Chapter 5

five

CANDACE

On Monday, I decided to take a break from the heat of my office, and the chilly attitude of my sister, and drink my lunch at the Lonely Mountain Winery.

I’d texted Bonnie a bit following our shaved ice encounter, and then just went for it today and invited her out for a drink. She’d recommended the vineyard less than three miles from the farm, citing a top-notch charcuterie board and notable chardonnay.

As an experienced cheese lover, I’d texted back an enthusiastic affirmative and told her I’d meet her there at noon.

“Hey,” I said as I caught Bonnie up in a hug without even realizing it. I quickly pulled back and blurted out awkwardly, “I’m sorry. I’m a hugger. I didn’t even think.”

She laughed and yanked me back in, making me laugh. “You’re fine. And I’ve never been one to turn down a free hug.”

Grateful for her understanding, I cleared my throat and followed her to the outdoor seating area on the winery’s wide patio.

“I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place,” I murmured, settling into a chair beneath a wrought iron café table .

My attention was focused on the gorgeous long-range views of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the beautiful scene before us. Sure, I’d grown up here and I had plenty of memories of the landscape, but this setting never got old. Years in the city made me appreciate the clear blue of a perfect summer day and the hilly mountain range that meant I was home.

The longer I looked, the more I recalled, my senses lighting up with remembered summers gone by. The taste of a banana popsicle, cool and sweet on my tongue. The feel of the fine mist from the sprinkler when I used to chase Brady around the front yard. The sound of my mom’s laughter when she and my dad danced in the backyard while my brother and sister and I caught lightning bugs.

“It’s pretty new,” Bonnie said, drawing me out of my tender memories.

She had on a calf-length pink floral dress with spaghetti straps, and her short blond hair was styled with loose waves that framed her pretty face. She wore round sunglasses and a ready smile.

I felt grateful, once again, that we’d bumped into each other at Bev’s and that she had been free today for lunch, before school started later in the week.

Bonnie picked up her menu and said thoughtfully, “I think Reggie and Aurora opened up about a year ago. They’re big Lord of the Rings fans.”

“Ah.” I nodded. That explained the name.

I reached for my copy of the food and wine list and scanned several items.

Prancing Pony Rosé: bright and refreshing, juicy pink fruit, subtle complexity, perfect for all manner of bar patrons, from elves to hobbits.

Miruvor Reisling: well-balanced, honeyed pear and white flowers, clean and refreshing finish, invigorating for the weary traveler.

Strider Cabernet: full-bodied and layered, vanilla and dark stone fruit, long-lingering finish, like busting open the doors of Helm’s Deep.

Shirecuterie Board: crusty breads, herbed butter, wild blueberry jam, Fangorn Forest ham, seasoned potato skewers, and a variety of seasonal fruits and accompaniments. Enjoy from elevenses through supper.

I smiled. Apparently, everything on the menu featured a reference to the popular fantasy series. Neat. I loved a theme. Maybe the orchard could do a themed event.

I slipped my notebook out of my purse and jotted down a few quick notes to myself.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I just thought of something and had to get it down before I forgot.”

Bonnie grinned, unbothered. “Farm stuff?”

“Yeah. The vineyard made me think about doing an apple-and-wine-pairing event. Maybe a way to collaborate and bring in business. I’d need to research a liquor license for the orchard.”

“So how is everything going at Judd’s?”

I sighed. “Oh, you know. I’m getting settled, but things are weird. My parents would give me the go-ahead on anything I wanted to try, but I’m not about to take advantage or step on toes. Brady doesn’t care. He just does whatever someone tells him. And Joan...” I sighed again. “You’d think I was trying to lead a coup and oust her from the fields. Mark is the only one who’s taking me seriously.”

Bonnie gave me a sly look. “Mark, huh?”

“Mercer. Mark. He goes by both.” My neck felt warm suddenly. Probably the lack of air-conditioning.

This wasn’t the first time I’d thought about Mark since Saturday. Working the farmers’ market together had been fun. At first, I thought he’d just been humoring me about my ideas for the orchard, but then he’d started asking questions and giving his own input. He’d given me his full, undivided attention, and I had to admit, I’d liked it.

When you’d messed up and let your boss steal your work for months, it was a damn revelation to have someone look at you like you were capable and knowledgeable about your field instead of giving the credit elsewhere or trying to gobble it up for themself.

Then there had been the unexpected side effects of having Mark’s thoughtful attention. His blue-gray eyes and solemn face had flustered me in an entirely different way .

I may not have remembered Mark at first, but I was plenty aware of him now. He was, honestly, hard to ignore. Mark was a big, strong, good-looking guy. He obviously had some strength training in his workout routine because his biceps strained the confines of his Judd’s Orchard tee shirt, and his thighs made me a newfound believer in the patron saint of leg day. The firm jaw, masculine features, and good genes didn’t hurt either. His short, dark blond hair looked soft. And the matching scruff of his beard seemed to highlight the fullness of his mouth and the brightness of his smile when he managed to let one slip.

In the confines of the truck, I’d noticed his bright verdant scent. It must have had something to do with farming and all the time he spent in the fields. But his skin smelled like gardens and rain and the first blooms of spring. It was the relief you longed for in the middle of winter and in the heat of summer.

But it was more than his body and his face and whatever attraction was making me hyper-aware of his pillow-soft lips. I enjoyed talking to him and working beside him. He made me feel comfortable. And, as a woman, that wasn’t something that happened every day.

Maybe it all came back to what he’d done for me in high school. It wasn’t often that a teenager of the male variety had the situational awareness and the maturity to handle visible evidence of menstruation and then problem-solve it. Hell, there were grown-ass men who couldn’t manage to pick up tampons at the store for their wives or girlfriends.

On a physical and instinctual level, I felt safe with Mark. In this day and age, that meant something.

He was quiet. Not so much stingy with his words, but intentional. It made me eager to hear what he had to say because his deep voice was a rare occurrence.

Yet I couldn’t shake the sense that something was going on behind the scenes—something I wasn’t aware of. Listening to those old biddies make their snide remarks and watching them cast their judgy stares Mark’s way made me feel sure I was missing something—something big. Like I’d jumped in on book four of a fantasy series after all the world-building had been established.

What had gone on in Mark Mercer’s life that made him the target of little church ladies ?

Before I thought better of it, I asked Bonnie, “What is the deal with Mark? What’s his story? Because there were some customers this weekend who shocked the daylights out of me with how rude they were to him. It was a weird vibe.”

Bonnie bit her lip. “There is some gossip about him.”

I wasn’t typically a nosy Nancy. I felt like people had a right to their privacy, and, unfortunately, sometimes small towns did equate to small minds. Guilt nipped at me for asking, but despite my best intentions, I knew I was leaning forward in my chair, eager for the truth about Mark, more curious than I wanted to admit.

“Well, let’s see,” Bonnie continued. “He and Hannah Price got divorced a couple years ago. That’s a big part of it.”

I could feel my eyes bulge. “They were married .” I didn’t know why I’d lowered my voice on the last word—like married meant something dirty and I was in the middle of Bible study.

Bonnie nodded. “Yeah. Back in college. It didn’t last long. Just over a year, if I’m remembering correctly. She used to teach kindergarten at the elementary school with me. We weren’t close or anything though. She kept to herself mostly. Then right after her marriage ended, she took the baby and left. Moved to Tennessee and got remarried shortly thereafter.”

“The baby ,” I all but hissed, feeling certain my jaw must be on the table. “Mark has a baby?”

She chuckled at my undoubtedly over-the-top reaction. I couldn’t help it though. I was shocked. Beyond shocked. I was practically electrified by this revelation. Rationally, I knew that people got married and had kids all the time. It was actually one of my goals. In my five-year plan and everything.

I’d known that Mark and Hannah were close. They’d been best friends since middle school, but I couldn’t say why I was so dumbstruck by the news. Of course, there were times when friendship blossomed into something more. That was what made the friends-to-lovers trope so popular in romance novels. But, I guess, I found it odd that Mark hadn’t mentioned having a child two days ago, when we’d worked together for many hours. No funny stories. No anecdotes. No cute baby pictures on his lock screen .

“Yeah,” Bonnie replied, fanning herself with her menu to circulate the humid air. “But he never sees her. That’s the gossipy bit. Hannah rarely comes back to Kirby Falls and has full custody of the little girl. People say he didn’t even fight for her or ask for partial custody rights or holidays or summer visitation or anything. They also say he doesn’t pay child support.”

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped, and I sat back in my chair to absorb this news.

Bonnie nodded and then she made a face. Likely the same one I was making right now, the scrunched nose and lip curl of disappointment.

Of course, I knew that families came in all shapes and sizes. I was also aware that kids were running around without fathers in every corner of the globe. Some men carried on with their lives while their sons or daughters were raised solely by their mothers. There were dads and there were biological fathers and then there were sperm donors. And there was a difference between all three.

I knew all this. But I still had a hard time accepting that Mark Mercer was one of the latter.

Admittedly, I didn’t know him. We’d gone to high school together, and we were co-workers now during this weird temporary limbo of my current life. But I hadn’t known him when we’d graduated together, and I didn’t know him now, not really. Not yet , whispered a knowing voice in my head.

My brain was just having a hard time reconciling the sweet, quiet, thoughtful guy from Saturday and the sweet, quiet, thoughtful teenager from seven years ago with the stereotypical version of a deadbeat dad.

If those were the rumors floating around about Mark, I could see now why the unofficial Kirby Falls Baptist Welcoming Committee had looked at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of their orthopedic shoes. Those women would always take the side of Reverend Price and his family, no questions asked. And despite the good Lord’s directive to love your neighbor, Hilda Branson and Rose Brentwood had clearly taken it upon themselves to cast the first stone.

“Wow,” I breathed.

Amid the shock and disquiet, remorse and shame made my belly tighten anxiously. I felt bad for asking about Mark now. But I never imagined the possibility that a divorce from the reverend’s daughter fueled the gossip surrounding my co-worker. I’d assumed Mark had switched churches or stopped going altogether. Or it was some other minor offense that made those women so salty with him.

As a person with secrets of my own, I felt guilty for invading Mark’s private life without his knowledge.

“Yeah,” Bonnie agreed. “Want to order some wine and eat your very obvious feelings about this Mercer-related development?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

We made our way through the open patio doors, and back inside to the bar.

An attractive Black man in his forties was already smiling at our approach. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Hi, Reggie,” Bonnie said. “This is Candace Judd. She’s Nick and Amy’s daughter.”

Reggie’s brown eyes widened, and he held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Candace. I’ve heard so much about you. I play poker with your father, and he and your mom were very kind to us when Aurora and I opened the vineyard.”

I smiled and shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I love your place here.”

“Thank you,” Reggie replied. “We like it.” Then he threw his hands up like he just remembered something. “And our daughter, Lucy, received the Candy Judd Award at Honor’s Night when she graduated three years ago.”

I stared, waiting for those words to make sense. When that didn’t happen, and Reggie offered no explanation, I asked slowly, “The Candy Judd what now?”

“The orchard sponsors an award in your honor.”

“But I’m not dead,” I argued.

From my side, Bonnie laughed and covered her mouth. “It’s not a memorial award, Candace.”

“It’s a cash award to help with books for college,” Reggie finally explained. “The administrators select a deserving senior who exemplifies your dedication to education and community service. Lucy did a ton of volunteer work to beef up her college résumé. She’s at Vassar now. We’re very proud. ”

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea my parents sponsored an award like that in my name. That was...a lot. I didn’t know that I deserved such an honor or recognition. I knew my parents were proud of me, but...

Feelings of guilt and shame twisted in my stomach. The thought of inhaling cheese and wine and hobbit food didn’t sit right when faced with the knowledge of my parents’ unwavering support—how it had taken shape into something like this. If they knew the truth about all my “success” in New York, they’d be devastated. I needed to get my life back on track. I needed to make better decisions and earn the faith they’d misplaced in me.

When Reggie asked what he could get me, I ordered a glass of rosé absentmindedly, and Bonnie told him we’d share the Shirecuterie Board.

Eventually, I managed to pull myself together, and Bonnie and I enjoyed a nice lunch over the next forty minutes. It was fun to have someone new to get to know. She was sweet and funny and I loved hearing stories about her students and her family.

Despite the sunshine and the good company, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to get going on my plans for Judd’s Orchard. It was this itchy sensation under my skin, a tightness in my belly that required immediate action and results.

I was eager to prove myself and show my family that my return to Kirby Falls was a good thing. If I could just make some headway with Joan, I might feel better about things. But part of me knew that until I could prove my worth to my parents, I’d never feel like I was worth the investment or the sacrifice of sending me to an expensive college.

I intended to talk to Mark as soon as I got back to the farm and try to arrange that staff meeting to go over my plans.

For as much as I enjoyed lunch with Bonnie, I was just as eager to get back to work.

“Thank you all for letting me take the lead during this staff meeting,” I said brightly from my position at the head of the worn dining table .

“Staff meeting?” Brady murmured with a confused look on his face, but I ignored him.

It was Wednesday. A day when the orchard was closed to the public. Mark had set up the meeting with my parents and siblings. And in the two days since my lunch with Bonnie, I’d had plenty of time to prepare my semi-casual presentation.

We were all gathered at the farmhouse on the screened porch beneath a swirling ceiling fan while my dad passed out lemonade for everyone. There had been countless family dinners out here during my childhood and adolescence. A wave of nostalgia had practically bowled me over when I’d taken my seat. My mom used to drink her tea out here every morning. I wondered if she still did. Maybe I’d ask if I could join her.

Mark caught my eye and gave me an encouraging nod. I managed to get a handle on my nervousness and unclench my jaw enough to smile in return.

“As I was saying, I have a few ideas I’d love to go over.”

I’d found a black-and-white printer in the Apple House office and sweet-talked it into spitting out a tidy list of the topics I wanted to discuss today. And by “sweet-talked” I meant I cussed a blue streak while I waited for the ancient printer to warm up and accept my print job. Lance Bass had looked on disapprovingly.

After passing a copy of my bullet-pointed agenda to each person at the table, I took a deep breath and began. “Having reviewed tourist data from the Agricultural and Festival Planning Committees, I think this is a great time for Judd’s to expand what it offers. Some relatively low-risk ways to do that include utilizing some of the acreage behind the Apple House for other u-pick operations. Raspberries or blackberries would be good options. Opening in July for a u-pick berry season would require relatively little maintenance and put Judd’s Orchard on the map for summertime tourists. U-pick lavender fields offer another possibility for harvesting in the spring months. This would be great for brides and wedding planners, not to mention local craftspeople who extract essential oils for things like soapmaking. It could be another draw for the farm outside of apple season.”

I swallowed and glanced around the table. My parents were smiling encouragingly my way. Brady was slouched in his seat and may or may not have been playing Candy Crush on his phone. Joan was frowning down at her handout, her face shadowed by her ball cap. But it was Mark’s steady gaze that helped ground me. His attention gave me confidence and helped clear the nervous wobble threatening in my voice.

“There are a few big-ticket items we could outsource in the fourth quarter to really bring in the tourists. I think setting up a pumpkin patch for Halloween would be amazing. And instead of closing up for the season on November 1, we could sell pre-cut Christmas trees for the holidays. These options would require more upfront costs, since we don’t have space on the farm to grow pumpkins or trees ourselves without a good deal of clearing and leveling. But I think it’s totally doable. And I have some fun ideas to collaborate with other local businesses, like doing a pumpkin carving and hard cider event or an evening with Santa or even an apple-and-wine pairing with Lonely Mountain down the road. We could coordinate with local food trucks and bring them in every Friday to encourage their client base and get our customers to bring the family out, stay for the evening, and have dinner here.”

There. I’d gotten through the big things. The ones that would require time and energy as well as monetary investment.

Joan shifted in her seat, and I could feel her disapproval rising like a kettle set to boil.

So I hurried to add, “There are some other avenues we haven’t explored yet as far as advertising and social media. There are travel influencers I can reach out to in order to bring attention to Kirby Falls and our family operation. And I know social media is incredibly time-consuming, but I think we just need to be more intentional. Stick to a schedule and let the algorithm work for us. For the most part, the orchard has really amazing content. The photographs I saw on Facebook and Instagram were seriously beautiful.”

“That’s all Mercer,” my brother said absently, eyes still glued to the phone in his hand.

My attention shifted to Mark, who looked decidedly uncomfortable. Then I asked, “What do you mean? Mark handles Facebook and Instagram?”

“No,” Brady explained, “I do the posting. On Twitter too. But Mark takes all the photographs we use for content.”

I looked to the man in question. His cheeks were a little pink beneath his scruffy beard. It probably didn’t help that the white tee shirt he wore made his blush more pronounced. I found myself equal parts curious and amused.

Mark cleared his throat. “I, uh, dabble.”

I forced myself not to show the surprise I felt. The photos I’d seen were fantastic. Beautiful compositions that perfectly highlighted the orchard’s offerings. Mark could have sold his photography. That was how amazing it was.

A tiny voice in the back of my mind warned that I was a little too curious about my quiet, thoughtful, artistic co-worker. I was still trying to rectify the idea of the man who’d potentially abandoned his child with the Mark I was getting to know now.

He was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning regarding his photographs, so I decided not to push it. But I got the sense he more than dabbled.

“Well, I’m happy to help with our online responsibilities or make up a schedule for you, Brady, to ensure we’re getting good visibility.”

Brady shrugged. “I don’t mind if you help out. I just want to keep the Twitter account.”

I frowned. I hadn’t done more than a cursory glance on that platform to see what our presence was like there. “Why?”

“No reason,” he replied, but he gave me a sweet smile that made me suspicious and itching to reach for my phone so I could pull up the app.

Before I could give in to the urge, Joan pinned me with her narrowed blue gaze. “So all of your big plans basically boil down to opening early and staying open later? Extending our season and doing more with the same amount of staff and resources?”

My sister’s direct stare and sudden questions were intimidating. I licked my lips and managed a few words. “Well, not exactly. I?—”

“I thought,” she interrupted, “this was supposed to be you providing all your expensive marketing know-how to help us sell apples.”

The mention of my background and the value attached to my college education had me looking away .

Joan scoffed, removing her hat and dropping it on the table. “Your answer to breaking even is to work harder and longer. Am I getting this right?”

“Joan, honey,” Mom admonished while my father said at the same time, “I don’t think that’s what Candy means, Joanie.”

I wanted to defend myself, but my big sister always had this way of making me feel inadequate. Clarifying my statements seemed like a distant goal at the moment. First I needed to lift my head and make eye contact. It seemed simple, but I wasn’t sure I could manage it. Expensive marketing know-how just kept repeating itself on a loop in my sister’s rough, disbelieving tone.

Brady had joined in the discussion by now, and all the voices were swirling together.

It was like going back in time to when I was fifteen and I’d overheard my parents explain to Joan that they couldn’t afford the new farm equipment she had her eye on because I had a trip coming up for the debate team.

I straightened my printout needlessly so I had something to do with my hands while everyone talked around me and over one another. I was the baby of the family again, unable to find my place within the business and completely useless in the grown-up discussions.

Suddenly, a deep voice emerged from the cacophony, snapping my attention to the seat at the far end of the table.

“I think what Candace is saying,” Mark stated calmly as everyone stopped to listen, “is that for the orchard to continue being successful, it needs to adapt. Kirby Falls is changing. Tourist season is changing too. Candace researched the market and made her suggestions for things we could do to meet the rising tide. She’s not saying we have to do all of it right here, right now, Joan. She’s giving us options. That’s why we’re meeting. To discuss them.”

Joan’s features narrowed on Mark—suspicious and something else, surprised, maybe, at the way the typically quiet man had inserted himself in the discussion and essentially defended me.

“Maybe we can take a few days to think about what Candace has proposed,” Mark said to everyone before shifting his gaze to me. “I’m sure she has some cost analysis to go over with us and income projections for the various projects. ”

I did. On a twenty-two-deck slide presentation. But I knew they weren’t ready for that, so I just nodded. Mark returned the gesture. It was only a brief dip of his chin, but it felt like a show of support, a flag raised in my honor. It was enough to make me release a shaky exhale.

Gratitude filled me up, nearly to the top, for the way Mark had stepped in. But, somehow, there was still plenty of room left to feel embarrassed that I’d needed his help in the first place.

“I agree,” Mom said with a pointed look toward my sister. “Let’s take some time to think, and we’ll meet again soon to figure out what we’d like to do.”

Dad nodded. “Then I’m sure Candy can answer our questions, and we can figure out where to go from there.”

Joan swiped her ball cap off the table and pulled it on roughly before standing and exiting the porch. The screen door had made the same loud snapping sound my whole life, but it seemed inexplicably louder and harsher when my sister was the one pushing through it.

Brady stood from his place to my right and ruffled my hair on his way out. “Make that social media calendar. I’ll stick to it.”

“Okay,” I replied and tried for a smile.

My parents started in then, complimenting me on a job well done, despite the truth of how the meeting had actually gone. They moved to sit closer and ask me questions, wanting to know more about having pumpkins for sale in the fall and if I’d sourced any vendors.

As I spoke to them about local farmers who sold pumpkins wholesale, I noticed Mark standing at the opposite end of the dining table. He picked up the handout I’d provided, folding it carefully into fourths before heading toward the door.

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to thank him for what he’d done. If he hadn’t spoken up, I probably would have just sat there in paralyzed weakness while my family went round and round without ever deciding anything.

But before I got the chance to interrupt my mother’s well-meaning praise regarding the u-pick blackberry idea, Mark shot me a small grin and then exited the porch .

My eyes stayed fastened on his movements—so purposeful and efficient. There was something quietly arresting about the way he wielded his careful strength. My attention strayed lower. And the way he slid the folded piece of paper into the back pocket of his well-worn jeans sure didn’t hurt either.

One strong arm pushed open the swinging screen door, but just before it snapped back into the wooden frame, he caught the handle and closed it gently. It barely even made a sound.