Chapter 20
Josh
The scents of cider, wood smoke, and kettle corn hit me before I even parked the truck a couple of hours ago.
Now, lanterns swung gently and hay particles floated in the chilly air, kicked up consistently by the crowds of people.
They were everywhere, playing games, enjoying the music on the town green, and eating all the delicious food.
Opal Lin had stopped by the hayride station earlier with a takeout container of butternut squash soup that may have actually changed my life. I had to promise her a special bottle of the late season Grade-D syrup from my personal stash, but I got a second bowl.
Year after year, I’d provided supplies for the maple festival, just like my dad did and his dad before him.
But I hadn’t actively participated in a town event since my mom died.
I’d thought it was best to keep my distance, that being here would only make her loss more painful, but I was beginning to see the benefits of active participation.
Mainly being in the proximity of the smiling redhead who was bundled up and controlling the chaos with me.
Celine was in her element, energized and laughing while keeping everyone in line. She loaded the riders, checked wristbands, managed the kids, and chatted easily with parents.
We each had a radio, allowing us to communicate easily over the tractor engine.
Once she gave me the go-ahead, I pulled out with a fresh wagon full of shrieking kids and parents sipping hot cider spiked with maple whiskey.
“Tractor One,” Celine said less than a minute later. “This group is heavy on tourists.”
“Copy Tractor Command,” I replied. “Any special instructions?”
“Don’t scare them. Maybe attempt a smile?”
I huffed. “I don’t scare people.”
“Debatable. Do your best.”
“Copy,” I said, struggling to suppress a laugh. “Will attempt friendly.”
“Don’t injure yourself. We still need you to drive. Over.”
The wagons were lit up with string lights, and Celine had created a family-friendly spooky soundtrack that played through a Bluetooth speaker as we made the twenty-five-minute loop around the town square and out toward the falls.
Along the way, kids oohed and aahed at the decorations and the teens snapped selfies.
Driving the tractor was an easy gig. The festival shut down most of the main roads, and Nolan had his officers set up barricades to keep any rogue vehicles from ending up on the route.
I’d have to wait for Gabe’s report, but the festival seemed busy, with tourists everywhere, wait times at all the restaurants, and vast crowds at the concert this afternoon. With any luck, this would be the economic boost the town had been looking for since Will’s murder.
After unloading this set of riders, I spotted Celine and gave myself a moment to take her in. She wore layers to keep warm, and her navy blue knit hat made her eyes sparkle.
“Tractor One,” she hollered like she was trying to get my attention.
She already had it, but if she didn’t know that, then at least I was doing a semi decent job of hiding the way I couldn’t stop watching her.
“Got you a present.” She strode over and held up a cardboard cup. “Cider.”
I reached out a gloved hand. “It’s not spiked, is it? I’ve got to drive.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Virgin cider for you Tractor One.”
When I took it from her and our hands brushed, my body fizzled with the contact, regardless of the gloves. “Thank you, Tractor Command.”
With a bright smile, she headed for the next group of riders, redirecting anxious kids and anticipating issues. She adjusted the blankets and pulled out the stepstool to help people into the wagon. She moved with purpose, threading through the chaos and managing the mayhem with calm and kindness.
She had to be one hell of a teacher.
“You missed your calling,” I told her when she stepped away from the group.
She looked at me over her clipboard. “What? festival planning?”
I shook my head. “No. Command. Logistics. You’re great at being in charge.”
Her face flushed, a tell I was beginning to both recognize and enjoy. Quickly, she looked away, busying herself with wristbands.
“Josh,” a voice called, snagging my attention.
Logan was waiting in line, beanie askew and his Carhartt jacket zipped all the way up to his chin suspiciously. His five-year-old niece stood next to him, arms crossed and unimpressed.
“Hey, Rosie.”
In greeting, she said, “My uncle brought a raccoon.”
More than one person nearby gasped and Logan glared at her.
“No wildlife on the hayride,” I said.
He sighed, like he really thought he’d get away with it. Next to him, Rosie caught sight of Celine and waved frantically, making me wonder if she was in her class at school.
“Please tell me you didn’t bring a raccoon,” I said.
Logan slowly unzipped his jacket, and a tiny masked face poked out.
“Ew, gross,” Celine said, suddenly beside us, her clipboard still at the ready. “Absolutely not. No. Get that thing out of here. It probably has rabies.”
He gasped and covered the raccoon’s ears, his brow furrowing. “How dare you. He can hear you, you know?”
“Miss LeBlanc,” Rosie said primly, hands clasped. “This is my Uncle Logan. He always carries animals around. My mom says that’s why he can’t get a girlfriend.”
With his head tipped back, my buddy groaned.
“Can we please just ride?” she pleaded. “We’ve been waiting forever.”
Celine looked at me, indecision in her expression, likely fighting the instincts that came with being a teacher, the organizer of this activity, and just a plain old responsible adult.
With a shrug, I wandered to the tractor. I was cold and tired, and honestly, a raccoon on a hayride was fairly tame by Maplewood standards.
“Fine,” Celine muttered. “But if he bites anyone, I’m calling animal control.”
Logan beamed.
“It’s okay,” Rosie said solemnly. “Uncle Logan almost never bites.”
As I climbed up into the tractor, a laugh burst out of me with so much force I nearly lost my footing and tumbled to the ground.
The night wound down a little after nine. Most of the families had gone home, so with any luck, we could call it a night. Getting the equipment home and put away would take hours.
“One more ride,” Celine said, gesturing to a group waiting.
“I thought we closed at nine.” I walked toward them, squinting. With the lights behind them, it was difficult to make out their faces.
I was about ten feet away when I realized who they were. The Maple Street Mafia. Bundled up and in high spirits, probably after hitting the maple whiskey.
They piled into the hayride like they owned it, Bitsy claiming the bench directly behind me immediately. Olive Foster followed, giving me a saucy wink. Mavis came next, along with Gail, Lorna, and finally Marigold, with her walker, which was decorated with colorful fall foliage.
“Do you mind if I ride too?” Celine asked them. “Since we’re done for the night?”
She sat near the front of the wagon with the ladies, near the small space heater. When the music started, Bitsy fussed, saying she couldn’t keep up with the conversation, so Celine clicked it off.
“Now Celine, dear,” the woman said as I pulled out onto Main Street. The tractor was loud, but I could make out most of her words. “We’ve all been talking, and we want to help you.”
My spine went rigid. Favors from the Maple Street Mafia always came with strings.
“Help with what?” Celine asked, her tone friendly but guarded.
I glanced over my shoulder and caught her eye.
“Why, with your romantic prospects,” Olive shrieked.
Okay, she had definitely been hitting the maple whiskey.
When her words registered, I missed the clutch. And the tractor lurched, stalling out.
Shit.
Everyone bounced.
“Joshua Lawrence,” Bitsy hissed. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry,” I said, my muscles locking up. “Big stick in the road.”
There was no stick, but it was the best I could come up with.
I started the engine again and got back to my route.
“We thought we’d set you up with Tom Walters.”
“No,” Celine said firmly.
My jaw clenched.
“Why not?” Mavis prodded. “He’s got a boat.”
“I don’t want a boat,” Celine said.
I peeked back, noting the pink in her cheeks. God, their meddling was out of control. This was why I stayed away.
“He’s emotionally available too,” Olive said. “And has all his hair.”
I hit the brake too hard, and we all jolted forward.
“Joshua,” Bitsy barked. “I’m too old to be rattled like this.”
“Bumpy road,” I muttered.
“It’s paved,” Mavis groused.
“You okay up there, Tractor One?” Celine asked.
“Peachy, Tractor Command.”
“Anyway,” Bitsy went on. “Tom is divorced and he composts. Did we tell you that?”
I turned around in my seat and glared. “Hayrides are not for matchmaking.”
A massive grin spread across Olive’s wrinkled face. “Did you hear that, girls? Joshua, sweetheart, are you feeling territorial?”
As the women burst into a fit of giggles, I turned back, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles were white.
“Just responsible,” I said lamely. “For the tractor and the hayride.”
“I am not interested,” Celine said firmly.
Bitsy sniffed. “Well, if not Tom, there’s always—”
“No,” Celine and I said at the same time.
Silence.
Then the old ladies fell into laughter again.
“Please,” Celine said, her tone pleading. “Stop matchmaking. I do not want to date anyone.”
“Fine.” Olive snorted. “But only because I worry if we don’t stop this, Josh will drive us over the Falls.”
“I will not,” I snapped.
“Sure,” Mavis said. “And thank you for confirming our suspicions.”
She cackled, the sound making me wince, and the others joined in. Shit. I’d just made things so much worse.
I managed to dispatch the Mafia without too much more trouble and was getting the tractor onto its trailer when Celine appeared. Her scarf was pulled up over her neck and mouth, and her cheeks were pink from the cold.
“Did you have fun?”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on mine.
“You did this,” I said quietly. “You made this magic happen.”
Her smile was small but real. “So did you.”
I assessed her for a moment too long. I hadn’t looked at a woman like this in years. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever had such strong feelings. It was too much.
This day had been long and busy and emotionally overloading.
Memories of my parents popped up randomly, slicing into my heart while also making me smile.
The friendly faces were all so familiar and the Maplewood traditions were just as important as they were years ago.
My parents loved this place and these people.
But I hadn’t come here today for my parents. And I hadn’t done it for the town.
I’d done it for her.
The realization hit me hard. Attraction, I could handle. But this, whatever it was, was big and unwieldy and hard to define. Care and curiosity and an ache inside the deepest parts of me.
I’d left my life in New York to live quietly on the farm. To take care of the land and provide my family with financial security. And for years, I’d done it. I’d mostly kept to myself, keeping my heart safe in the process.
But Celine had broken me out. She’d forced me to physically and emotionally leave the farm. To be a part of something again.
And I wasn’t sure I could ever go back.