23. Harvest
Courtney
We enter the community gardens through a grand granite archway detailed with beautiful stone flowers carved into its facade, only the deep visible cracks revealing the arch’s true age. As I step past the stone curvature, I’m shocked to see how bountiful and lush the garden is despite the harsh New England weather. Each planter box I pass is effervescent with gourds, determined fall flowers, corn, potatoes, and other produce. Almost every other plantar has someone tending to it, with the crowd ranging from late thirty-something-year-olds with their toddlers to folks in their eighties, working as diligently as their bones will allow. The best part is the small pasture just past the planters that consists exclusively of endless rows and rows of pumpkins sprouting from the rich brown earth.
They range from white and round to orange and lumpy and every variation in between, no one is tending to them, however. Finn later explained that the pumpkins were ripening for Halloween and that at the end of the month, the local children would come and select their pumpkins for carving. Yet another adorable Havenwood tradition that had stood for generations.
“This is beautiful,” I remark, mostly to myself, referring not only to the gardens itself but the sense of community that clearly stemmed from it. I watch in awe as planter box neighbors share seeding techniques while less busy community members entertain and hold children for busy gardening parents and older kids freely roam the rows of blooming pumpkins, calling dibs on their favorites. From this view, it’s easy to see Havenwood as the tight-knit community it is and heartbreaking to know it’s all on the verge of extinction.
I already knew I had fallen in love with the town of Havenwood, but somewhere down the line, I’d fallen even harder for its mayor. A familiar rock weighs in my stomach as I remember that, eventually, I’ll have to snap the roots that Havenwood and Finn have grown into me and return to California.
I pull my gaze from the gardens and risk a glance up at Finn. Luckily, he’s too preoccupied surveying his fellow Havenwoodians to notice my stare, pride and somberness warring on his conflicted face. I love this man and there is no use in denying it. I had spent the last two months rebuking my feelings for him, trying to protect myself from the vulnerability that relationships bring but there’s no hiding from the way I feel for Finn Abernathy.
Do I really have to move back to California? On multiple occasions, I had been given the opportunity by my managers to write and work from home but I had always opted to come into the office for the social aspect and connection building. Seeing Kashvi’s beaming face each day at 7 a.m. and being caught up on the work gossip of the week was the highlight of my mornings but I’ve started to feel a shift in my priorities, a shift in what makes me happiest. As I stand staring down the barrel of Cupid’s gun, I feel ready to let go of the fear of the unknown. I’m ready to trust Finn and ready to trust myself.
“Finn, I lo-.”
“Some of our friends are here, let’s say hello.” Finn laces his fingers into mine, unintentionally halting my confession. I bite my lip as he directs us towards a patch of potatoes. In hindsight, this isn’t the best place to profess my love and Finn’s intervention, though accidental, is a blessing in disguise. The right time will come and it probably won’t be in a public setting such as this.
I smile with recognition as we approach rippling bronze back muscles plowing a hoe through loose dirt, several female onlookers gawking at Micah’s physique as he works.
“Hey, kid,” Finn greets pleasantly as we approach.
I keep my eyes firmly planted on Micah’s as he twists to face us, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Oh, hey you two,” he acknowledges us with a wave, eyeing my outfit. “Look at you, cowgirl.”
“Yee-haw,” I throw an imaginary lasso around Micah; playing along, he hobbles towards me as if ensnared in my pretend rope. Before he can come much closer Finn holds out an arm, aligning his spread fingers with our imaginary rope, and clamps down, cutting our imaginary lasso.
“Snip.” He gives Micah a sarcastic look, warning him to proceed with caution. The apothecarian throws his hands up defensively, a playful smirk on his lips. Elsie’s welcomed presence disrupts the testosterone flying around in the air.
“Hey all,” her cinnamon strands bounce beside her shoulders with each approaching step, I release Finn’s hand to greet her with a hug.
“No Milo today?” Micah asks Finn, leaning his body weight against the planted hoe. I note the subtle look of discomfort on Finn’s face before he responds.
“No, he has… historian stuff he’s working on today. Besides, he’s already heard everything I have to say during the town hall.”
“Town hall?” I raise an eyebrow at the towering mayor beside me, squinting as the sun assaults my eyes.
“We have one every couple of weeks,” Elsie explains with a shrug. “It’s a way for the mayor,” she nods at Finn, “to get out any necessary information, kind of like a newsletter. Why can’t we just have a newsletter again, Finn?” Elsie asks in annoyance, tipping her head to one side in faux exhaustion. Finn offers her a grin in response, crossing his arms over his chest.
“If I sent out a newsletter, you would never leave the coffee house, Elsie Murphy.” He teases playfully, pointing an accusatory finger. She rolls her eyes, huffing out a small complaint under her breath.
“Town hall meetings are also a great way to hear what concerns the community has and for me to ease as many of those concerns as I can.” He continues, addressing me in a tone far less sassy than the one he gave Elsie.
“Why have a town hall?” I ponder out loud as Micah prods at the ground with his tool. “I just mean that you see these people every single day. Why don’t they voice their concerns to you then?”
“It’s somewhat of an unspoken rule that when people see me on the streets I’m just Finn. In return for that kindness and casualty, I host one of these town halls every six weeks so that they can formally address any qualms with Mayor Abernathy.”
I nod, acknowledging that that logic seems to check out.
“I heard landlord Gable gave you the key to your new shop, Courtney?” Micah changes the topic, clearly bored of the last one.
“Oh yeah!” Elsie’s eyebrows shoot up in excitement. “How was the place? Is it still in decent condition?”
I almost choke on my spit. Neither Elsie nor Micah had made any mention or reference to what had gone down between Finn and I in my new book shop but the memory alone causes me to blush. “Um, it’s in great condition.”
“Ooookay?” Elsie scrunches her brows at me, picking up on my awkward energy. “So, have you thought of any names for the shop?”
“I have, actually; I’m going to call it Courtney’s Cover to Cover.” I declare confidently, talking with my hands to add pizzazz to my shop name. Micah’s amber eyes flick immediately to Finn as if attempting to telepathically convince the mayor to persuade me to pick a more palatable name. Finn takes no notice, his prideful blue pools glued to my face.
“That’s a perfect name,” Finn seconds my idea, lacing an arm around my waist and pulling me close to him, earning us a few prolonged stares. I know the smile on his face is attributed at least in part to knowing my bookshop is another commitment to keep me in Havenwood but what he doesn’t know is I would stay with or without the shop. I’m staying for him.
An artificial redhead parts the crowd of gardeners, her head on a swivel until she spots us.
“Hi, Cathleen.” I smile as I recognize the receptionist.
“Hi, kids,” she greets, giving us all a rushed nod. “Mayor, it’s time for the town hall.”
* * *
I look around at the small sea of faces gathering towards the center of the garden, many of which I see on a daily basis and all eager to hear what Mayor Abernathy has to say.
“Are you nervous?” I ask as I look up at Finn, who’s subtly gnawing on his bottom lip. I mentally smack my wrist for the dirty thoughts that fester at the sight.
Finn nods, cuffing his sleeves around his elbows and exposing his forearms.
“Is it that obvious?” He jokes. Even in stressful moments such as this, I appreciate his ability to try to keep things light. That quality is probably one of the things that makes him such a great mayor.
“Not at all,” I tease, grabbing his hand that had begun to rub anxiously at his chin and holding it in my own.
“Public speaking has never been one of my strong suits, but unfortunately, it comes with the territory. I’ll meet you right here after I’m done.” He kisses the back of my hand before leaving me to take his place in front of the group. I nestle in amongst the locals, curious as to what needs to be addressed today.
“Hi folks, thank you all for being here today. Without further ado, let’s get into it.” Finn’s greeting is short and to the point but he makes intentional eye contact with as many people as he can.
“As always, I want to remain completely transparent and honest with you all, despite the upsetting nature of what I have to address today. The town budget is looking very tight for this quarter.”
The group immediately begins to mummer and whisper amongst themselves and I see a few people shaking their heads. I know Finn sees it too based on the upset look that he swallows down quickly.
“There is some silver lining, however. Tourist season is fast approaching so let’s be ready for that and be on our A games. We also have a few upcoming events to look forward to that I am confident will drive some folks and revenue into Havenwood. Starr and Soul will be holding their concert in the park on Halloween night and Ms. Courtney Berrycloth has taken over the old floral shop to open her new book store, Courtney’s Cover To Cover.”
My cheeks light up red as Finn mentions my name and I try not to acknowledge the faces that turn to look at me. Finn plasters a hopeful smile on his face as he opens the floor up to questions. One hesitant hand raises, belonging to an older gentleman close to his seventies.
“How long’ve we got, Finn?” The old man asks in earnest, his face concerned and sad but extremely tired. Finn examines his shoes before looking back into the faces of the crowd, furrowing his brow he says, “A year. At most.”
His answer hushes an already silent crowd but a buzz of uneasy energy can be felt as dozens of citizens begin to face the reality of Havenwood’s situation. Even the children, too young to comprehend the severity of Finn’s words, stay silent, sensing the tender ambiance. I swear I even see a woman shed a tear but I don’t fault her, this is my first time hearing this news as well and I’m not composing myself much better than she is.
The reality is crashing down on me that I might not have the choice to call Havenwood home at all if Havenwood is no more than abandoned buildings and littered streets, all of its residents displaced into nearby towns and cities. Finn has been doing all he can to save the town from financial ruin and it still isn’t enough. I always intended to find my own way to help Havenwood but it seems I’m running on borrowed time and that guidebook isn’t writing itself.
“Excuse me,” I repeat multiple as I make my way out of the back end of the crowd, my feet moving without my command. It’s time to do my part and I know where I need to start.