Chapter 8

eight

MARK

The outdoor space at Firefly Cider was packed when I arrived.

A John Denver cover band played beneath the awning of the open-air stage. Bonfires burned around the perimeter of the space, the glow barely visible as the sun sat low in the evening sky. Nearly every table was full, as were the Adirondack chairs positioned throughout.

Nerves and learned behavior had me glancing at the folks seated and milling about, but I didn’t recognize anyone. That alone made my jaw relax, but it didn’t keep the anxiety at bay entirely.

Candace’s event was starting in thirty minutes, and I caught sight of her at a long table on the back porch. She had several Firefly employees helping to arrange cider flights. The small three-ounce glasses were fitted inside holes in the wooden boards in groups of four, and I imagined there were different cider varieties in each glass.

Prepacked paper bags and bushels of apples were positioned on an adjacent table for sale alongside signage for Judd’s Orchard and framed QR codes for payment.

Candace was busy and didn’t see me approach, so I had a moment to watch her work as I maneuvered my way through the picnic tables and the sea of tourists. She wasn’t wearing her fancy pantsuit tonight; instead, she had on jeans and a white Judd’s Orchard tee shirt covered by an open flannel that looked soft and worn. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, but it wasn’t ruthlessly tamed and smoothed down like on her first day back in town. Today it was a bit looser, with a few strands framing her face and tiny wisps misbehaving along her hairline. She looked beautiful. She looked like she fit here, in this space, this town.

Candace moved quickly and confidently, smiling at her helpers and chatting as she went. She didn’t appear flustered by the crowd or the folks wandering up to ask her questions before the event started. She looked completely in control and ready for the turnout, whatever that may be.

From what I’d seen on the social media posts from the orchard and Firefly, they’d sold advance tickets for the event as a way to gauge numbers and cover the cost of the cider. But they’d also intended to sell cider-and-apple-pairing event tickets at the door tonight.

As I ascended the steps to the covered porch, Candace glanced up and did a double take. “Hey! You came.”

I nodded and tried not to focus on the way her smile lit up her entire face. I didn’t want to read too much into her expression. Probably just surprise and relief at having an extra pair of hands.

“Great turnout,” I said, dipping my head in the direction of all the customers milling about. “How can I help?”

Her gaze took in the matching Judd’s Orchard shirt I wore before coming back to my face. “Thanks for coming out. I didn’t think it would be this busy.”

Candace waved me over behind the table and squeezed my arm in greeting when I reached her side. I could feel her sweetness and gratitude in the simple show of affection, and I resisted the urge to squeeze her back.

She showed me what she was doing—pairing up the apple varieties with the various ciders and positioning everything on the extra-wide flight boards. There were cups of McIntosh, Gala with peanut butter, Golden Delicious with a caramel drizzle, and slices of Cosmic Crisp.

The Firefly employees were set up to take the tickets, hand out the flight boards, and pass the customers a postcard-sized handout with a list of what they’d be drinking and eating .

Together, Candace and I worked for the next hour to prep the boards as they were steadily distributed. We got into a rhythm and barely looked up until Rhonda, one of the Firefly employees, nudged us and said, “We’re through most of the preregistered tickets, do you have enough stock if we open it up and sell more?”

Candace glanced in the coolers beneath the table and did some quick mental math. “We have enough for fifty more flight boards.”

Rhonda grinned. “These will go fast. People are digging it. We had to open up the field for more parking.”

Candace thanked the woman who typically bartended but was pitching in tonight for the event.

Then Candace turned to me and smiled before letting out a huge sigh. “I’m so glad it’s going well.”

I eyed her and the visible relief that was plain to see on her face. I never would have guessed she had been nervous about the turnout or the success of the event she’d orchestrated and made a reality. She’d been so steady and sure all evening—cheerful with guests and workers, laughing and smiling the whole time.

“Were you worried?” I asked quietly as she passed me more cups of sliced apples.

She shrugged before crouching next to the coolers. “I mean, yeah. I hoped it would go well, but I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t want it to flop and let anyone down. Who knows? Maybe all these people are just here for the band.”

I frowned. “They’re not here for the band.”

But Candace didn’t respond. She busied herself, unloading the remaining contents of the cooler onto the table.

I crouched beside her.

“Candace,” I said softly, stilling her hands with my own. She met my eyes warily. “You did the research. You talked to Jordan and Firefly about the logistics. You planned and you promoted. You did the work. Even if three people had shown up tonight, no one would be disappointed in you. This event isn’t a reflection on you as an orchard employee or a Judd. ”

Candace listened as I spoke, but I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced. However, after a moment, she eventually nodded. “Thanks, Mark. And thanks for showing up tonight. It was nice to have backup.”

“Anytime.”

We worked to prep the extra boards and then we sold apples. An hour later, when all the stock was gone, I helped Candace pack up her things and take them to the parking lot. She was upbeat—no doubt riding the high from her success tonight.

After closing the lid of the Passat’s trunk, she blurted, “Would you want to stay and have a drink with me?”

Her abrupt invitation surprised me, but it also had something warm and weighty flooding my veins. This was a drink. It was casual. Not a big deal, I reminded myself. Maybe she wasn’t asking me to prom, but this felt just as important for the boy who still remembered what color her dress was senior year.

The corners of my lips turned up in anticipation, and I felt the yes gathering on my tongue. But then instinct took over. I eyed the crowds still milling about. The band had about a half hour left on their set, and while the outdoor seating area wasn’t as busy as it had been earlier, there was still a good amount of people. Yet hardly any of them were locals. I could count on one hand how many folks I’d recognized tonight as Candace and I had worked side by side.

It was safe to assume that this wasn’t the Kirby Falls Baptist crowd. It was mostly tourists, strangers—people who didn’t know me. I’d take them any day over folks who assumed they did.

It was probably safe to stay and have a cider before heading out.

Plus, I wanted to. Despite my innate avoidance of my judgy neighbors and any places where they might show up, I’d come to Firefly because I wanted to help the orchard—and Candace. And, if I was being honest, I was eager to spend more time with her.

Yesterday at the pie shop had been nice. I hated that Candace was hurting over her encounter with her former friend, but it had felt good to do something to make her smile. Seeing her frozen on that sidewalk, left in the wake of Lauren’s destruction, had me feeling helpless. The devastation written across her face made me want to protect her from getting hurt. The hug had been instinctual. Candace had needed comfort, and I’d been willing to give it. More than willing. I wanted to be the person she relied on. Her sounding board. A shoulder to cry on.

Maybe it was that same foolish desire to mean something to her that brought me here tonight. But I wanted to show my support. I needed her to know that she had someone in her corner.

In my hesitation, Candace rushed to fill the silence. “I know we have the Orchard Fest bright and early tomorrow, so if you need to turn in and head home, that’s totally fine.”

She was giving me an out. Smoothing over my indecision and shoring up her defenses—mitigating her expectations and tucking her disappointment carefully away behind a copy-and-paste smile.

I wanted this to be the last time I saw that careful imitation on her face.

“Let’s grab a drink. That sounds good.”

“You’re sure?”

I smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I tilted my head back toward Firefly. “I saw some open chairs by a fire in the back. Why don’t you go grab those before some leafer takes them? I’ll go in and get the cider. What would you like?”

Candace followed the direction of my gaze. I could tell when she saw the unoccupied chairs surrounding one of the fire pits because her expression smoothed out, the doubt clearing from her face like fog burned away by the sunrise. I hoped she credited my hesitation to simply searching for a seat and not the real reason I’d been hesitant to stay. I didn’t need another encounter like the one at the farmers’ market. I wasn’t eager for a repeat of the judgmental stares, ready gossip, and blatant ignorance. All with Candace as a witness.

She smiled and gave me her order, promising to save our seats by the bonfire.

When I returned with two seasonal Don’t Fear the Reaper ciders in hand, I passed one to Candace where she was seated in a two-person wooden Adirondack chair. Each seat was connected by a small table in the middle.

“Thank you,” she said and took a sip .

“You’re welcome.”

I placed my drink down between us and settled in beside her. The warmth from the orange flames was welcome as the night air grew chilly.

It was fully dark now, save for the firelight and the glowing bulbs highlighting the perimeter of the seating area. We were far enough away from the outdoor stage that we could speak easily to one another and be heard over the band’s rendition of “Annie’s Song.” The remaining seats around our fire pit were empty.

“So how do you feel?” I asked. “Are you one of those introverted extroverts who needs time to recover after being around people?”

Candace smiled and met my gaze. “No, not really. I’ve always been fine around people. No recovery period required.”

I nodded and picked up my cider. “That checks.”

She laughed. “But not you though,” she said confidently. “You’ll probably need some quiet after all that peopling.”

I snorted. “I’ll need a week to make up for it.”

Her amusement was contagious and soon we were just grinning at each other—sharing a moment of comradery after an evening spent in the trenches of working with the public, basking in the success of the night.

Candace looked relaxed and happy—her smile wasn’t the watered-down version from earlier nor the overly bright one she wore for the leafers. It was like watching her come up for air.

The firelight painted her skin in warm golden hues. For a wild and reckless moment, I wished I had my camera so I could capture the contrast of light and shadow, the way the dancing flames lovingly highlighted the planes of her face—her high cheekbones, the straight line of her nose, the elegant column of her throat, the jut of collarbones just above the neckline of her shirt.

I forced myself to grip my glass and take another drink.

“I guess you prefer working in the fields, instead of with the people,” she said a moment later.

The statement sounded like a question, so I answered, “I do. But I’m not opposed to helping out wherever I’m needed on the farm. ”

“Is that what you studied in college, agriculture?” Candace asked, almost tentatively as if she were skirting the edges of a particularly narrow balance beam.

I knew where her cautiousness came from. I hadn’t reacted well when she’d brought up me being a dad. The instinct to shut down and protect myself had been unavoidable. It was obvious that Candace didn’t want to get too close to the imaginary line I’d drawn, so she was proceeding carefully.

But it was easy enough to talk about this part of my life without thinking about Hannah or lying about our relationship. “Yeah, agronomy. Crop and soil sciences at NC State.”

“That’s a good school. Did you like living in Raleigh?”

I considered her question and then answered truthfully, “I did and I didn’t. It was never going to be long-term for me. Raleigh is a decent-sized city, but you’re surrounded by suburbs and pine trees and land, so it doesn’t feel very urban. I liked it well enough, but it was never going to be home.”

For better or worse, my home would always be Kirby Falls.

There were times I’d given serious thought to leaving. In the early months following my divorce, I’d considered packing up and going somewhere no one knew what I’d lost, what I’d been forced to give up. With my aunt’s passing during college, I had no family to stick around for and no one to keep up with. Part of me had wanted to take the easy way out and leave, avoiding the gossip altogether by taking off and settling somewhere new—another farm in another state.

But I liked my life in Kirby Falls. I cared about the Judds and the orchard. I had a place here and people who meant something to me and a good job that gave me peace.

So, yeah. Maybe it would have been smarter to start over somewhere else, but the selfish, spiteful part of me that I managed to ignore most days, thought I’d already given up enough for Hannah Price. I didn’t want to give up my home too.

“I used to feel that way about New York,” Candace murmured as she watched the fire. “I thought I’d go to college and then come home.”

“Why didn’t you? Do that, I mean. ”

Her gaze stayed on the fire pit, but her lips curved in a wistful sort of smile that somehow made her face look sad instead of amused. “Not a lot of job opportunities in Kirby Falls for the field I chose. Once I got started on the path I was on, it felt too late to turn back or change course. Columbia, graduate school, internship. I needed to see it through.”

I watched her for a long moment and wondered for the first time if there was more to Candace’s return to North Carolina than she was letting on.

Her voice was soft when she said, “It’s crazy to think we expect kids to know what they want to do with the rest of their lives when they’re only seventeen or eighteen years old.”

“I don’t think it’s ever really too late to alter your path. There aren’t rules about starting over and trying again. Cages like that are ones you build yourself,” I offered.

Candace swiveled her focus to me, her gaze searching.

I didn’t know what was going on in her head or her heart, but I felt compelled to continue now that I had her attention. “You read stories about grandmothers going back to college or someone writing their first book at fifty. You’re only twenty-five, Candace. You could do whatever you put your mind to.”

Complicated emotions—ones I couldn’t even begin to name in the shadow of our burgeoning friendship—swirled behind her eyes, but I was growing more and more certain that this little trip home wasn’t just an extended vacation for Candace.

Suddenly, the folksy background music ended and a voice came over the microphone drawing our attention. “This will be our final song this evening. Thanks for listening tonight.”

A smattering of applause over on the lawn gave way to softly plucked guitar strings.

When I turned back to face Candace, she was watching the stage, a smile playing on her lips.

“I used to love this song,” she said. “I haven’t heard it in years.”

“I don’t know this one,” I admitted .

“It’s called ‘Matthew.’ Mom used to play this John Denver album in the kitchen while she made dinner and I did my homework at the table.”

We listened together.

I watched Candace as she mouthed the words and kept her eyes on the stage. We listened as the band sang about joy, love, and a windy Kansas wheat field. By the end, our pint glasses were empty, and I had the sense I’d seen a different side of Candace Judd. One that had only revealed itself in the firelight and would be gone again once the embers cooled.

I was glad I’d stayed for a drink, grateful for the chance to know her a little better. There hadn’t been any demoralizing encounters with know-it-all neighbors. No one had accused me of being an absentee father. A crowd hadn’t gathered with their pitchforks.

Maybe this could be okay. Going out, spending time in the community. Getting a drink with a woman I liked spending time with—a woman I liked, period.

Pulling her flannel tighter around her, Candace said, “Well, I guess we better get going.”

“Busy day tomorrow,” I agreed.

The Orchard Festival kicked off in the morning. It would be several days of what amounted to a farmers’ market on steroids. The usual produce vendors would be joined by local artisans, craftspeople, and antique dealers. Booths would line Main Street for six blocks, along with a stage for performers and a tent for storytelling. There would be all manner of apple-related treats from hand pies to cider slushies to fritters and doughnuts. The celebration would conclude on Monday with a 5K road race and an afternoon parade.

Judd’s would be one of the dozens of vendors. We’d be on hand, selling eight to ten different apple varieties to the tens of thousands of tourists who’d make their way through Kirby Falls for the festivities over the weekend. Our start time in the morning was around eight. Nick and Amy would be holding down the fort at the orchard with some part-time volunteers—mostly friends of theirs—while Candace, Brady, Joan, and I handled the festival, where the majority of the crowds would be.

“I’ll walk you out,” I told Candace .

Lightning bugs lit up in the distance as we made our way toward our vehicles. It was dark and cool, and the night was unbearably quiet. With feet crunching over the gravel of the parking lot, I felt very aware of the woman at my side.

Candace sneaked a glance in my direction and grinned before looking away. Sudden nerves buzzed beneath my skin, and a part of myself long-left ignored came roaring to life.

A normal person would notice her signals—the way she fiddled with her keys and delayed getting into her car. Any other man would see Candace nibbling on her bottom lip and think she was anticipating something.

She didn’t know I wasn’t a normal guy. That I didn’t do this sort of thing. I didn’t have drinks with women in my hometown or otherwise. I didn’t go around waiting for signs and making moves. It had been a painfully long time since I’d kissed anyone.

Candace didn’t know any of this because I hadn’t told her. As far as she knew, I was two years off a divorce and a single dad who probably had some baggage. If she knew the truth, she’d know that my baggage had baggage, and nothing about my life was as it seemed.

That selfish, spiteful part of me reared its ugly head once more. Why shouldn’t I get to act my age? I should have been able to lean in and kiss this woman. To still her nervous hands and slide my palm around her waist, tug her close, and breathe in her lavender scent. Feel the soft hairs at her temple as I pressed my lips there first.

Instead, I was thinking about how Candace didn’t know the truth about me, and how if anyone saw us together, it would reflect poorly on her.

But I deserved to be happy.

And right now, nothing would make me happier than closing the distance between us and tasting the cider on Candace Judd’s lips.

My heart pounded out a vicious beat—an internal alarm, warning me of the danger ahead. But I didn’t care. I wanted this. I wanted her.

So I shifted forward a half step and whispered, “Candace.”

She stopped messing with her keys and glanced up at me through her lashes. “Mark,” she answered shyly. Then her full lips spread in a grin as I leaned close .

Candace’s fingers gripped my nape as she rose up on tiptoes to meet me halfway. My nose brushed hers gently, and my hand did manage to find the dip in her waist as I worked to steady myself.

Then suddenly, a car door slammed somewhere nearby, followed by loud, abrasive laughter. Candace gasped in surprise, and we broke apart abruptly, like two teenagers caught in a backseat.

She met my gaze and then huffed out a little laugh.

“Sorry,” I murmured and pulled my own keys out of my pocket.

“Why are you sorry?” she asked with a sassy twinkle in her eye. “They should be the ones apologizing.”

I’d almost kissed Candace in a parking lot of a popular establishment where anyone could have seen. I knew how fast gossip traveled in this town.

What had I been thinking?

With nothing more than the promise of a kiss, I took an even bigger step back.

I could still feel her hand on my neck, her breath warm on my lips, the way she’d whispered my name—both a question and an answer.

Squeezing my fist around the key ring, I forced myself to look at her. To remember my place and what I had no business wanting. “I should get going.”

Her embarrassed amusement gave way to confusion. “But?—”

“Good night, Candace. I’ll see you in the morning.”

It took everything in me to turn and walk away. I didn’t wait for my statement to land. I could hear the finality in my tone, and I knew she heard it too.

It was instinct to want to open her door and make sure she got on her way safely. But I didn’t want to see the disappointment I’d caused. I didn’t want to hear her questions or have to spell this out for her. I was a coward.

The night ended in something crueler than disappointment. It was a painful reminder. A wake-up call. I wasn’t a normal guy, and I didn’t deserve to be happy if I stole it from someone else. I would only mess things up for Candace.

The town pariah didn’t kiss the hometown sweetheart .

And I needed to remember that.

When I got to Main Street the following morning, everything was already set up and ready to go. The volunteers must have been through at sunrise because neat rows of white tents lined either side of the street as vendors worked to unload their goods and set up their booths.

The Judd’s Orchard tent was large and positioned directly beside the one for Grandpappy’s. Will Clark was busy, unloading apples onto their tables.

As I approached, I noticed Joan and Candace were already present and accounted for as well as a big cardboard stand-up of a shiny red cartoon apple wearing a cowboy hat. I frowned, wondering what that was all about. It looked like one of those photo ops with a hole cut out for people to stick their faces through. Based on the size of the apple and the height of the face hole, I assumed this was for kids, and judging by the way Joan was eyeing it, I guessed the giant apple was Candace’s idea.

Joan caught my gaze and rolled her eyes before turning back to where Candace lingered, clearly awaiting instructions. “I’ll be back with the dolly. You two put the tablecloths on.” And then she took off to where she’d parked the work truck.

Candace’s wide hazel eyes darted to me. She looked wary, and I fucking hated that I’d put that expression on her face.

“Good morning,” I said, making sure my smile was genuine and not as tight as my chest felt.

“Hey,” she replied, and her smile was nonexistent.

I pointed to the cardboard apple. “What you got there?”

“Oh, it’s for photos. I thought kids would like it. And it has all our social media handles on it for advertising. The parents can tag us, and I’ll share the photos. Good for content.”

“I like it,” I told her sincerely. “It’s a good idea.”

“Thanks,” she replied tentatively. Then Candace moved to the stacked gingham tablecloths that her sister had indicated .

I quickly stepped forward and grabbed the other end of the one she held, helping her spread the fabric across the surface of a long white table, desperate for some normalcy.

So, we’d almost kissed. It wasn’t the end of the world. And it didn’t even need to be the end of our friendship.

Things didn’t need to get weird.

But the silence stretched like a rubber band pulled taut, just waiting to snap.

I could hear the shuffle of bodies and vendors chatting as they set up. Birds sang in the background and the cool morning breeze made the tablecloth rustle.

What you couldn’t hear were the things I wanted to say. The way I felt twisted up with the need to explain myself. How I wanted to tell Candace I was sorry about last night—taking off that way—and that I’d had a really good time with her. I always had a good time when I was with her.

But I couldn’t admit any of that. It would only lead to more questions and more lies. I couldn’t be honest with her, and that wasn’t fair.

Joan made her way back with the first load of apples, and Candace and I got to work organizing them on the tables to sell in pecks, half pecks, and quarter pecks. Joan was going back for a third load right around the time Brady strolled in with four coffees in a drink tray.

“Good morning,” he called. “I brought caffeine.”

“Thank you,” Candace said. “And there’s mini muffins in a bag beneath the table. A really friendly volunteer brought them by earlier.”

Brady squatted to retrieve them. “Great. I’m starving.”

A few moments of uninterrupted work later, Brady said conversationally, “Hey, Candy Cane. Why does your apple cutout have a cowboy hat?”

Candace turned to face her brother. “Because it’s a small-town apple festival, that’s why.”

“Who do you know who wears a cowboy hat?” Brady challenged.

“Well, I don’t know. People, I’m sure.”

“This ain’t Texas. ”

She huffed in annoyance. “Who cares? It looks cute with the hat on top. I like it, okay?”

“I like it too,” I found myself saying suddenly. It worked to quiet the bickering siblings, but now I had both their attention. Candace didn’t look convinced, and Brady looked delighted, which was never a good sign.

“Well, if you like it so much,” Brady began, “I’ll take your picture, and Candace can post it. You can be the first one to pose with the Cowboy Apple.”

Attention and public scrutiny were the last things I wanted.

I glanced to Candace, who suddenly looked amused.

The threat of her cool reserve from earlier helped make up my mind.

“Fine.” I nodded and crossed behind the Cowboy Apple. Crouching low and feeling like an idiot, I stuck my face through the cutout.

“Smile,” Brady ordered cheerfully as he lined up the shot for far longer than was necessary. “Got it! They’ll love this.”

“Text me that,” I heard Candace call out as I straightened. She wore a devious smirk.

Brady laughed and then moseyed around the side of the tent, face glued to his phone.

Heat was creeping up my cheeks, but Candace didn’t look quite as standoffish as she had earlier in the morning. If I needed to embarrass myself on social media by posing with a giant apple to restore the peace, I guess that was fine.

Candace came to stand next to me. We worked in silence for a moment, packing apples into bags and lining them up on the table next to signs designating their variety.

“Thanks for being a good sport,” she said, smiling.

“Of course,” I murmured. “It was nothing.”

“I won’t really post it.”

Her words loosened the anxiety building. Even if I thought I could handle the attention, I still didn’t want it. Avoidance was second nature at this point in my life .

“Thanks,” I finally replied.

We resumed our work, but I could tell it was there on the tip of her tongue. A question about last night. A desire to clear the air. The space between us vibrated with things unsaid.

I couldn’t give her everything, but I could say something to ease the sudden tension that hadn’t been there since that very first day when she hadn’t remembered me.

I cleared my throat. “I had a good time last night...with you at Firefly.” Candace’s hand paused around a Golden Delicious apple. “I’m sorry I had to take off the way I did. But...but it’s probably better that way.”

Her hand finally gripped the apple, and she loaded it into a half-peck bag with the others. “I see.”

I took a risk and bumped my elbow with hers. “If you have any more events on the calendar, let me know. I’ll help out. I want to.”

There was a brief pause before she tapped my elbow in return and replied, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Keeping my eyes forward on the box of produce, I gave Candace another half-truth. “That’s what friends are for.”

Eventually, things got busy and I didn’t have time to worry about what Candace was thinking. The four of us worked to stay stocked and to keep up with the lines of customers snaking down the side of our tent as the crush of bodies moved up and down Main Street.

With a positive attitude and a brilliant smile, Candace chipped in wherever she was needed. She took direction from Joan and worked tirelessly all day. She restocked apples and sold them to customers. Candace was friendly with the tourists and always stepped in to answer questions or talk up the orchard, undoubtedly knowing how much Joan hated upselling.

It was honestly a little hard to watch the way Candace so blatantly sought her older sister’s approval. But Joan was truly oblivious, just going about her work and keeping her head down. Candace kept her spirits up, and I tried not to wince at every thoughtless, unintentional jab Joan made .

It wasn’t until day one of the Orchard Festival was winding down that everything went to shit. The opening band had already taken the stage for tonight’s concert. Even from three blocks away, we could hear the strum of the guitar and the beat of drums. Foot traffic had dwindled in the last half hour as people made their way to the end of Main Street that housed the stage and the food trucks. As a result, we were already packing up.

Eloise Carter, the formidable head of the Festival Planning Committee, stopped in front of our booth as the sun crept closer to the horizon, clipboard in hand and stern expression eating into the lines of her face. “Good afternoon. Where are Nick and Amy? I wanted to have a word.”

Candace and Brady had taken the dolly and the first load of crates back to the truck, so it was just Joan and me left to speak with Ms. Carter.

“They’re handling the farm this weekend while the rest of us see to the festival,” Joan said, barely sparing the older woman a glance as she worked.

Eloise was no-nonsense and by the book. She was brutally honest and had no problem strong-arming people to get her way. She was probably after a permit for the Cowboy Apple or something else equally as tedious and ridiculous.

“I have some questions about their sponsorship.”

Joan sighed and finally looked up. “Do you need their number, Ms. Carter? Pretty sure it’s on your clipboard there.” And then she gave one of the most powerful women in town her back and picked up another crate of apples.

It was times like this that I really appreciated Joan’s general air of do-not-give-a-fuck. Eloise had a tendency to be an overbearing pain, but she’d met her match in the eldest Judd sibling.

The older woman eyed my co-worker for a moment, clearly displeased with the dismissal, before her laser focus zeroed in on me. “And you, Mr. Mercer. I suppose it’s fortunate for the Judds that you aren’t too busy with your familial obligations to tend to your work duties this weekend.”

The implication landed as effectively as a slap across the face.

Familial obligations .

Right, the child she believed I was neglecting or not supporting or whatever bullshit gossip was circulating .

I was still frozen in shock at her blatant insult, but I registered the sound of a crate hitting the ground hard behind me.

Joan’s voice was deceptively soft as she stepped up beside me, worn work boots even with my own. “Did you just?—”

I halted her with a hand on her arm. Icy blue eyes met mine, and I shook my head. “It’s okay. I got it.”

After a bracing breath, I said flatly, “Ms. Carter, you’ll need to reach out directly to Nick or Amy. We’re packing up here and heading out, but we’ll let them know you’re looking to get in touch. Have a nice night, ma’am.”

I waited until the woman made a note on her clipboard and then walked off to ruin someone else’s day.

With a rough inhale, I turned to the rear of the booth, desperate to avoid any lingering festivalgoers. I needed a minute to steady myself, so I started breaking down empty boxes.

“Are you okay?” Joan asked as she approached. She took the box away from me. “You’re not thinking straight. We need those for tomorrow’s produce to bring back in the morning.”

Shit . “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I took my shaky hands and stuffed them into the front pockets of my jeans to keep from balling them in angry fists. It was stupid to still let this shit get to me.

“I don’t care about the boxes,” Joan insisted as she did her best to catch my eye. “She had no right to say that to you. Damn busybody with nothing better to do than try to make herself feel important.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” she argued. “She was running her mouth for no other reason than knowing it would get to you. Don’t let her under your skin. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t matter.”

I huffed a humorless laugh. “Teach me how to not give a fuck, would you, Joanie?”

“It’s a ten-week course,” she replied deadpan. “I don’t know if you could handle it. ”

That had my laugh from a moment ago turning genuine.

I finally met Joan’s gaze and was disturbed to find it soft and concerned.

“I’m okay. Really,” I tried to assure her.

Joan gave my arm a comforting squeeze—the most affectionate she ever really got. “Say the word and I’ll steal my neighbor’s goat and let it go to town on her award-winning roses.”

Smiling, I nodded. “Let’s keep workshopping it.”

“I have a whole notebook full of revenge plots,” she said seriously. “I’ll add it to the list.”

That reminded me of Candace and the worn notebook she carried with her everywhere, jotting down ideas as they struck. Maybe these two sisters weren’t so different after all.

I peeked beyond Joan to see that Brady still hadn’t returned. Candace had come back at some point and was busying herself boxing up the Judd’s Orchard tee shirts we’d bring back to sell tomorrow.

“I’m gonna go help your sister.”

“Okay,” Joan said. “I’m going to go drag Brady away from the Grandpappy’s tent by his ear.”

I glanced over to see that she was right. Brady was parked in front of the Clarks’ booth, leaning on the two-wheel dolly we needed to finish loading up for the night. He and Mac were locked in some sort of debate, but that was par for the course with those two. Mac had enough family members around her to prevent any real bloodshed. Actually, there was a cup full of straws on the table in front of her. She could probably do something lethal and inventive involving Brady’s trachea that would, no doubt, finally shut him up.

“Yeah, better go rescue him, for his own good.”

When I made my way over to Candace, she was nearly done with the merch.

“Thanks for packing that stuff up,” I said.

Despite the awkwardness of this morning, Candace and I had worked pretty seamlessly throughout the day. She hadn’t just been upbeat with the tourists. I’d been on the receiving end of her smiles as well.

“Oh,” she squeaked, fumbling the shirt she’d been folding. “Of course. No problem at all.”

She wouldn’t meet my gaze, and I wondered if we were back to being weird with each other now that there weren’t customers around. I didn’t think she’d overheard my conversation with Joan from the back of the tent. Maybe she?—

But then Brady and Joan were back, and there wasn’t much time to get Candace alone to talk to her or gauge her reaction. We had to finish up so we could go home, then get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

As Candace kept her head down and avoided conversation for the rest of the afternoon, I tried not to let myself wonder about the alternative.

What if we’d kissed last night? Would we have flirted and teased today behind the scenes? Shared secret smiles and found ways to be in each other’s space?

Catching sight of Eloise Carter in her bright green volunteer shirt down the street, I shook my head and forced those what-might-have-been thoughts away, grateful for the reminder.

I’d done the right thing taking a step back with Candace. It would keep her reputation and hometown sweetheart status intact. She didn’t need gossipmongers like Eloise Carter catching wind of something brewing between us. She didn’t need to be guilty by association.

Keeping her in the friend zone would keep her safe.

No matter how much I wished for more.