Love and Lattes at Pumpkin Hollow (Birch Tree Farm #1)

Chapter 1

Autumn had always been my favourite season for three very important reasons:

My mother loved this time of year and named me Willow after her favourite tree from her childhood.

I grew up on Birch Tree Farm and watched the trees that lined the drive up to the farmhouse change to stunning colours each year autumn came around.

I was born in October.

So, when I looked out of the window as we were about to start the penultimate week of September over breakfast and saw that the birch trees were starting to change colour, I couldn’t help but smile despite the fact the current mood on Birch Tree Farm was far from the happiest it had ever been.

The birch trees, which had given our farm its name, lined the long, sweeping drive up to our farmhouse, and they stood tall and proud, come rain or shine.

But they always came into their own once October arrived and they transformed into a beautiful, golden hue.

A heavy sigh from my father, who sat at one end of our long, pine table in the kitchen, drew me from gazing out at the trees to look at him.

We were having a late breakfast as it was Sunday and although there was always something to do on the farm, it meant a day of taking things slightly slower than we did the rest of the week.

Fresh eggs from our chickens, tomatoes grown with our own hands along with homemade bread with tea and orange juice made for a hearty start to the day.

And a cosy one as the Aga in the corner made the kitchen the only room in our farmhouse that was always warm.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked my dad nervously, as he went through our post, wondering if yet another bill had come.

They seemed to be coming more often and for more money than we could keep up with.

He had read the same letter three times now, and I braced myself to hear what was causing him to frown quite so deeply.

‘I think you should read this,’ he said, sliding the letter down the table towards me.

His face seemed to look permanently concerned now.

He had aged a lot since my mum got ill and passed away five years ago but over the past twelve months, I had seen more wrinkles appear and his hair, once the same dark-brown shade as mine, was now salt and pepper grey.

Even his eyes, also matching my mahogany colour, had lost the twinkle they had had when I was younger.

I hated to see how worried he was about the farm, and I always tried to keep things optimistic but it was becoming harder to put a smile on his face.

‘Willow,’ my father said with a tut, noticing that I had drifted into my head, which I was prone to doing.

‘The letter,’ he repeated, nodding towards it.

I eyed the letter on the table like it was a bomb that might go off. ‘Why do I need to read it?’ I asked him, wondering if I could escape and avoid having a look. It couldn’t be good news.

‘Willow, I know that you prefer to bury your head in the sand, you’re a dreamer and a romantic, just like your dear mother was, but you can’t hide from this,’ my dad said, gesturing around us.

‘We’ve barely scraped by this past year, and I can’t see things getting any better.

Plus, we can’t keep pretending that I’m not getting older and finding it harder to work with my arthritis.

That letter…’ He trailed off for a moment, seeming to find the words difficult to get out, ‘…it could be the answer. Please read it for me.’

Reluctantly, I picked up the letter, not wanting to disappoint my dad more than I felt like I already was, and saw the letterhead at the top said Henderson Homes .

I already felt on edge as I started to read and when I reached the words, we would love to discuss adding Birch Tree Farm to our property portfolio , I dropped the letter back down onto the table.

I shook my head. ‘They want to buy the farm. No way, Dad. They will build their identical, small, new-build houses over all our land,’ I said, pointing out of the window.

‘And what about the birch trees?’ I cried, my heart quickening at the thought of anyone taking down my beloved trees.

‘You can’t seriously be considering this? ’

‘They say they are willing to make us a very generous offer,’ Dad said.

‘We can’t afford to just dismiss this out of hand.

We are struggling, and I might have to give up working soon; how will you manage the farm on your own if I do?

We need to be sensible here. As hard as it is.

’ He reached over and picked the letter back up.

‘They want to send one of the Henderson brothers to the farm to look around and talk about what they might offer us. I think we need to say yes to the meeting.’

I stared at my father in horror. ‘But where would we go?’ I asked, trying not to panic.

I had lived on Birch Tree Farm my whole twenty-five years on this earth, my parents having inherited it soon after they got married.

It had been my only home, and I had worked on the farm since I was old enough to; I literally had no idea what my life would look like anywhere else.

‘What would I do?’ I could hear the selfishness in my words but I couldn’t help it.

I had lived and worked here all my life so the thought of it being taken away from me was terrifying.

Dad leaned back in his chair, looking as lost as I felt. ‘I don’t know, love, but we can’t carry on the way we are, can we?’