More than First Love (Wixby River Farms #1)

CHAPTER ONE

Edward

Heat waves shimmered off the sidewalks as I walked through the outdoor portion of the famous city market in downtown Charleston, South Carolina.

I was about to meet up with a major vendor who was considering carrying fruit from my orchards, and I was more than a little nervous.

If I signed a contract with Garrison Hart, his company, Hart Family Farmers Market, would become my biggest client.

As I walked along the waterfront, the displays of Gullah culture, especially the sweetgrass baskets for sale, drew my eye and provided a nice distraction for my nerves.

Before I left town, I wanted to buy my mother a couple of the baskets.

I was sure they were unlike anything she’d ever had.

And of course I’d be visiting some of the candy stores.

The window displays were too enticing to pass up—I’d definitely be making a return visit.

I eyed my watch. If I had more time, I’d stop in now to grab a box of fudge and some pralines or benne wafers.

But I had to hurry. I didn’t want to be late. I knew I needed to make a good impression. As the largest gourmet grocery chain in the state of South Carolina, the Hart Family Farmers Market account was too important to cut things close just for a fix for my sweet tooth.

I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead.

God, it was hot. It was making me re-think my long-sleeved button down and tie.

I was used to heat, since I was born and raised in Georgia, but I hadn’t anticipated having to walk so far to get to my prospective vendor.

All available parking had been blocks away from the main market thoroughfare, and the sun was blazing down on me.

Finally, I reached the Hart Family Farmers Market stall.

It was strange to see Garrison Hart here, but he’d insisted this was where he wanted to meet.

His grocery stores could be found throughout South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia, and rumor had it that he expected to expand throughout the entire Southeast soon.

This stall was just one place out of many he could have chosen to meet me.

I had assumed someone so successful would want to meet in an air-conditioned office downtown.

I was wrong.

“There he is!” His big voice boomed out. I’d only ever heard it over the phone. I’d thought it was loud and overwhelming then, but that was nothing compared to experiencing it in person. “How ya like this heat?” he laughed.

I grinned, perplexed. “You know I’m from Georgia, right?”

“Yeah, but this ain’t Georgia heat. This here is South Carolina heat. Didn’t know if a city boy like you could handle it!” His booming laugh filled the air again.

City boy? What the hell? I refrained from pointing out that Wixby wasn’t that much bigger than Charleston. Maybe he thought I was from Atlanta?

“Well, it’s great to meet you in person, sir.

” I placed a basket on his table with some fruit from Ashton Orchards, the orchards that had been in my family for generations.

The orchards I’d been completely in charge of since the age of eighteen.

“I brought some of our wares for you to try at your leisure.”

“Cut all the fancy talk and tell me why I should carry your fruit, boy.” Gone was the affable, friendly guy I’d just been talking to.

He was suddenly a deadly serious businessman, staring at me with dark eyes.

They were a little off-putting. They were such a dark brown it was hard to see where his iris ended and his pupil started. Kind of like a shark.

My mind went blank for a second, and then I regrouped.

“Because it’s damn good, sir. I believe it’s the best there is.

We’re also always working on hybrids, coming up with new varieties of apples and peaches, sweeter oranges and strawberries, and bigger blueberries.

We’re one of the largest producers of pecans in the state.

We work hard to stay on the cusp of new trends… ”

“Yeah, that’s enough, son.” He crunched into one of the apples from my basket. “You had me at ‘it’s damn good’. I’ll carry your fruits and nuts. I was always interested, but I couldn’t stand your old man. No offense, but he was a real bastard.”

My mouth fell open a little at his honesty. “You’re not wrong, sir,” I finally said, and he burst out laughing.

I grinned. I’d gotten a lot of new accounts since I’d taken over after Dad passed away. I had always wondered if it was because he’d been so unlikable. Garrison Hart’s brutally honest opinion seemed to back that theory up.

It certainly hadn’t been my business sense.

When I’d been forced to take over, I’d known next to nothing.

Almost all of my training had come after I’d been thrust into the position of owning the whole operation.

It had been sink or swim, and, thank goodness, with the help of a few great people, I’d managed not to drown.

“How we gonna celebrate, son?” He slapped me on the back with his massive hand, and I almost fell over his stand.

I was a big guy, but Garrison Hart was massive.

It wasn’t his height. I was six-three, and he seemed to be around the same.

It was his girth and how muscular he was.

He wasn’t exactly fat, but he wasn’t lean, either.

He was actually a scary-looking dude. He didn’t look like a successful family grocer.

He looked more like a mafia don or some guy you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night.

He had a pleasant smile, though. Commercials for Hart Family Farmers Market definitely portrayed him as a family friendly, jovial, and down-to-earth kind of guy.

I wasn’t sure that was the truth, but I still wanted his business. “Let me take you to dinner tonight, sir.”

“Nah. I’ll take you to dinner. At my house.

I got the best damn chef in all of Charleston, and that’s saying something ‘cause the food around here is… mwah!” he made a chef’s kiss motion.

“In fact, we’re throwing a fancy party. You’ll get to sample lots of his hors d’oeuvres. But first we’re going to the ballet.”

I paused, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. Just the word ‘ballet’ brought up so many memories and emotions.

I had loved a ballet dancer once.

And I’d never gotten over her.

An image of Cara Hargrave flashed through my mind.

I hadn’t seen her in… at least six years.

Not since the summer we were both nineteen.

The summer we’d broken each other’s hearts.

The things that happened between us back then should have been a distant memory by now, but I still recalled every detail vividly.

And I still dreamed about her. Sometimes I wondered if I always would.

I felt Garrison’s dark eyes on me, and I did my best to push thoughts of the past aside and focus on the man in front of me.

“The ballet?” My voice sounded husky, like I needed to cough. I cleared my throat.

“Hell, yeah, the ballet! You got a problem watching beautiful girls dance around in skimpy outfits?”

“Um, no.” No, I definitely did not. But I was confused. This guy looked as much like the type of person who goes to a ballet as I looked like a synchronized swimmer.

“You got a tux with you?”

I stared at him. “No, sir, I didn’t pack one.” Why the hell would I need a tuxedo to sell fruit to a vendor in South Carolina? Or anywhere? I always packed a suit when I traveled, but I’d had to wear it a total of zero times.

He looked me up and down. “You’re about the size of my son, Monty. He’ll lend you one of his tuxes.”

“This is for tonight?” I looked at my watch. It was already four o’clock.

“Yep. Let’s blow this pop stand.” He put a ‘closed’ sign up on his stand and walked out.

He called over his shoulder for the few employees working the stall to lock up and go home early.

Then he plopped a wide-brimmed hat on his head and started walking quickly towards the road.

I hurried to catch up. A Mercedes Maybach was waiting, a man in an expensive suit already standing and holding the door open for Garrison.

I stood for a minute, unsure of what to do. I would rather follow him in my own car. Or just go out to a nice restaurant like normal people conducting a business deal.

“Well, get in, son. I ain’t got all day. We got places to be!”

I hurried into the car. “Where are we going?” I asked as soon as I’d gotten settled and fastened my seatbelt.

“Home. Where you stayin’?”

“The Renaissance.”

He lowered the glass between us and the driver. “Harvey, drive by the Renaissance on our way.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hart.”

He didn’t raise the glass back up. I wasn’t surprised. He didn’t seem like the type that would hide much from his driver. Or security guard. I couldn’t tell which he was, so he probably served both functions.

“Change of plans, son. You’re staying with me.” The way he said it was as if it was a foregone conclusion. “I’ll have someone bring your car by the house if you’ll give me your keys.”

I didn’t really want to give him my keys. Not that I thought he was going to steal my car or anything, but it was just… weird. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Hart, but the Renaissance is very nice…”

“You’ll stay with us.”

I was taken aback by him hijacking my plans, but I tried not to show it. I didn’t want to jeopardize the contract.