Chapter 15 #2
“She’d love that. She’s going stir crazy. I made her go to the doctor about her knee, and she’s under orders to keep it elevated.”
I cringed. “She must hate that.”
“More than anything. If I had to guess, she’s probably taken advantage of my absence to disobey those orders. Come on. I’ll drive you back up to the house.”
James led the way into the house a couple minutes later, and sure enough, May was in the kitchen.
“Don’t you scold me, young man,” she said preemptively. “I don’t take orders from people whose diapers I changed.”
“Or anyone else.” James kissed her on the cheek.
She smiled, and her gaze went to me. “How are you, darlin’?”
“I’m doing great, Mrs. Carver. Do you have a minute to chat?”
She smiled. “If it were up to this young man”—she swatted him with a dish towel—“all I’d have are minutes to chat. Let me just get us some tea and a little somethin’ to snack on.” She limped toward the fridge, but James stopped her.
“I’ll get it, Mama. Go put your leg up like the doctor told you to. You didn’t change his diapers, I assume.”
May muttered something about bullying but accepted the arm I offered for the short walk to the living room.
For the next hour, we discussed packaging for the baked goods, sipping on tea and eating biscuits. I wanted to be sure the packaging reflected Carver Farm, while May insisted I was the mastermind behind it all and should have full control over the presentation.
She was a stubborn woman, but eventually, I coaxed enough of a vision from her to work off of. She insisted on ordering the base components, while I agreed to make the logo and have the stickers printed on a rush order.
I’d promised a couple of businesses to get them product by the end of this week, which would just barely be possible if I got the stickers ordered tonight.
The Harvest Festival was in less than two weeks, which was where we’d have the best opportunity for sales.
The farm would be accepting their first tours of the season soon, as well.
May insisted she would be recovered enough to lead them, but James and I shared a skeptical glance that she missed while she poured herself more tea.
I headed down to the sugar shack afterward, feeling a combination of exhaustion and anticipation for the coming weeks. Today, I was making more maple blondies, but I’d be trying a couple different syrup variations to see which worked best.
I whipped up three different batches and got them in the oven, then looked over the mess I’d made. I needed a minute before attacking the dirty dishes, so I sat down at the table, chin on my hand, and googled some logos for inspiration.
“Sadie.”
I stirred, then winced at a pain in my neck.
“Sadie.”
My eyelids felt like they’d been turned into sandbags, but I forced them to lift, revealing nothing but blobs of blurriness. There was warmth on my back, and it lowered slightly as my eyes began to focus.
James’s fuzzy face hovered in my vision, sending a jolt of surprise through me that seemed to lift the sandbags and clear my vision.
“You dozed off,” he said, looking at me with a little furrow on his brow.
I raised my head, my eyes scanning the room to make sense of where I was, but my bangs obscured my vision.
James swept them off my forehead with a gentle brush of his fingers.
I stared at him in surprise, my pulse somersaulting even in my half-conscious state.
He looked almost as surprised as me, then stood.
The warmth on my back disappeared, and I realized it had been his hand.
I looked around at my surroundings. I was in the sugar shack kitchen.
I breathed in and cringed at the acrid smell.
And then it hit me.
I jolted to my feet.
“I took them out,” James said as I went over to the oven.
Beside it were three pans of maple bars that looked more like brownies, dark and charred.
I let my head fall back and shut my eyes. “Ugh.”
“Sadie.”
I breathed out and turned to look at him.
The same concern was in his eyes and etched on his brow. “You need a break.”
“I just took one,” I said, gesturing at my spot at the table. My phone was upside down. I must have dozed off while looking at logos.
“A real break. How much sleep have you been getting?”
I turned and looked at the results of my labors. “About three charred trays of maple bars worth.”
“I’m serious.”
He sounded serious.
“I’m fine.” I met his eye, willing him to believe me.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Have to? I want to. Am I busy? Sure. Could I use a spa day? Maybe. I may take one after the festival’s over.” Lies. I could afford about thirty seconds of a massage. “I need this project, James.”
He grimaced.
“Besides, I have some time off this weekend. Morgan is getting the hang of things, and Mrs. Keller wants her to handle more on her own, so I won’t even be at the bakery after I finish on Saturday.”
“And will you be using that time off to work here?”
I didn’t answer.
“I can’t let you run yourself into the ground.”
He was being so considerate, which was why the flash of annoyance I felt made no sense.
He held my gaze. “Promise me you’ll take at least eighteen hours off of anything to do with the bakery or the farm.”
Eighteen hours?! Did this man have any idea what I could do with eighteen hours?
I could burn a dozen batches of maple bars.
His gaze was unrelenting. “I can force you to take the eighteen hours off if you want to do this the hard way.”
I scoffed. “What are you going to do? Kidnap me?”
His gaze held mine.
I retreated slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
He still didn’t respond, but his expression said try me.
Would he really do that, just to get me to rest? I kind of thought he might. May would probably act as an accomplice too. James would carry me into their house and lay me down on the bed while May forced sweet tea and biscuits on me.
“Twelve hours,” I said.
He shook his head. “Sixteen. Final offer.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You really are a bully.”
He was unfazed. “Do we have a deal?”
I let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. But I really am okay. Those, however”—I looked at the maple bars—“are not.”
“You never know until you try.”
I snorted. “Until you try. Or hey, maybe a nice layer of charring is just what we need to set these things apart. They need something. Right?”
“They’re very good—not these, I mean. The normal ones. But yes, I think they need a Sadie signature.”
I agreed. They needed to stand out somehow. But first, I needed to get the foundation right—decide which maple worked best. Which meant redoing all the work I’d just done.
Just the thought made me feel like maybe James carrying me inside and laying me down on the bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all.