Chapter 8

eight

BECCA

I checked the sign on the table just to make sure I wasn't in the wrong spot. But there it was. Becca's Table, Reserved Indefinitely , printed on white cardstock and folded so it stood propped in the middle of the picnic table in front of the Bake Shop. It had been there for over a month now.

Everything else was familiar. I could hear Maggie humming and the espresso machine whirring through the open half door. Tourists were milling about, several seated nearby beneath the covered porch enjoying delicious treats and hot cider on this chilly fall morning.

But what I couldn't make sense of was the navy-blue rolling desk chair pushed up to the end of my table or the sweet dog waiting for me underneath it.

With my laptop bag and Will's stadium cushion in hand, I stood staring for a few more moments until Maggie placed a mug down on the tabletop and startled me out of my stupor. "Honey, that's for you."

"What?" I turned to her in confusion. "Why?"

She settled a small white plate with the pumpkin bread I'd ordered on the wooden surface. "Will brought it out from his office. It's on the back side of the Bake Shop. "

I glanced up as if I could somehow see through the wall to where she'd indicated. "But why would he do that? Give me his chair?"

She gave me another one of those bless-your-heart smiles. "Was probably tired of watching you sit on this uncomfortable bench all day. And he hardly uses it anyhow. Always on the go, that Will."

Maggie patted me on the shoulder before wandering back inside the Bake Shop. I still stood staring as my mind sputtered uselessly.

Why would Will give me his desk chair?

Yes, of course, the picnic table got uncomfortable after sitting for a while. That's why I stood and stretched and took breaks and went for walks all over the farm. It was why I went to sunrise yoga with the ladies at the senior center a few days per week. But how did Will Clark know my back was bothering me? And why in the world would he give up his own chair to try to make me more comfortable? I wasn't even sure Will liked me most of the time. I sort of thought I was too much for him—a complicated and troublesome woman who smiled too much.

Plus, on the farm, I was a tourist. And I knew how he felt about them.

I thought back to the stadium seat cushion he'd brought over on Friday. And the way he'd sat down with me at Firefly two nights ago.

I knew Will didn't get a lot of downtime. And he'd spent his evening with me instead of at the bar with Jordan and the baseball game he'd planned on watching. Several times I'd opened my mouth to say . . . something. To let him off the hook and to get back to his night. To free him from my presence. But in the end, I hadn't. I'd had fun instead.

In fact, two minutes after Will had joined me, I'd forgotten all about getting stood up. I'd already regretted agreeing to the date with Garrett before I'd even arrived at Firefly. Flirty, charming men were not my type. And something about Garrett's attention was off-putting. Like he only saw me because I was new and interesting. I thought it might be nice to be seen for who I was.

Then there was the dance and conversation with Will at the assisted living facility last night. I hadn't let myself think about it too much. It made me wish for something that I had no business hoping for. More dances. More conversation. A warm, calloused hand on my waist and a deep, gentle voice in my ear. Someone to know me—all the ugly, inconvenient parts—and to want me anyway.

I didn't need this crush to get out of control. But a part of me knew the effort was in vain. Kirby Falls already had a piece of my heart. Would Will Clark end up with the rest?

Eventually, Carl stood and stretched, coming over to nose at my hand. "Why did he do this, huh, Carl?"

The dog didn't answer. So, I dropped my things on the table and moved behind the chair. Swiveling it in the direction of the path, I started pushing, intent on returning it, when Maggie called from behind me, "Might as well keep it. He's filling in for Otis on the tractor this morning. He'll be on hayride duty until lunchtime." And then her head disappeared back inside the half door but not before I caught the edge of her satisfied expression.

Sighing, I returned the rolling chair to the end of the table and sat. Carl dropped his head in my lap. With guilt and confusion swirling, I drank my cinnamon bun latte and got to work.

By midmorning, I had to admit that the new chair was infinitely more comfortable than the wooden bench seat my butt had been occupying for many hours per week. I was even so cozy in my sweatshirt and comfortable in Will's chair that I hardly minded when Garrett, the delivery driver, approached and propped his leg up nearby.

"Becca, I am so sorry I missed our date," he said, dark eyes wide with remorse. "It just slipped my mind."

Smiling, I ignored the sting of his thoughtlessness and replied truthfully, "It's okay. I think it actually worked out for the best. I had a great time at Firefly."

A tiny frown caused a ripple across his forehead. "Oh, yeah?"

"Definitely," I said brightly. "The bar was great, and I ended up running into several people from town. So, all in all, a wonderful night."

"Oh. Well, I'd love to try again. I think you'd have an even better?—"

"No, that's alright," I interrupted, proud of myself for being assertive for once. Cece and Pippa would have high-fived the heck out of me. Especially since they'd gotten a text update on my date fail. Many emoji and exclamation marks were used in our group chat. But, for some reason, I hadn't told my friends about Will sliding into the seat across from me and turning my Saturday night at Firefly into something better. I wanted to keep that to myself.

Giving Garrett a genuine smile, I added, "I think we're both in different places, and I'm not really looking to date." A player who lacked common decency went unsaid.

"Right. Okay." He looked so out of sorts that I almost felt bad. But then I remembered our date had slipped his mind, and he hadn't bothered to at least text and cancel on me.

"Have a good rest of your day!"

Garrett lowered his leg and stood awkwardly. "Yeah. Thanks. You too."

I watched him make his way down the path toward the parking lot and smiled to myself. As a people-pleaser since birth, it was difficult for me to say what I meant. I was proud of the way I'd handled the situation with Garrett. If I'd been forthright initially, I could have avoided this whole fiasco by saying no to the date in the first place.

But part of me thought I might not have ended up at Firefly on Saturday night, and then I would have missed out on an evening with Will. Seemed like a fair trade-off.

So what if my innocent little crush was growing butterfly wings and flapping around in my belly whenever I thought of the tall, quiet man who ran this farm? It would be fine. If I could keep my cool and stop waving at him like a dork, we might even get to be friends. And I could always use more of those.

Following Garrett's departure, I pulled up my online calendar and double-checked my activities for the week. Normally, I'd have Monday night trivia tonight, but there was a private event at Trailview Brewing, so it was canceled this week. I needed to finish a cover for one of my authors and a set of new release graphics for another. There was yoga on Tuesday and Friday mornings. Knitting lessons on Wednesday with Lettie Louise at her shop downtown, Weaverly Place. Then I had my graphic design class at the library with the teens on Thursday afternoon followed by bowling league. Bird-watching was slated for early Saturday morning. And the Orchard Festival planning meeting was one week from today. I was looking forward to that. My first big festival in Kirby Falls, and it was the seventy-fifth anniversary of the event. I couldn't wait.

Carl hopped up and raced off with a quiet woof, drawing my attention away from my screen. Will was walking up the path, and his dog ran to meet him. Will's hat was turned backward, and his jeans had a smudge of grease across his broad thigh. His gray flannel looked warm and inviting and so did the smile he gave his dog. Much to my surprise, when he straightened from greeting Carl, he met my gaze across the distance, and the grin stayed firmly in place.

Apparently, our tentative truce was still holding, and I hadn't scared him off last night with my overshare of epic proportions.

I smiled back, eager to thank him for his chair and offer it back since he was probably returning to his office. But before he'd taken more than a step in my direction, a man approached and clapped him on the shoulder.

I didn't recognize the elderly gentleman, but he seemed to know Will. He smiled and spoke like they were well acquainted. It was something I loved about small-town life—the camaraderie, the familiarity, and the willingness to be neighborly.

In Detroit, the lady who lived in the apartment across the hall darted in and out whenever she saw me to avoid any conversation. In my experience, people didn't talk in elevators, and they wore earbuds to escape any sort of chitchat. I thought there was definitely something to this Southern-hospitality thing.

Except Will's expression didn't look particularly welcoming after a moment. He'd flipped his hat around and tugged it low, something I noticed he did when he was uncomfortable. He was being polite to the man who'd approached him but nothing more. Nodding along to whatever was being said, Will looked slightly pained as his gray eyes narrowed and his mouth went tight beneath his beard.

What was that man saying to him? Was he complaining about something that happened at Grandpappy's?

I was standing before I realized it. Confrontational was not my default. I had three unanswered texts from my sister asking for more money on my phone to prove it. But I just couldn't stomach the scene before me. I didn't know what I'd say when I got over there, but something to distract from the conversation would surely be welcome. I would be rude if I had to. I'd interrupt—anything—to get that look off Will's face.

"Sit down, killer."

I paused at MacKenzie's pleasant demand. She and Laramie were in the process of sitting down at my table, and I hadn't even noticed. Mac dropped a large pizza box from Apollo's on the surface. "There's nothing you can do. When Old Man Armstrong gets going about Will and baseball, there's no stopping him. Best to just let him wear himself out. Have some pizza with us."

"What are you talking about?" I was still standing.

Larry patted the tabletop. "C'mon. Eat a slice. We'll explain."

I turned back to Will, but he was striding off behind the building with Carl at his heels. And Mr. Armstrong was ambling down the path back toward the main gate. Their conversation was thankfully over.

I sat and accepted the slice of mushroom-and-olive pizza Larry handed me. "What did that man say to Will?"

Mac was sucking in a breath after a too hot bite of cheese. When she recovered, she said, "Will used to play baseball."

I waited. "That's . . . nice?"

Larry added, "Professionally."

"Oh." I considered Will's size and build. He was tall and strong but lean and tapered at the same time. I guess I could see him filling out a baseball uniform nicely. And he sure could wear a baseball cap. "Sorry, I'm not big into baseball. I didn't realize."

"He grew up playing. Even before he could walk, he was throwing a ball," Mac said. "Will used to eat, sleep, and dream baseball. He could have signed a contract right out of high school. He was that good. But there was a pitching coach at UNC he wanted to work with, so he got drafted after two years of college. He played rookie ball and moved through the minors pretty quickly. But he was injured as soon as he got pulled up. Pitched two whole games in the majors before he messed up his shoulder. Then he tried to keep practicing and made it worse. Finally fessed up and went to a doctor to repair his rotator cuff. He went through endless physical therapy only to be unable to return at the same caliber."

Mac took another bite, and Laramie took over the story. "The team released him before his twenty-first birthday. His career in the major leagues was over. He managed to return to college and finish out his degree with an extra couple of semesters. He graduated and then came back home to work on the farm. That was nine-ish years ago. If you think he's grumpy now"—she whistled—"he had an even shittier attitude for a long time after returning to Kirby Falls. Finally, he got himself under control, adopted Carl, and settled in."

"Settled, period, is more like it," Mac argued, her gray eyes—so much like Will's—going fierce.

"Yeah, but you can't tell him anything," Larry said, her two pizza slices already demolished. "He thinks we can't possibly survive without him. That the farm would just up and fall apart. And while he does a lot here . . . he could do more somewhere else. Especially if it actually made him happy."

My heart ached suddenly. Poor Will. I couldn't imagine working that hard and coming so far, only to have circumstance and rotten luck take away your dream so viciously.

"And the man talking to him today was a local?" I asked quietly, the realization making my voice sad and small.

"Yeah," Mac confirmed, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind one ear. "People come up to him and bring up the good ole days all the time. They want to relive his moments at ballparks and talk about his no-hitter in college or gossip about his time on a major league bench." Her pretty face twisted in a disgusted sneer. "They just can't seem to let him be, and he's too polite to tell 'em to go to hell and mind their own business."

I thought about Will at Firefly the other night, hunching in his seat and tugging his cap low anytime someone approached the table. And during trivia at the bar. He'd been anticipating—bracing for some well-meaning but thoughtlessly intrusive person to ruin his night. Instead, they'd ignored him and talked to me.

Despite how I longed to hear the details about Will and his life, the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach intensified. I'd opened up to Will about my family, but he hadn't exactly reciprocated at the assisted living facility. "Should you have told me about Will's past?" I said worriedly. "I didn't mean to gossip. I just wondered about?—"

MacKenzie frowned. "Will's our family. We can talk about him all we want."

But I'm not, I wanted to say. And then I felt another guilty pang that I didn't really belong in Kirby Falls as much as I might want to. And I shouldn't be privy to the knowledge regarding its hometown heroes.

"But other people can't." Larry nodded decisively. "Not Old Man Armstrong or Vera Sterling or all the other busybodies who want to think they have some in with a famous athlete."

Mac snorted. "Plus, it's all stuff you can find out from his Wikipedia page anyhow."

"He has a Wikipedia page?" I blurted.

Larry and Mac shared an amused look.

"It's okay for you to know, Becca," Larry added. "I saw the way you were ready to march over there and defend his honor or at least bail him out of an uncomfortable conversation. You're a good one. You may not be here for good, but while you are here, you're one of us."

Laramie couldn't know how much I wanted those words to be true—how deeply they affected me. In all my twenty-nine years, I'd never truly found a place where I belonged. Definitely not with my parents or my sister. And while I'd loved Mrs. Walters and continued to be grateful for all she'd done for me, I'd had so many moments of feeling like a charity case, a debt to be repaid.

As I watched the two women bicker over the remaining pieces and eventually polish off the rest of the pizza, I fought the sudden urge to cry. My new friends would just think I was weird for getting emotional over shared secrets and an impromptu lunch break.

I shook my head and handed over my uneaten slice to Larry, who clapped in delight while Mac sneaked in and ripped a huge piece off the crust.

If I could belong anywhere, I'd want it to be right here.

I worked late into the afternoon, hoping Will would come out of his office. I wanted to return the chair and thank him, but I didn't trust my face not to go all soft and sympathetic when I saw him—my knowledge of his past leaking out of every pore.

But all that worry was for nothing because when I packed up at seven that evening, I hadn't seen a single sign of Will or his backward hat. I rolled the desk chair around the corner of the Bake Shop and found the door to Will's office, but it was locked, and all the lights were off inside. I guess I'd missed him.

Disappointment rose within me as I pushed the chair back to my table and made the walk across the farm to my rental house. Inwardly, I made plans to chat with Pippa and Cece later. They were so good at cheering me up.

The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows were long. I was glad I'd put my sweatshirt back on. The autumn evenings were growing chilly. In another half hour, it would be fully dark. I bet the fireflies were already out in the field behind the tiny house.

When I rounded the corner behind the big barn, I stopped in my tracks. There, lighting the pathway to the front door of the tiny house, were solar lights. They were placed equally and shone warm golden light over the pavers that led to the entrance. And they hadn't been there before tonight.

I sighed.

Will Clark might not be the friendliest, and he might not put those straight white teeth of his to good use very often. But he was a doer. He showed people he cared by showing up. He worked tirelessly at the farm when he'd been deprived of the career of his choosing. Will visited his great-grandfather and worked to honor his family legacy when it probably wasn't always easy. The quiet, stoic man gave his time and his energy. And every now and then, some sweetness sneaked in around the edges.

I could see it as clear as the lights on the pathway. Not to mention the rolling chair that had supported my back all day long. And the four-leaf clovers he'd left for me just because they were exciting to this city girl and made me happy.

Will was a top secret sweetheart. A good-guy spy with only the best of intentions. And his reluctance to be friendly only made me want to try that much harder to get a smile out of him. If I had to pull out another Miss America wave to do it, then I would. Because that man deserved some goodness and levity in his life.

Did Will have anyone who tried to make him laugh? Was there anyone brave enough to risk his glares and crabby attitude?

I knew he had Jordan and Chloe and a whole town full of people who respected him.

But who was taking care of Will's heart? Who was cultivating that sweetness that he couldn't seem to banish entirely?

Everyone needed something from Will, but who made him feel needed? Because those were very different things.

Tugging my laptop bag higher on my shoulder, I made my way to the front door of the tiny house and did my best to remind myself that Will was none of my business. And his heart wasn't my concern. But as my feet passed through the glowing circles cast by the outdoor solar lights—the ones I was convinced he'd installed with his own two hands—it became harder and harder for my brain to listen to rational warnings.

I didn't want to get my heart broken while I was on vacation. But an instinct within told me this crush of mine was well on its way to something else, something bigger and brighter and louder than a city girl and country boy with no future. And I'd never been very good at forcing myself to stop caring—even when it was probably the smart decision.

The key turned in the lock, and suddenly, I was home.

I dropped my bag by the sofa and left my shoes on. Making my way to the back door, I slipped out to the patio to catch the last rays of sunlight dipping over the mountains.

The fireflies were out, or lightning bugs as Mac called them. A sense of peace settled over me as I watched them blink in and out of existence. The air was cool but not unwelcome. And the night sounds buzzed and chirped, making me feel less alone in this land that was not my own.

My home back in Detroit was too tangled up with loss and grief. I felt guilty for how much I loved this tiny house. How right it felt to be here—to escape my life and my family and everything that tied me to the city .

Mrs. Walters had left her apartment to me. After her year-long battle with cancer, it had been the only thing left. Jamie, Mrs. Walters's son, had died in the line of duty when I'd been in high school. She didn't have any other family. In most ways, that two-bedroom apartment had been the only real home I'd ever known. My relationship with my parents had always been volatile and neglectful. But Mrs. Walters had given me stability and consistency, something I'd desperately needed as a child, an adolescent, and an adult.

She'd owned her apartment and willing it to me ensured I'd always have a place to call home. It also afforded me the luxury of traveling and this extended stay in Kirby Falls. I didn't have to worry about making rent. My clients, steady income, and savings had me living comfortably. I didn't spend excessively and lived simply. This trip to North Carolina was the first thing I'd splurged on in a very long time.

I loved Mrs. Walters's apartment. But even after three years of grieving her loss, the third-floor residence still felt like hers . It carried the memories of her cancer diagnosis and slow decline. Of appointments and hospice. Feeling utterly helpless to care for the only person who'd ever cared about me.

I'd been feeling the need to get out of Detroit for a while. The guilt that followed was a nagging ache, always with me and within easy reach.

Loving Kirby Falls and this tiny house felt like I was dishonoring Mrs. Walters's memory, not to mention abandoning my sister. But I couldn't help the way my soul seemed to sigh out in relief when I sat here watching the mountains in the distance. I didn't know what that meant or what to do with it.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in cool, clean mountain air. I didn't try to stop the tears that came. I just let them fall.

Sometimes grief—even years old—was something you had to take a day at a time or the enormity of it would swallow you up.