Chapter 8 Ryder #2
When I watched Eve Harper fly into that very first town council meeting, I told myself I’d get her on my side. I would make this a project that she wouldn’t just tolerate, but one that she supports. It was never my goal to put up ugly apartments—as she calls them—looming over her sunflower fields.
I never set out to hurt anyone, whether they deserve it or they’re just in my way.
Though this project isn’t typical by any means, I vowed to think of it in the same way I think of all of my projects—that it’s only successful if I make money, sure, but it’s only worth it if no one is sacrificed for that end goal.
She blinks, letting out a long breath before she takes another sip of her wine. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
“Well, there’s no reason to go all defeatist about it. It’s an opportunity. Ask me stuff. Make me question everything I thought I knew about the land next door.”
She takes another sip of her wine and rests it on the coffee table in front of us. “Tell me about your grandmother’s apple pie.”
My brain trips over itself trying to catch up to the swift change in topic. “My grandmother’s apple pie?”
She nods. “Yeah. The reason I ended up in the damn stream.”
I let out a small laugh, remembering the surprised look on her face before we collided. The way her arms flailed out before I could catch her. The sinking feeling in my gut when I realized I was too late.
“You don’t want to talk about the property next door?”
She shakes her head. “We’re wasting our time if we think going over plans together is going to change anything.
You’re only as good as your word and I have no idea how to judge your word because I don’t know you from any other big shot business owner who waltzes onto my farm.
” She pauses, watching my reaction to her words.
“So, tell me about your grandmother’s apple pie. ”
I bite my lip. I can feel in my bones that this is a test. The mention of my grandmother’s apple pie is what caused the whole stream fiasco in the first place, so I can only assume that it has an effect on her.
Maybe her grandmother made apple pie. Maybe she made apple pie with her grandmother.
Maybe she hates apple pie except for the one her grandmother made.
With an absurd number of possibilities running through my head, I find it impossible to figure out the right direction to take this.
Do I emphasize my relationship with my grandmother?
Probably not a bad idea. Apple pie specifically?
No clue. Baking with my grandmother? Probably not, because that’s not really something we did, and if this is the test I think it is, the worst thing I could possibly do is lie.
“She makes it for me twice a year. My birthday and Christmas,” I say, then continue, “I honestly think she’d love to make it for me more often—she offers every other time I see her—but I don’t need my grandmother’s kitchen becoming a sweatshop.”
Eve nods slowly, digesting this information, but doesn’t speak.
“It’s not like typical apple pie. Her crust is really thin—the crispy kind that you know is basically just butter”—Eve smiles, and I think for a second that I might have her—“and she does the whole filling herself, none of the goopy store-bought stuff. She does, like, almost full apples sliced really thin, and the filling she makes with chunks of the apples mixed with oats I think and apple sauce that she makes from scratch to be extra smooth and sweet.” I shake my head.
“I’m not even a pie guy, but I’ll eat a whole thing of hers given the chance. ”
Eve’s smile widens to a grin. “That sounds really amazing.”
I nod. “If I like you enough come Christmas, I will give you half a slice to try on your own.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Wow, you really want me on your side, huh?”
I can’t help the laugh that jumps from my throat as I take another sip of my wine. “Okay, I think I’m finally learning how to speak your language.”
“Took you long enough,” she says, reaching for her wine. “So you and your grandmother are close?”
I nod. “She lives across the street actually.”
Eve stops, wine glass halfway to her lips. “At the senior community?”
“Yeah. She loves it there. Pretty sure she’s the ringleader of a little grandmother gang.
Tons of friends, always getting into trouble, never listens to a word anyone says.
She just got her hips replaced and she’s running around like nothing ever happened.
” I let out a long breath. “She’s why I’m here, to tell you the truth. ”
She cocks her head to the side. “I can’t wait to see how you plan on spinning this.”
I roll my eyes. “Give me the benefit of the doubt for five seconds.”
She gives me a flat smile. “You’re still on my couch, aren’t you?”
I laugh. “Man, if this is giving someone the benefit of the doubt, I’d hate to see how you’d treat someone who’s already wronged you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I pause. “I wouldn’t?”
“See them. Again, at least.”
I snort as I shake my head. “They’d probably make good fertilizer.”
“’The darker the soul, the brighter the sunflower,’ I always say.”
“Is that what you’d call an inspirational farming quote?”
She shrugs. “Just a recipe. Regular water, full sun, pinch of soul. And voila, sunflower.”
“Some call it a sunflower farm, others call it a graveyard.”
She grins. “Better hold your breath.”
I can’t help but throw a smile right back at her. This girl is not all sunshine and daisies—sunflowers and daisies—like she presents to the world with her wide smiles and fierce defense of the sunflower farm. She’s funny. Quirky. Not scared of a little dirty work or a mental challenge.
I purse my lips, hoping my next words don’t get me in trouble.
“What you said earlier about not having a degree… I hope you don’t think that just because you didn’t go to college, you’re not capable of making this place successful.
You’re obviously a force to be reckoned with, and I’ve hired enough people in my life to know that that is not something that can be taught. ”
She blinks, then rolls her eyes. “I’m not catching it,” she says, taking another long sip of her wine.
“Catching it?”
She levels me with her gaze. “That bullshit you’re slinging.”
I open my mouth to continue, but she cuts me off before I have the chance to say anything.
“So your grandmother is the reason you’re here?”
I debate pressing her, but something tells me she’s not open to hearing it.
So instead, I go into the months-long saga that started with a fight with the town council over road work that never finishes and never progresses.
Reed’s silent manipulations and pointed looks that, over the span of weeks, guided me to the open land next to the sunflower farm.
His suggestions that “partnerships” are always welcome in this town.
It didn’t take me long to figure out Reed was asking for something, but it did take me a while to figure out what exactly that something was.
Once I fit the puzzle pieces together, the path forward was clear as day.
While buying up that property is quite a feat for most farmers in Sunflower Hill, it’s nothing for a guy who already owns a development company. A little extra paperwork and one more budget meeting to get the project rolling.
When I’m done explaining how the hell I ended up on her couch, Eve lets out a long breath. “Phew, Reed really got you good, huh?”
“Reed indeed got me good,” I say, finally admitting it to myself. I shake my head, considering my next statement carefully. I purse my lips before I speak. “My grandmother knew yours, back in the day.”
Eve’s eyebrows jump up. “She did?”
I nod. “Said you’re the spitting image of her.”
“Oh, do I know her?”
I shake my head. “No, she just saw a picture of you and knew in a second that Olivia was your grandmother.”
“She saw a picture of me?”
I swallow, resting my glass on the table because that wine must be going straight to my head. I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“When you were creeping on my Instagram?”
“I like to know what I’m up against.”
“Convenient excuse.”
“Why else would I be looking at your Instagram?”
She presses her lips together, her eyes on mine as she takes a sip.
And it is very clear to me that there is something more going on here.
Since the first day I saw her, when she was nothing but fire and brimstone in the town council meeting and I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t fuck with her sunflower farm.
From the moment she held her hand out to me and we crossed the stream together.
That half second when she was falling in and my heart jumped into my throat.
From the very beginning, all I wanted was a good working relationship with her to eliminate any issues with the community I’ll be building next door.
But now, I think I might just want her.