keep my eyes lowered. I didn’t want to draw attention or cause any trouble with the locals, especially friends of the Prices. I focused on keeping my breathing even.

“What was that all—” Candace started to ask.

“Candy Judd, is that you?” Mrs. Brentwood’s exclamation drew our attention as the elderly woman approached with her friend trailing behind. Her wrinkled face creased into a smile of genuine delight.

I didn’t know what compelled me, but I corrected, “She actually goes by Candace now.”

Both women on the other side of the booth shot disapproving stares my way, but I glimpsed Candace’s smile and focused on that.

“Good morning, ladies,” she replied easily enough, but Candace’s hazel eyes were watchful and cautious.

“Well, it has been a good long while,” Mrs. Brentwood continued. “I’m sure your momma and daddy are just delighted to have you back.”

“It’s nice to be home,” Candace replied with a short nod. “How are you both?”

The older women chatted about their grandchildren and their volunteer work while Candace listened politely. The ladies angled toward my tablemate and completely ignored me. I could tell Candace was struggling with how rude they were being. She kept shooting me glances and frowning.

After a few minutes of catching up, Hilda Branson said seriously, “Well, despite the company you’re keeping, we sure are glad to see you back in Kirby Falls.”

My cheeks went hot with shame. I may have been used to the gossip and the knowing looks by now, but it was something else entirely to know Candace had a front-row seat to the display.

She straightened in her folding chair. “I don’t know what you mean by that, Mrs. Branson.”

But Rose Brentwood rushed to fill the awkward silence. “We look forward to seeing you at church. You’ll be at the early service with your folks in the morning, I’m sure. You always were such a good girl.”

Candace’s gaze was still fixed on Mrs. Branson, and she didn’t say one way or the other if she’d attend Kirby Falls Baptist Church tomorrow.

“I do hope you haven’t let the big-city life influence you too much,” Mrs. Branson said out of nowhere.

But Candace just laughed and crossed her legs. “No, ma’am. Not too much. I’m only stripping down at the Leather and Lace Lounge a few nights a week.”

The women gasped and I choked on air. The Leather and Lace Lounge was the strip club just over the South Carolina line.

Candace was grinning as the two busybodies backed away.

“I’ll be praying for you, young lady,” Mrs. Branson called through pinched lips.

Unbothered, Candace waved cheerfully. “Thank you! I’ll take all the help I can get!”

My teeth dug into my lower lip, but when I turned and met my new co-worker’s expectant gaze, I couldn’t hold back. We both cracked up.

When our laughter faded, our smiles lingered, and I noticed Candace was still watching me—likely waiting for an explanation.

She’d seen the way those ladies had looked at me and spoken about me and, finally, pretended I wasn’t there. I might be used to the treatment I received from certain members of the community, but it was different watching Candace experience it firsthand. She hadn’t even recognized me, so I doubted she kept up with small-town gossip. Her confusion was warranted.

But how did you tell someone your whole sordid life story? How did you explain your mistakes and your perceived misdeeds ?

I didn’t want Candace to look at me the way those women did. And I didn’t want to lie to her face, which was what I’d have to do.

I didn’t know how to confess that I’d married my best friend when she’d needed me the most, and I’d been used along the way. It wasn’t my story to tell...at least, not all of it.

Hannah and I had been close since middle school, when I’d moved to Kirby Falls with my aunt. When we decided to go to college together at NC State University in Raleigh, I’d been relieved. Making friends had never been easy for me. So having Hannah there with me while we transitioned into adulthood felt safe and right.

But Hannah’s life took a different turn in college. After a childhood and adolescence lived under the thumb of her Southern Baptist minister father, freedom took on a whole new meaning for her. She partied a lot and met new people. By the time junior year rolled around, I hadn’t seen much of Hannah. We didn’t have classes together anymore, as we’d both finished with general education requirements and settled into our respective majors—agriculture science for me and elementary education for Hannah. Our friendship was slowly dissolving, turning into something we were growing out of.

And that was fine. I didn’t take it personally, and I didn’t begrudge Hannah the life she wanted to lead. I had my own life to keep me busy, and I was tired of being blown off and ignored. But when Hannah turned up at my dorm room one night in a panic, I had no idea everything between us would shift yet again.

Hannah was pregnant and needed help. The father of her baby wasn’t ready to be a dad, but Hannah didn’t want to give the baby up. She begged me to marry her and claim the baby as my own to keep her family from disowning her.

At the time, I knew Hannah’s fears were legitimate. Her parents would have never accepted a grandchild born out of wedlock. And seeing my friend terrified at the possibility of losing the only family she’d ever known was a stark reminder.

The Prices had always shown me kindness. They’d eased my path in a new town, and they’d given me a place to be that wasn’t filled with the neglect and indifference of my aunt’s house. Hannah had been my first real friend in Kirby Falls, and when she was scared and alone, she’d sought me out. I couldn’t turn her away and watch her life fall apart .

So I married her. We announced her pregnancy shortly thereafter, and eight months later, nobody batted an eye when Lyndsey was born. She was perfect—the sweetest, most beautiful baby. At the time, I was too focused on Lyndsey to worry about my marriage to Hannah. We were friends again and navigating parenthood. There wasn’t room for anything else.

As strange as it sounded, I was happy. I loved Lyndsey and our approximation of a family. My own experiences growing up had been so limited. I never wanted Lyndsey to feel unwanted or unloved. The late-night bottles and the colic never bothered me because I had this perfect little person to take care of.

We got an apartment off campus, and Hannah finished up her degree while I stayed home with the baby. When our lives brought us back to Kirby Falls the following year, Hannah got a job teaching at the elementary school while I came on board at Judd’s Orchard. I put all the money I’d saved toward a little house for the three of us—the house I lived in now. And things were good...for a time.

When Lyndsey was just over a year old, Hannah asked for a divorce, seemingly out of the blue. She said she’d met someone else, and she was moving to Tennessee to be with him. That he was a good person and he loved her. He was ready to be a dad. They’d been in an online relationship for a while, and Hannah wanted a clean break from me. She’d said Lyndsey wasn’t really mine anyhow, and if they left now, she’d never even remember me. Hannah seemed to think that was for the best. But the knowledge battered my already bruised heart. How something that felt so vital and beloved to me could only exist in my memories alone.

But I wanted Lyndsey to grow up safe and loved. I’d been saddled with a messy family life as a child and adolescent. I never wanted that for her. The confusion, the upheaval. Constantly wondering what I’d done wrong. I wanted Lyndsey to have stability and security.

So I didn’t fight it. I let them both go. It nearly killed me to lose Lyndsey, but I wanted Hannah to be happy, and, by that point, it was clear that wasn’t going to happen with me. If I had to break my own heart so that Lyndsey would have a bright and prosperous future, I would do it—over and over again.

But small-town gossip and perception painted me the bad guy—the deadbeat dad who let his family go without a backward glance or child support .

Hannah’s parents didn’t approve of our divorce, but they supported their daughter, especially when they had someone to blame for the drama and disruption in their lives. I didn’t correct them. I kept my head down and my mouth shut. Hannah never wanted them to know the truth about Lyndsey’s paternity, and it wasn’t my place to reveal her secret. So I ignored the disproving stares and the gossip, and I kept to myself. And four weeks after Hannah had asked for a divorce, my family was gone.

My life was quieter after that. No more babbling in the high chair or singing songs at bedtime. Gradually, in the two and a half years since, I’d gotten used to the silence.

A few times a month I had to deal with locals who thought they knew my life or church ladies who felt like they owed it to the Prices to hate me on principle.

It didn’t matter. Shit like that had never bothered me anyway.

Hannah was happy, and she was a good mom to Lyndsey—always had been. And Hannah’s new husband loved them both. Based on news around town, things were going well for them in Tennessee.

There wasn’t a place for me in their lives anymore.

But I still had to deal with the fallout.

At least when people thought they knew my story, I didn’t have to answer questions or explain things.

Having Candace stare at me in confusion, awaiting an answer I didn’t know how to formulate, was a situation that didn’t come up too often.

So instead of addressing her unspoken questions, I replied simply with a shake of my head, “You can always count on small-town judgment no matter how long you’ve been away.”

And then I ignored the way she kept looking at me, and I changed the subject. “The whole town will hear you’re an exotic dancer before lunchtime.”

Hazel eyes searched my face for another long moment before she shrugged casually and glanced away. “That’ll spice things up around here.”

It wasn’t rational, but I wanted her attention back. I’d managed to divert her curiosity, and now I felt disappointed over it. That didn’t make any sense .

Then I considered her words. I supposed Candace was used to bigger and better everything.

“I guess Kirby Falls can’t really compare to New York,” I mused, straightening the flyers on the tabletop when they were plenty straight already.

“It has its charms,” Candace replied easily. “Besides, I’ve missed home. I’m glad to be back.”

The rest of the morning at the farmers’ market sped by as business picked up. Eventually, Candace got comfortable enough to chat with the customers. She seemed at ease with tourists, but every now and then a Kirby Falls resident would recognize her and she’d stiffen up. Neighbors and former classmates and coaches approached, and I’d see her smile go strained and her shoulders brace for impact.

I couldn’t understand it. Candace Judd seemed universally beloved. Everyone who remembered her did so with a kind word and a fond recollection. She never once corrected them when they called her Candy, and I didn’t step in again.

I witnessed her tension rise through every encounter until early afternoon when I couldn’t stand to see another strained smile. I asked if she was hungry and told her I was starving. After passing her some cash, I asked if she’d care to pick us up some lunch at the Hogs Wild food truck set up down the street.

As I watched Candace walk stiffly away, I considered that maybe everyone had complicated histories with their hometowns. Even when their pasts seemed perfect and unblemished by scandal. Maybe coming home wasn’t always what you thought it would be.

We ate our lunches quietly as the farmers’ market mostly wound down. Candace had relaxed a bit since her return with our beef brisket sandwiches, but she still seemed cautious with me.

I missed the easiness Candace and I had shared this morning before those old women had stirred up trouble and the locals had dimmed her smile.

So, I did what usually helped people grow more comfortable—I gave Candace an opportunity to talk about something she was passionate about.

“So you got the office ready at the farm. Do you have some ideas for the orchard? ”

Candace looked surprised by my question. “Yeah, I have some things I’m tossing around.”

When she didn’t offer anything more and silence settled over us, I smiled encouragingly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth. “You really want to talk about my ideas?”

“Sure. Haven’t you gone over this stuff with Joan and your parents?”

Her eyes slid away briefly. “Well, I wanted to get Joan’s opinion before I presented things to my parents, but she wasn’t, uh, too receptive.”

I fought a wince and nodded. I could see that. Joan was about as flexible as an eighty-year-old. She did things her way, and if you wanted to keep the peace, you did them her way too. I suspected she was feeling proprietary over the orchard and probably a little resentful to have Candace swooping back in to make improvements.

“Well, how about you test out your pitch on me? I’ll answer any logistical questions you may have, tell you what’s feasible from my standpoint. And then maybe you can give everyone a rundown at the next staff meeting.”

Dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Y’all have staff meetings?”

“Yep,” I lied. I could wrangle everyone together when Judd’s was closed to the public. That wouldn’t be too hard. “So, let’s hear what you got.”

“Okay,” she replied, excitement bubbling through as she grinned.

Candace reached beneath the table for her bag. She dug around until she produced a notebook. It was spiral-bound and small enough to fit in her purse, but it was clearly well-used. I couldn’t see the cover as Candace quickly started flipping through pages filled with colorful ink and her neat script.

“So, some of my ideas are pretty basic upgrades, like using PayPal and Venmo for payment, like I mentioned. And other simple things, such as local advertising and using incentives—like the bounce pillow coupon. But I think the farm could utilize some of the unused acreage on the farm for other popular u-pick operations. The tourist season has really expanded in Kirby Falls over the years. I requested numbers from the Agricultural and Festival Planning Committees, and I think now is a great time to further develop what Judd’s Orchard offers. ”

I listened to Candace read off items from her notebook checklist and expound upon them in detail. By the time she hit her third bullet point, I realized she’d done her research and had some really good ideas. What started as an effort to get her talking again, and to get us back on even footing, suddenly morphed into me being a sounding board for Candace’s grand plans.

She was radiant and energetic. Enthusiasm poured from her in big, sweeping hand movements and the velocity of her speech. Candace smiled a lot as she spoke, and I grew distracted by the sight. It was something to have all of her focus and attention. She was vibrant and animated, and I couldn’t have looked away if I tried.

This might as well have been a company presentation, but with me as her lone audience member. I was glad for it. I’d never seen her in action as captain of the debate team, but I could easily envision it now.

Her excitement was palpable, as was her love for her family and the farm. This temporary gig at the orchard wasn’t just her killing time until another opportunity came along in New York. She’d clearly researched and put effort into this.

God, Joan would hate it. All of it. But Nick and Amy would support anything Candace wanted to do. Brady would see the benefits and go with the flow, whatever was decided.

A lot of these things, if implemented, would make the orchard more profitable, but some of the long-term goals would require a lot of work and probably a few more hands to accomplish them.

“So what do you think?” Candace was bright-eyed and nearly breathless. And so damn hopeful. Her sincerity made me eager to give her whatever she wanted. She’d won me over and gained my support without even breaking a sweat. Respect and admiration had me smiling. It was, admittedly, a little intoxicating to see this side of her—one that fought to replace my teenage memories with its authenticity.

If Brady was a natural salesman, then Candace was an inspirational speaker. Maybe enthusiasm and charisma were genetic. Maybe it had somehow bypassed Joan Judd, who did not give a single shit about impressing anyone.

“I was not expecting that.”

Her face fell like a dimmer switch .

So I hastened to amend, “I wasn’t expecting to agree with nearly everything you said.”

Candace’s hazel eyes searched my face, like she was looking for the lie or waiting for me to say I was messing with her.

She must have been satisfied with whatever she saw because after a moment she smiled shyly and asked, “Really?”

“Really.” I nodded. “But we’re going to need a plan to get Joan on board.”

She sighed as if she knew the battle awaiting her. One that was uphill . . . both ways . . . in the snow.

“I’ll help,” I offered.

“You will?”

Nodding again, I clasped my hands together and hoped that Joan wouldn’t kill me for being disloyal.

“Why would you do that, Mark?”

I could have answered her a lot of ways. I could have said that I wanted her to succeed in Kirby Falls. I hoped she’d be accepted and find her footing at the orchard and with her family. And a little bit of the nerdy teenager still deep inside wanted a chance to show the most popular girl in school that things had changed since graduation. I didn’t want to be invisible anymore.

But my reply wasn’t any less truthful when I answered, “Change isn’t easy, but sometimes it’s necessary. I want Judd’s Orchard to be successful. It’s home to me too.”