Chapter 2

two

BECCA

"Becca! Here's your pumpkin bread."

I set my cinnamon bun latte on the wooden picnic table and stood to retrieve my breakfast from the order window. Three weeks of regular treats from the Orchard Bake Shop hadn't dulled the serotonin hit that accompanied them. Not one bit.

Chloe waited near the half door with a smile. "I'm mixing up some chicken salad for lunch if you're hanging around."

I grinned at the woman around my age. I'd gotten to know a handful of the farm's employees in the weeks I'd been visiting, and Chloe was one of my favorites. She was sweet and friendly, and her cute boyfriend joined her for lunch after her shift almost every day. They were adorable. Was it weird to be so invested in someone else's relationship? Maybe. But they both seemed like great people, and I was really happy for them.

"Oh, I'm hanging around for that," I confirmed. I loved this place. The coffee was fantastic. The pastries were amazing. The pies were fresh. And the cinnamon rolls were the size of my face. I'd probably return to Detroit fifteen pounds heavier, but that was a problem for future Becca. Current Becca was living her best life in Kirby Falls, North Carolina, taking in the sites, getting to know the town, and eating all the things .

So, it wasn't a stretch at all to promise to stay throughout the lunch hour. When the weather was nice, I usually spent my workday here on the farm anyway. Early September in the southern part of the United States meant that I could sit under a covered porch with a hoodie in the morning and need to strip down to a tee shirt by lunchtime. It was amazing, and I still marveled over how much I loved being outdoors when the outdoors looked like this.

The bed-and-breakfast I was staying at had a weird vibe. The room was great and the place was gorgeous, but the owner was a little off-putting. So I preferred to spend my awake hours away from the B&B's nosy proprietor.

When I'd discovered Grandpappy's Farm during one of my first touristy outings, I knew I'd be returning. And the ladies at the Orchard Bake Shop had been so welcoming. They'd told me to bring my laptop, connect to the employee Wi-Fi, and come work on their front porch whenever I wanted. After the first four days of back-to-back visits, they'd even reserved my table—the one closest to an electrical outlet—with a cute little sign. Becca's Table, Reserved Indefinitely . I might have gotten a lump in my throat when I saw it.

"Good," Chloe replied. "I'll put it on that sunflower bread you like."

"Thanks, Chloe. You're the best."

Fiddling with the belt loop on my jeans, I waited for a moment at the window, expecting her to bring up what happened yesterday with the oak tree.

But when she just stared and asked, "Did you need something else?" I shook my head quickly and started backing away in the direction of my table. "No! Just daydreaming about that sunflower bread."

Chloe laughed. "See you later, girl."

Returning to my seat, I placed the pumpkin bread beside my latte and opened my laptop. Maybe Chloe didn't know about the tree incident with Will. That was good. Definitely better than everyone knowing how pathetic I was for getting stuck in a tree of all things.

I'd video called my best friends Pippa and Cece last night. They'd commiserated with me, and then we'd laughed about it. They'd also demanded a dramatic retelling of the event where I played the parts and did the voices. My friends had been very interested in Will and what he looked like. I'd played it cool, but I thought they might be onto me, judging from the shared video conference eyebrow wiggles.

A moment later, Maggie passed by with a box in her hands. "Good morning, sugar. How are you today?"

"I'm great, Ms. Maggie."

The older woman's eyes twinkled. "Got your pumpkin bread, I see."

"I sure do. You have a good day."

"Thanks, Becca honey. You too."

And then she bustled off without a single remark about tourists getting stuck in trees and needing to be rescued by her big strapping son.

I thought about that some more as I took a sip of my coffee. Will did seem like the strong, silent type. I couldn't really imagine him gossiping around the watercooler or sharing farm mishaps with his family at the dinner table. Maybe the Clarks didn't even have dinner together. In my head, they did. They seemed like the perfect family.

Maggie ran the Bake Shop. William, her husband and Will's father, spent most days at Grandpappy's working on the farming side of the operation. Patty and Robert were Will's aunt and uncle, and they ran the General Store up near the main entrance. And several of the Clark cousins worked on the property as well. I'd met Laramie and MacKenzie and liked them a lot.

When I imagined a family who worked together and created the magic that was Grandpappy's Farm, I was pretty sure they had dinner every night around a big oak table—scarred and scuffed from years of use—in a gorgeous dining room that overlooked the Blue Ridge Mountains. They probably used cloth napkins but put elbows on the table and all talked at the same time after they said grace.

I spent a lot of time imagining what healthy families looked like. Probably because I'd never had one of my own. Fantasies were great, but it would be nice to know what really went on between people who were connected by birth and loved and respected one another.

Anywho .

I guess it made sense that Will hadn't shared my mishap in the oak tree yesterday. He undoubtedly thought I was crazy or just a clueless city girl—which was probably worse in the eyes of a capable country boy.

I felt my cheeks heat in remembered embarrassment. I'd smacked him in the face with my butt. It would have been better if he'd laughed. Maybe. I didn't know. I couldn't decide. I'd already been so mortified to have this stoic, gorgeous man see me in such a vulnerable, incompetent light. And then I'd hugged him awkwardly when it had all been over.

Gosh. If I could just wake up with amnesia like a romance novel heroine, that would be great. Then I might be able to survive my next Will sighting.

I usually saw him once or twice a day while working in front of the Bake Shop. Always in passing and sometimes so quick, I might miss him if I was really focused on the design I was working on.

I didn't know how to feel about spotting him after he'd rescued me from the tree. Maybe he'd walk by like nothing ever happened—ignore me and my existence, just like all the tourists swarming the property this time of year.

I'd nearly finished my pumpkin bread by the time I felt a warm doggie body press against my calf beneath the table. My heart picked up as I looked down to see the friendly dog who had a thing for me rest his head on my thigh.

"Hey, you," I cooed to the dog with dark fur and a sleek, medium-sized body. There was some gray around his eyes and muzzle, so I got the feeling he was getting on in years. But I didn't know a whole lot about this dog. Not his name or breed or anything really. Just that Will Clark was his owner.

Practically every day, the dog would slink over to me for a hello and a few pats before Will would give a sharp whistle and call him back to his side. The duo made their way past the front porch of the Bake Shop at random times throughout the day, so I never really knew when to expect them.

That was probably why I'd been so on edge this morning, waiting to see if Will would show up and what would happen when he noticed me—if he noticed me. If he cared. Which he probably didn't. That was fine. Better really.

The dog's thin tail wagged happily, whacking me on the ankle .

A shrill whistle cut through the morning air, and I knew who it was. So did the dog. He looked at me with a mournful expression. "It's okay," I murmured. "I'll see you next time, bud."

He squirmed out from beneath the table and lumbered off in the direction of the main path. And I finally got up the nerve to glance that way too.

And there was Will, in dark-wash denim and a gray flannel, striding purposely across the wooden planks of the Orchard Bake Shop's front porch. He usually wore a ball cap on his head, but his dark hair was longish, like he didn't get to the barber's chair very often, and it peeked out from beneath the hat. Today, it was flipped backward, and I could see his strong profile as he passed by. With that bone structure, he should have been on a twenty-dollar bill.

The dog reached his side and then Will did something that he'd never done before. He glanced up from his determined stride and met my eyes over his shoulder.

Nerves and surprise and, if I was being honest, the beginnings of a schoolgirl crush had me grinning and raising a hand to chin height and waving like a dork.

He didn't wave back, for he was much too cool. But he did that guy thing where he nodded at me, and it felt like an acknowledgment from decades gone by. A cowboy saying hello to a serving girl in a saloon. A viscount giving an admiring chin lift to a well-bred debutante on the dance floor. A . . . guy nodding to the poor sucker he had to help out of a tree the day before so she didn't maim herself and end up suing his family's farm.

Definitely that last one.

Will strode off and went about his business, dealing with whatever farm thing he had to do next. And I shook my head at how ridiculous I was being and went back to work.

Around midmorning, the UPS delivery driver came through to drop something off behind the Bake Shop. His name was Garrett, and he liked to stop and flirt. It was fine. I didn't mind the attention, and he seemed harmless. About my age, maybe a little older, with tanned white skin and dark hair, it was hard to miss how nice his calves looked in those little shorts.

Just like every day we crossed paths, he came over and propped a leg on the bench across from me, and I made my eyes stay firmly on his face. "There she is."

"Hi, Garrett. How is your day going so far?"

Cue his standard response. "Better now."

I smiled, as expected.

We talked for a few minutes about the weather, the upcoming Orchard Festival, and his mother's heartfelt desire that he find true love someday. That last part was standard and always made me laugh. I could not imagine this ladies' man settling down in any capacity.

Eventually, Garrett had to get back out on the road, and with a wink, he took off toward the parking lot where his big brown chariot awaited.

I shook my head and tried not to be too affected by his flattery. Sometimes it was nice to have someone's attention on you.

Reflexively, my mind drifted to Will's nod from this morning. His quiet acknowledgment seemed infinitely more genuine than Garrett's over-the-top flirting. But neither actually meant anything, so I needed to cool my jets.

Several hours later, a plate holding a delicious-looking chicken salad sandwich landed in front of me with two glasses of sweet tea with lemon.

Maggie lowered herself onto the picnic table bench and gave me a smile. She wore an apron that said "Pie is always a berry good idea." Since I'd first met Maggie Clark, I'd decided she was basically the ideal mothering type. She was warm and welcoming—a nurturer. And she had enough meddling-momma vibes to knock a sitcom mother off her throne. Her lovely grin was giving big meddler on this sunny September afternoon.

"Hi, Ms. Maggie."

"Hi, honey," she said oh-so innocently. Uh-oh . "Chloe mentioned you were looking forward to her chicken salad, so I thought I'd bring over your lunch. And the sweet tea I know you love."

I did love it. Sweet tea was the best invention. And not to sound dramatic, but when I went back to Detroit, I would die without it.

"You didn't need to go to any trouble. But I do thank you. "

She reached over casually and patted my hand that rested on the worn wooden tabletop. "It was no trouble."

I wasn't used to casual affection, but Maggie was a hugger. She thought nothing of squeezing my hand or patting my cheeks. One morning, she hugged me, and I thought I was going to burst into tears.

My life wasn't inundated with affection and certainly not from my own mother. I couldn't really remember the last time someone hugged me. It was probably a little over three years ago.

Briefly, my mind flitted to the embarrassing moment when I'd thrown my arms around Will in overwhelming gratitude. His body had been rigid and unyielding. Maybe I'd just caught him by surprise, but part of me wondered if crabby, standoffish Will might be as unused to touch as I was.

"Tell me something," Maggie said casually. "Where is it you're staying?"

Reaching for the glass, I replied, "Over at the Sterling House."

The older woman nodded, her dark updo threaded with a striking silver stripe didn't move an inch. "That's what Chloe thought she heard you say."

I frowned. Was she about to tell me the place was haunted? I was already uncomfortable with the owner. At the beginning of my stay, I'd tried to do my design work on the large back porch. It was lovely, with ceiling fans overhead and bird feeders drawing in a variety of critters to watch. But Vera Sterling was a very curious sort of woman. She'd parked herself beside me and shared all sorts of gossip about people I didn't even know, and she had no problem asking me invasive questions. I didn't consider myself a private person, per se. But I didn't get the impression that Ms. Sterling's inquiries and observations were entirely innocent or benign. She seemed like a busybody with malicious intent, and talking to her made me feel icky.

As a result, I avoided Sterling House unless I was sleeping.

Maggie cleared her throat just as I took my first sip of sweet tea. Ah, glorious .

"Well, I wanted to let you know that you are more than welcome to stay here at the farm. I know you're sticking around for the next little bit, enjoying the autumn months in our fine town. And I thought you might be interested in staying at our tiny house on the property. Indefinitely. "

"Tiny house?"

She nodded more vigorously. Her hair still didn't move. The marvels of Southern matriarchs and their hair products. "It used to be a rental property. It's on a real pretty stretch of land. Big glass windows make up the back wall looking out over the mountains in the distance." I sat up straighter at that. I loved the views here. Couldn't believe I'd gone my whole twenty-nine years without layers of hazy blue mountains right outside my window. "Chloe lived there until very recently, but now she's moving in with Jordan, just down the road. With Chloe out of the tiny house, it'll just be sitting there empty. I thought you might like to move in for the time being."

"Gosh, Ms. Maggie. That sounds amazing."

The woman grinned in such a way that I felt like I'd given the right answer on a test for good-hearted dummies. "Well, that's settled, then!" And she placed down two keys twined through the ring of an apple-shaped key chain.

She started to rise while I stared in shock. Eventually, I recovered enough to blurt, "But wait! We haven't talked about long-term rates or, well, anything really."

Maggie waved me away good-naturedly. "Oh, don't worry about that. How about you cover utilities at the end of the month, and we'll call it good."

"Maggie, I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair."

She smiled sweetly at me as if I was precious. "It's more than fair. We love having you here, and you'll be closer for your daily commute." She winked, amused at her own joke.

"But . . . but . . ."

"Becca honey, don't worry about it. I know good people when I meet them." Her hand patted mine once more. "And you are good people. Good people do not deserve to be trapped in Vera Sterling's mausoleum." I wondered what that was about but wisely kept my mouth shut. "We'll figure out the payment hullabaloo later. The house is being cleaned today, but it's yours after seven."

Still frozen in disbelief at this woman's well-meaning generosity and ability to completely steamroll me, I asked, "Where is the tiny house? "

I'd walked all over this property when I'd needed to stretch my back and take breaks throughout the day. I'd seen the pond and the apple cannon, the big red barn and the huge trees surrounding it, the corn maze, the event space near the gazebo, the pumpkin patch, the General Store, the sunflower field, and all the paths in between. I found it hard to believe I hadn't run across a rental property.

"It's down behind the big barn. There's a path that leads to a gravel lane off the main highway so you can reach it with your car."

"Oh," I murmured, still surprised by the day's events and Maggie's offer.

"Do you need any help bringing your things over? I can have Will?—"

"No," I barked instantly, self-preservation kicking in where he was concerned. Maggie's dark brows rose on her forehead. I worked to gentle my voice, embarrassment making my cheeks grow hot at the idea that Will's mother would force him to ride to my rescue . . . again. "I just mean, I don't have a lot. Just a suitcase. It won't take much to get moved in."

Was I really doing this? I hadn't even seen the place. I supposed I could always just bring the keys back if something was off about the tiny house when I got there.

Maggie's expression cleared—for the most part. She still eyed me a little suspiciously, but she smiled and said agreeably, "Alright then. You're going to love it back there, Becca. I know you will. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, Maggie! Thank you so much. I'm so grateful." I ran my finger over the smooth metal of the apple keychain.

"You're welcome, sugar. Now eat your sandwich."

I grinned and reached for the plate. Was this what it was like to have a bossy Southern momma? I had to admit that after a lifetime of neglect and indifference, I didn't mind so much.

When I decided to leave Detroit three weeks ago, I hadn't really known what I was doing. And when I'd read an online article featuring the best small towns to visit in autumn a week before that, I definitely hadn't known what I was getting into. I'd just felt like I needed to get away .

I'd been grieving the death of a loved one for three years, dealing with my own complicated family dynamics, and feeling lonelier than I thought possible.

All my friends were online, and while video calls and texts were so wonderful, my day-to-day human interaction was limited, to say the least. I wasn't close with any of my neighbors and even the Chinese place I ordered takeout from twice a week never even remembered me when I came in to pick up and pay.

I had been feeling uneasy for a while—like I lived and breathed in a bodysuit that was too tight. I needed space. I ached to fill my lungs with fresh mountain air. I wanted a break from my life in the city. The monotony. The anonymity. The isolation.

Working from home didn't really lend itself to meeting new people. I'd tried joining a book club at my local library, but they were pretty snooty about romance, which was my chosen genre. I didn't begrudge them their bestselling horror novels or their award-winning page-turners. But I was tired of reading books written by mediocre middle-aged white men and praising their obvious privilege.

So, I'd been researching a new hobby—the short list included pottery, wine tasting, and quilting—when I'd run across the article. Kirby Falls had ranked number 3 on the list of best small towns to experience the wonders of autumn. Numbers one and two had their high points, but there was something so charming about the pictures and attractions connected to Kirby Falls. I'd thrown caution to the wind and booked my stay at the Sterling House Bed-and-Breakfast for the following week.

I was a freelance graphic designer and could work from anywhere. I just needed my laptop. There were no pets to arrange service for or plants to water. I'd never been so glad for minimal responsibilities.

My friends Cece and Pippa—both authors I'd met through book cover designing projects—were ridiculously supportive of my extended stay in North Carolina. They'd both offered to host me in their respective cities, and while very tempting, I'd needed to do something just for me.

I'd tossed—okay, meticulously packed—clothes in my suitcase, locked my Detroit apartment, and emailed my building super that I'd be away for a while. Then I'd made the ten-hour drive in one day with frequent stops for snacks along the way .

Kirby Falls wasn't what I'd expected. Sure, the gorgeous photos from the article lived up to the hype. The mountain views were breathtaking. The water tower really was shaped like an apple. But the article failed to mention the amazing staff at Grandpappy's Farm. It couldn't have predicted the ridiculous clock tower on Main Street that was insanely loud. Or Jerry, the guy who played the trumpet on the street corners downtown. Kirby Falls also had this adorable fountain in the center of town shaped like an overflowing apple basket, and I'd never seen it turned on once. On weekends, a group of people—all ages and walks of life—met up for Pokemon Go community days.

I'd visited fantastic breweries, coffee shops, and restaurants. I'd even made the short drive to Asheville to do a bit of sightseeing. The Biltmore gardens and wine tasting had been top-notch.

But nothing could have really prepared me for how it felt to immerse myself in Kirby Falls. How calm I'd become when walking the tractor path next to the cornfield with a coffee in one hand and my anxieties evaporating in the other. I never imagined falling in love with a town and its people in such a short time.

Magdaline down at Apollo's on Main Street already knew what toppings I liked on my pizza and talked to me like I was someone she'd gone to high school with—like a friend. She gossiped and chatted every time I came in. Nelson, the septuagenarian from the bird-watching group that met in Tanner Park every Thursday and Saturday, gave me a book to help me identify local avian classifications and showed me an app to help me learn their calls. Now, Maggie Clark offered me a place to stay, as if I weren't a stranger who worked on her front porch and pilfered her Wi-Fi five days a week.

Kirby Falls was this wild and wonderful place full of characters and rich history. I was already falling in love with it, one apple cider doughnut at a time.

So when I unlocked the front door to the tiny house tucked behind the trees in the rear of the big red barn on the Clarks' land, what was left of my unoccupied heart sort of fell out of my chest and onto the floor in a pitiful offering.

The trees along the front and sides of the home allotted for privacy and were the reason I'd never noticed its presence behind the barn. But when I walked across the open-concept living room to the back wall made of glass, I released an involuntary little "oh. "

The tiny house sat on the edge of a flat clearing. In the immediate vicinity was an endless meadow with waist-high wildflowers. Just these dots of pink and orange and purple and wisps of white. Farther afield was another cornfield. And beyond that wide swath of green were the gently rolling hills of the Pisgah Forest. Those long-range mountain views were right outside my back door. The leaves were starting their colorful autumn journey. Most were still green, but I could pick out patches of yellow in the higher elevations.

Without realizing it, my breath fogged the pane and obstructed my vision. I laughed a little at myself and slid open the glass door, stepping out onto the back porch. The sun was making its way toward the horizon, and the light reflected off the low-hanging clouds in shades of pinks and purples, making it difficult to look away.

A small wrought-iron café table and two chairs were on the wooden deck. If I wanted to, I could drink a glass of wine out here every night and watch the sun set.

I stayed until the layered mountains turned a deep navy blue as the daylight waned. And then the fireflies winked into existence among the wildflowers, and I stayed a little longer. Eventually, the bite in the evening air had me rubbing the skin of my bare arms and I went back into the house, reminding myself I could do this all over again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

I'd ignored the house and the amenities in favor of the scenery, but after I flipped on a few lamps, I took in the gorgeous space. It was on the cozy side, maybe four hundred square feet total. There was a real wood-burning fireplace that made me giddy to try out. The living room, with one small sofa and oversized chair, flowed effortlessly into the compact kitchen. The fridge and stove were small, but the fancy coffee machine looked expensive. A peek in the cabinets and drawers showed it was fully stocked for eating and cooking with dishes and cutlery. A microwave and toaster rounded out the rest of the appliances. And while there was no kitchen table, two tall stools beneath the countertop kissed the edge of the living room.

I continued my tour and took in the comfortable-looking furniture, the narrow desk tucked beneath the front window, the modern bathroom with a rainfall showerhead, and a bedroom hidden behind a sliding barn door with another wide window that looked out over the amazing mountain view. There was a closet in the hallway as well as another small nook that housed a stacked washer and dryer unit. This tiny home had everything I could possibly want. A place to work, a place to sleep, a place to just . . . be.

It was beautiful, and all the decorative touches felt perfect for the space. I spied a fluffy dog bed in the corner of the living room and smiled, thinking how nice it would be to share this house with a furry friend.

I sent a quick text to our group chat to see if Pippa and Cece were up for a video call to tour my new digs in a few minutes. Then I held my phone to my chest and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

Near the front door, I unrolled the welcome mat I'd purchased at a gift shop in town this afternoon. I'd seen it and had to have it despite this not being my house. It could be mine for a little while. And then I could roll up my welcome mat and take it with me when I left.

I ignored the pang I felt at the thought of abandoning Kirby Falls in a few months when November rolled around.

Without much effort at all, my feet took me back to the wall of windows. The sunlight had faded, and just a glow of orange highlighted the silhouette of the dark mountains in the distance.

With my fingertips pressed against the cool glass, I thought wistfully, I could be happy here .