CHAPTER 32
Tally
The sun kisses my cheeks the moment I step outside the cottage.
I’d been nervous that once I left the bubble of happiness I’d found with Walker last night, everything would return to normal.
But even the air feels different. There’s a gentle breeze that rustles the flowers, awakening them as I walk up the path toward the house.
It feels like the daffodils are spilling my secrets to one another, leaning slightly in my direction, gawking at my big smile.
I can’t wipe it from my face, though. Walker brought sunny days after a very dark winter.
I smile up at the sky and feel the sun smiling back.
What an absolutely perfect day for the Daffodil Festival.
Spinning on my heel, I inhale deeply, soaking up the scent left over from the midnight rain.
An osprey takes flight overhead, and I watch as it soars over the meadows, which are now a tapestry of vibrant hues.
Magenta tulips, violet hyacinths, rosy pink azaleas, and rows and rows of daffodils, with their petals spread wide and their mouths open.
Gossips. Just like the Liberty Ladies. It’s a good thing Walker got me clean clothes, or I’d have given them all something else to talk about.
The festival starts at one p.m. today and runs until sunset. Then we’ll do it all over again tomorrow. It’s already nine a.m., which means people will be arriving any minute now to help set up.
At that thought, I hear a car rumbling in the distance, taking the turn from the marina down the long road past the brewery.
I’ve got five minutes tops to get inside and get my act together before our first visitor.
As I approach the house, I slow my steps, not wanting to alert my mother to my presence if she’s in the kitchen.
I’ve got to text Rosie and get our stories straight so Mom doesn’t figure out who I was actually with last night.
“She’s probably at the brewery,” I hear my sister’s voice saying right as I step inside the living room.
I blow out a breath. I can work with that.
“Then why did Walker think Rosie was here?”
I enter the kitchen to find my sister and mom both sipping coffees and eating the raspberry lemon Danish I made yesterday. “Good morning! Is everyone ready for the festival?” I plant a beaming smile on my face and hope the question distracts appropriately.
“Ah, there’s the little hussy,” my sister teases.
My jaw falls open right as my mother laughs loudly. Despite not loving that it’s at my expense, boy, do I love the sound of it. Penny eyes me, a surprised smile on her face as well. It appears she’s just as shocked by the melodious noise coming from our mother.
“I was—” I stammer and shake my head. I don’t want to lie. I may not be ready to share who I was with, but with my mom finally smiling, I’d rather be truthful. “Oh, forget it. Clearly you’ve caught me.”
“I won’t ask any more questions …” My mother’s brown eyes dance, and she leans back against the counter. “But Tally, this pastry is delicious. Maybe you can give me the recipe? Or teach me how to make it.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I appreciate her changing the subject. But even more than that, I appreciate the opening to spend more time together.
“I’d love that, Mom. All right, what do we need to do to make this the best Daffodil Festival ever?”
My mom holds open her arms. “Just the two of you. Here. With me.”
I rush toward her, and taking one side while my sister takes the other, we all embrace. Mom’s scent, a blend of peonies and jasmine that is another Rosie special, smells like home.
“We’ll make Daddy proud,” I murmur.
“He was already so proud of you both. But yes, let’s make it the best festival yet.”
My sister swipes a tear from her eye and smiles. “Deal.”
I push away from the embrace but continue to hold both of their hands. It’s time to get down to business. “Okay, we have to get the pastries out and the coolers filled. What else?”
Penny leans over the sink to glance out the window. “We should probably find Walker and see what he wants us to do. Has anyone seen him?” Her gaze flicks to mine and I narrow my eyes in response, telepathically telling her to shut up.
“Oh, I’ve seen more of Walker than I ever want to again,” my mother says with another laugh.
“Mother!” Penny hisses.
“Wasn’t my fault the man opened the door naked!”
I cover my mouth but a squeak makes it out nonetheless, and my sister howls with laughter.
“Anyway.” My mother drags out the word. “He’s out in the back, setting up the tables with some of his farmer friends.”
“Farmer friends?” I ask.
My mother nods and takes another sip of her coffee. “Guys he used to work with. He tried to send them away, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Your daddy always said Walker wasn’t good about accepting help, so I pretended to drop the chair I was holding and batted my lashes innocently.”
“Mother!” Penny yells.
With another one of her doe-eyed expressions, my mother shrugs. “Listen, you don’t stay married for thirty years without knowing how to get a man to do your bidding.”
The three of us laugh, and a warm feeling spreads through my chest. I didn’t think we’d get here again. Didn’t think my mother would be smiling and joking around like she used to. It’s nice. Hell, it’s better than nice. It’s goddamn wonderful.
—
“Do you think it’s a prerequisite that all farmers have to be hot?” Rosie licks her lips and takes a sip out of her mug.
Penny shakes her head, but her eyes don’t stray from the scene in front of us. “I didn’t know jeans could fit that way.”
Walker catches us staring mid-laugh and winks. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever done. Okay, maybe last night when he had his head between my thighs and was whispering dirty words to me was hotter, but only marginally. Fuck. My thighs clench. I need to stop reminiscing.
Walker’s wearing a backward baseball cap, and the ends of his shaggy brown hair peek out beneath it.
Flannel-covered arms sit across his chest as he talks to two other guys who are dressed similarly.
They’re pretty, I’ll give the girls that.
But they have nothing on Walker. One has darker olive skin, like he spends all of his days in the sun.
The other is a bit older but has a broad chest and muscles that look like they have their own muscles.
It’s not only because I’m sleeping with him that I think Walker is hotter. It’s because I’m finally seeing him relaxed. Smiling. With the goddamn dimple. His stance is less tense, too. At least when he looks at me.
“Okay, I know you said nothing happened last night, but you are so lying.” Rosie finally takes her eyes off the men with Walker and studies me.
“Nothing happened. We’re just friends.”
Penny snorts. “Right.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying it,” Rosie agrees.
“Listen. I’m only here for six more weeks. Why would we start something?” It’s a good question. And one I’m trying not to think about.
“And he’s too old for you,” Penny mumbles.
“He is not!” I say a little too loudly.
Rosie lets out a loud raspy laugh, her entire body vibrating with the sound. “Right, they didn’t fuck last night.”
“Don’t be so crass.” Penny bites her lip, and a wicked smile forces her eyes to curl. “She got boned by Farmer Daddy.”
“Ew.” I push her and her champagne sloshes over the side of her coffee cup.
“Cowboy Daddy?” Rosie muses.
“Not a daddy,” I hiss. “He’s a-a—” I stutter. They break out into a fit of giggles. “Oh, I hate you both.”
Rosie gets this look, and immediately my stomach tumbles because I know what’s coming. “Fine. If nothing’s going on, then you have no problem looking me in the eye and cheersing to it.”
I glance at her glass and then down at my own. Am I really willing to risk being cursed with bad sex to keep it a secret that I had deliciously dirty sex with Walker?
Rosie arches a challenging brow, like she can read my mind.
“Fine.”
Rosie beams. “Cheers to not having sex with the cowboy.”
I suck in a breath right as Penny mutters “The only thing worse than no sex is bad sex.”
I pull my drink back at her threat and shake my head. “I don’t think that cowboy knows how to have bad sex. Now, I’m going inside to grab more pastries.”
They’re still hooting and hollering as I walk away. My secret is as good as dead. Dammit. I try not to focus on the fact that they know about Walker and instead look around at the festival, making sure everything is running smoothly.
We’ve set up a few tables just outside the fields, mimicking the layout of the farmers market.
There are food and drink vendors, live music, and pastries for sale, including raspberry scones, blueberry lemon tarts, and Walker’s favorite honey cupcakes.
We’ve also put together dozens of bouquets that customers can grab to go if they’d rather not pick their own flowers.
Before we started hosting weddings, the festival was held in the flower fields, not farther up the drive, but kids would inevitably end up trampling the flowers, and with the limited crop this year—thanks to me—that is not a risk we can take.
My mother is talking to people who have plucked tulips from our pick-and-go field, which bloomed earlier than the rest and would be dying next week, anyway.
These are the things I never considered—the business side of the farm—and it’s clearly a tremendous amount of work. I have no idea how my father did all this by himself.
At least Penny and I are helping now. I’m ashamed to say I’d missed the last few Daffodil Festivals so I have no idea who supported my mom and dad before.
Guilt and grief war within my chest. I should have been here last year. I had no idea it would be my father’s last, and I’ll never forgive myself for taking so much of this for granted. For taking him for granted.
Right as I’m about to pass Walker, he grabs my hand and tugs. “Tal, I want to introduce you to my friends.”