3. Chapter Three
“Whoa there, Hazel, not so high!” I chuckle, steadying the ladder as Asher’s daughter reaches for an apple just beyond her grasp. Minus her sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, she reminds me so much of Gemma at that age.
“Got it, Grandpa Henry!” Her voice is triumphant as she clutches the fruit in her hand.
“Great job, Hazlenut.” My heart swells with pride as I ruffle her hair, and moments like these make life feel a little less lonely.
As Hazel chatters about making the world’s biggest apple pie for her dad, a familiar figure catches my eye across the orchard. The sun bounces off waves of long black hair, and even from this distance, there’s something unmistakably comforting about her presence.
“Grandpa, look at this one!” Hazel’s voice fades into the background as I focus on the woman now turning to face my direction. Is that…?
It’s Rose.
A rush of adrenaline washes over me.
“Rose Taylor,” I say under my breath—only she’s Rose Thatcher now. I hear she occasionally visits her folks, but after Camille and I got married and Rose moved away to college, we lost touch.
A basket of apples hangs from her arm, and I notice she’s chatting with someone on her cell phone. She’s probably closing some big, fancy deal. She always said she was going to make it big one day. I hear she even runs her own company in Dallas.
“Grandpa, are you okay?” The sound of Hazel’s voice tugs me back to reality.
“Never better, kiddo.” My smile widens as I watch Rose laugh at something, her head thrown back in carefree abandon. How long has it been since I heard that laugh?
“What are you looking at?” Hazel follows my gaze with curious eyes.
“Just an old friend,” I say, feeling the years slip away just like that—one glance, and I’m back in high school, the class clown vying for one more laugh from his childhood best friend.
“She has pretty hair. Are you going to talk to her?” Hazel asks, tilting her head to the side.
“Maybe I will,” I reply, my heart flopping around in my chest like it just saw a ghost. It’s funny how life throws you curveballs. Just when you think you’ve had your share of surprises, along comes a blast from the past, strolling through her family’s apple orchard just like she did when we were kids.
“Let’s pick a few more apples first,” I suggest, trying to downplay how much of my attention remains anchored to Rose. Hazel hums in agreement.
“Race you to the next tree!” Hazel challenges, already darting toward the next bounty of apples.
“Hey, no fair, you got a head start!” I call out behind her, stealing one last glance at Rose before the chase is on, and I’m hot on Hazel’s heels.
“Hey!” Hazel giggles in protest as I scoop her up and pretend to juggle her like a ripe piece of fruit. My heart is still racing, but now, for different reasons.
“Alright, Hazelnut,” I say, setting her down with a grin. “How about you help Grandpa and put these apples in the basket so I can say hi to my friend?”
“Okay, Grandpa!” Hazel skips off with pigtails bouncing in her wake, freeing me to walk across the orchard. It’s a walk that feels a whole heck of a lot longer than it looks.
“Act casual, Henry. It’s just a stroll,” I mutter to myself. I run a hand down the front of my dusty flannel shirt to smooth out any wrinkles. The other runs through a thicket of hair that started going grey as soon as I hit my thirties. I should’ve worn a hat.
“Rose Taylor...” The name rolls off my tongue sweeter than molasses in the summertime. With each step, I steady myself, memories of Camille, high school dances, and all the double dates we used to go on flashing through my mind.
“Henry Carter, as I live and breathe.” Her smile is just as warm and bright as I remember when she looks up. “It’s been ages.”
“Sure has.” I shove my hands deep into my pockets to keep them from shaking. “Never thought I’d run into you today.”
“Surprise,” she says. Her voice is soft but clear.
“Tell me about it.” I let my gaze linger just a second too long. Have her eyes always been this blue, or is it just the sunlight playing tricks?
“Is she with you?” Rose nods toward Hazel, who dutifully puts apples in the basket, oblivious to our exchange.
“Sure is. My little Hazelnut,” I say, puffing out my chest with pride. “My daughter Gemma got married last Spring. Hazel’s her stepdaughter.”
“Seems like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Rose teases.
“Guess not.” I rock back on my heels, feeling that old spark of friendship begin to flicker. “So, how have you been?”
“Good, Henry. Good.” She brushes her hair over her shoulder, and I notice how gracefully she’s aged.
“Good to hear,” I reply, hoping my smile doesn’t look as goofy as it feels. “And trust me, it’s better than good seeing you again. It’s been too long.”
I lean against the old wooden fence that separates the orchard from the main road and watch Hazel chase a runaway apple with a lazy smile. “What brings you back to Sugar Plum? Just here for a visit?”
Rose’s eyes dart away from mine like she’s searching for an answer in the branches overhead. “Oh, you know, just taking a breather from all the big city hustle. And it’s always nice making time to see my folks. It’s not like they’re getting any younger.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I nod. Frank and Jane Taylor are household names around Sugar Plum. We’ve all bought jars of Jane’s famous apple butter or had Frank invite us to go apple picking in his orchard at least once. “Family and fresh air have a way of setting things right.”
“It’s been nice slowing down,” she nods in agreement. “Dallas is great, but there’s no place like home.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re home.” I try to sound welcoming, but on the inside, I’m wrestling with questions that feel too personal to ask. Why isn’t her husband out here picking apples with her? Is she here by herself?
Her eyes catch mine for a fleeting moment, and an untold story swims below their surface.
I force my gaze away, focusing on how the sunlight shines through the trees instead. It’s easier than trying not to stare at Rose and how her eyes light up every time she smiles.
“Looks like you haven’t changed one bit.” The air between us crackles with something I can’t put my finger on but feels dangerously close to the line where friendships blur into something more. If she weren’t married, of course.
“Ah ha,” she says, laughing. “Flattery will get you far, Carter, but we both know that time spares no one.”
“Perhaps not,” I admit with a shrug. “But you know what they say. Some things get better with age. Kind of like a fine wine.” Using Gemma’s analogy on Rose feels clumsy at best, but it earns me another smile, so I count it as a win.
“Oh, is that so?” she says. Her eyes remind me of days when life was simple, and our biggest worry was what flavor milkshake to order at the diner—even though we ordered the same thing every time.
“Absolutely.” I reach up, pluck an apple from the nearest tree, then hand it to her. “But don’t take my word for it.”
She accepts it, and our fingers brush with a jolt of electricity that I wonder if she feels, too.
“Thanks, Carter,” she says. Her voice is sweet, and I tell myself it’s just the rustling leaves that make it sound so intimate.
“Anytime, Rose.” And I mean it. I would be there for her anytime, any place, just like I used to be. Even if it means taking a path lined with boundaries that I never thought I’d have to face.
She takes a bite of the apple, and I turn back to Hazel, who now triumphantly holds up her bounty as Rose and I stroll along, reminiscing on the good old days.
“Remember the Great Pie Heist of ’92?” I say, thinking back to our sophomore year in high school.
Her reply comes easy. “How could I forget? Camille was the mastermind, but you were the one who almost dropped the pie!”
My chest swells at the sound of her infectious laughter. It’s been too long since I’ve heard it. “Guilty as charged,” I admit with a mock solemn expression. “But let’s be honest, it was worth it for a slice of Mrs. Thompson’s peach pie.”
“Definitely worth it.” She grins, and there’s a spark of the same shy girl I’ve known since kindergarten.
“And judging by the look on your face when Principal Harris caught us... I thought you were going to faint on the spot.”
“Me? Faint?” she says. “I’ll have you know I was ready to talk us out of that mess. You were the one who couldn’t stop laughing!”
“Yeah, not my finest moment,” I concede with a chuckle. “May the Carter roar forever live in infamy. I still haven’t figured out how to reel it back once I get going. Must be a nervous tic or something.”
“Hey, it got us out of detention, didn’t it? You laughed so hard even Principal Harris couldn’t keep a straight face.”
She’s right about that. If I had a superpower, it would be my ability to find humor in just about anything. “Guess some things never change,” I say with a lopsided grin.
“True.” Her eyes dance with nostalgia. “Those were some good times, weren’t they?”
“The best.” Rose looks up at me, and I feel a familiar tug of something pulling at my heart. It’s like we’re back in high school, young and carefree, without the weight of years and loss between us.
“Who would’ve thought we’d end up here, picking apples and strolling down memory lane in our forties?” I ask, not ready to let go of the moment.
“Life is funny that way,” she says wistfully. “It’s strange not having Camille here with us.”
The mention of her name brings a bittersweet ache to my heart, and I feel it beat a little slower. “Yeah, she loved this orchard more than anything. It wasn’t the same after you left for college. She missed you something fierce, Rose. We both did.”
Rose’s gaze meets mine again, but there’s sadness behind her eyes this time. “I missed y’all, too. More than words can express.”
We stop somewhere near the middle of the orchard, and I take in all the sounds. The breeze rattling the branches and the occasional chirp of a bird. They’re the same sounds that once bound us all together. It’s funny how life can change so much, yet some connections never fade.
“Camille was... she was one of a kind,” I manage to say, the words thick as they hang in the air. “It’s hard to believe it’s been fourteen years.”
“Fourteen years,” Rose echoes the words with a long sigh, and there’s a sudden comfort in acknowledging it together.
“Seems like only yesterday we were all sneaking out to watch the stars and dreaming about the future.” I give myself permission to get swept up in the current of our conversation. Talking about her with Rose feels so natural. It’s a stark contrast to the emotions that usually surface when someone tries to talk to me about my wife.
“Those dreams seemed so big back then,” she says. “Funny how things manifest in ways you’d never expect.”
“Like me and Camille taking over the ranch,” I offer with a half-smile “Then me having to run it by myself.”
“Sounds like you’ve done an amazing job, Henry. Camille would be proud.” Her words are careful but genuine.
“Thanks, Rose.” I let her compliment wrap around my heart and squeeze a little life back into it. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
“I know I haven’t been around, but not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, Henry. You know that, right?” Her sincerity shines through, as natural and palpable as the sun warming our faces.
“Right back at you,” I say, but not for the sake of being polite. Rose and I have a bond. Apparently, one strong enough to stand the test of time. And heck, who knows? If I can feel this happy being around an old friend, maybe it’s enough to get me excited about dating again.
“Speaking of proud,” I chuckle, nudging a fallen apple with my boot, “I bet Hazel’s going to win that pie-eating contest at the fair this weekend. I don’t know how long you plan on sticking around, but maybe I’ll see you there?”
I notice a shift in Rose’s expression, and her tone becomes serious. “Oh—I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. As much as I hate to miss Summer Fest, I’m swamped with work. I’ll think about it, though.”
I give a solemn nod. Rose telling me she might not come to the town fair bums me out, but I understand. She must be busy taking a week off to visit the family.
I notice the afternoon sun dipping lower in the sky, and I guess our perfect moment can’t last forever. She’ll go her way, and I’ll go mine. But for some reason, the thought of not seeing her again squeezes at my chest more than it should.
My voice is uncharacteristically hesitant. “Hey, Rose?”
“Yes, Henry?” She tilts her head, her eyes curious.
“Would you... I mean, if you’re not too busy...” I clear my throat, fumbling over my words like a teenager asking out a crush. “Would you like to grab dinner one night? While you’re still in town, I mean.”
Her smile pauses, just for a heartbeat, and she looks at me with an unreadable expression. My stomach does a nervous flip. Did I just cross an invisible line?
“Oh, gosh. I don’t know, Henry,” she says with a conflicted look. “I’m sorry, Rose. I know you’re married and all. I hope I didn’t offend you by asking.”
“No, not at all. I’ve just been so swamped with work. Dinner sounds... nice.”
“Great!” I say, relief washing over me. “It’s a date then. I mean—not a date, date. Just two friends...“ I trail off, realizing I’m rambling.
“Two friends having dinner,” she says, still smiling. And somehow, that simple agreement feels like a second lease on life.
We say our goodbyes, and I can’t hide my smile as I watch Rose walk back to the house.
Henry Carter, you old dog, you’ve still got it.I chuckle at the thought. And yes, I know it’s just Rose and that I’d be happy watching paint dry as long as she’s around, but it’s been years since I’ve felt this excited about spending time with someone other than Larry, and that’s only because he’s more lousy at poker than I am.
Hazel tugs at my sleeve, her hands sticky with apple juice. “Grandpa Henry, did she used to be your girlfriend?” she asks, her big eyes filled with innocence.
“Not quite,” I say with a chuckle. “That, my dear, is my old friend, Rose. She used to be best friends with me and Camille. Camille was Gemma’s mom, remember?“ Saying her name out loud so many times in one day hits my heart. Only today, it’s not so painful.
“Are you going to see her again?” The question is simple, but I feel a light turn on somewhere deep inside me.
“I hope so, Hazelnut.” The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. This chance encounter with Rose could be the very thing I need to ease myself back into the saddle.
***
After Gemma and Asher swing by the house to pick up Hazel, I find myself alone on the front porch, the wooden swing creaking beneath me. A cool breeze carries the sweet scent of honeysuckle, which makes the constant smell of fertilizer in Sugar Plum’s air a little more tolerable. I take a moment to appreciate my peaceful surroundings.
I try to enjoy the moment, but my thoughts are restless, wandering to Rose and the life she’s led away from Sugar Plum. How come she never moved back after college? And what about her husband—Jace, I think it was?
I saw the two of them together in town years back. I was having coffee with Larry when I learned the two had just come from Vegas and were in town to tell her parents she got married. I’ll admit, the news shocked me. It wasn’t like Rose at all. She hated Vegas. She always said it was for fools looking to waste their hard-earned money, so why would she’d go there to elope.
I never understood why a woman as genuine and kind-hearted as her would ever want a playboy like him, but I do know one thing…
Whoever hurt her in the past really must have done a number.