Chapter 3
Eric
Asher came in barefoot, grabbed a banana, and reached for the sugar like it owed him money.
“You were supposed to be at the south rows at five,” I said. “In shoes this time.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Chill, will you?”
He peeled a banana and leaned against the counter like the world would wait just for him.
Asher’s won championships in cages and rings across provinces, collected trophies that sit in his room gathering dust. He was strong, fast, and disciplined when it suited him. And gone the second the road called.
I want him here. Not because I need the help, I’ve learned how to carry that weight alone, but because the orchard deserves someone who belongs to it. Because, one day, I won’t be able to do all of this, and I don’t want it handed to a stranger.
Becket stepped in from the back stoop, cold riding his jacket. He set a folder on the table. “Festival week,” he said. “Everyone wants a barricade in front of their shop.”
I slid a sheet of graph paper over with a sketch of a rectangle, small porch, path down to the creek. “I’m thinking about building. The ridge.”
Becket nodded. “Tell Dad, I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. I am. Congrats, big brother. Proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I grinned.
“You want to move out already?” Asher joked..
It was nice living with my brothers, sister, and Dad growing up, but at twenty-six-years old I’d wanted a space of my own.
Dad came in, saw the drawing, and tapped the corner with one finger.
“Do it. Don’t starve the bakery or orchard while you build.
” He was already in police director mode and the sun had barely come up.
I appreciated how hard he worked for this town, but on some level it would have been nice to have him around more growing up.
“I won’t,” I assure. I wouldn’t want to let my family down.
“And tell your brothers yourself,” Dad added.
“Becket already okayed it,” I confirmed.
“I’m happy for him,” Asher said.
“Shouldn’t you be outside working?” Dad asked him, crooking his head to the side.
“On my way. I’m not here. You don’t see me,” Asher said as he slipped on his old pair of black Vans and headed outside.
“Tonight,” I assured to Dad. None of us were a talkative bunch in the morning.
If anything, mornings in the house were always very focused on what needed to be done that day, that month, that year.
My family liked order, control. Maybe because we felt like we lost it when Mom walked out the door and didn’t look back.
By nine I had already finished my work at the orchard and the Maple Valley bakery, and I was back at the bakery on Main Street. Maya ran the front. I rotated trays and kept the new kid from deciding “pale” and “done” were the same color.
Across the street, Petals and Pines opened on time. Sandy checked a clipboard. Harmony came down from the loft with a box on her hip. I kept my eyes on the timers. We weren’t on good terms. No reason to pretend.
“Coffee for the florist?” Maya asked.
“Two smalls, black,” I said, boxing two blueberry biscuits. “Take them over. I’m busy.”
I was not too busy. I just wasn’t going.
The bell chimed when Maya left and chimed again when she came back. “They said thanks,” she reported.
“Great,” I said, and moved a tray.
Five minutes later, Sandy stepped into the bakery with her clipboard. Harmony followed, carrying a box. We didn’t make eye contact.
“Quick thing,” Sandy said. “The festival security coordinator from the Community Trust wants to swing by later this week. Take a few crowd-flow photos, check sightlines for the new cameras. Says it’s routine.”
I stopped what I was doing. Just for a second.
“During business hours?” I asked.
“That’s what I told him,” Sandy replied. “He asked about after close. Said the lighting’s better.”
“No,” I said. Flat. “Business hours only.”
Harmony set the box on the counter a little harder than necessary. “We don’t need anyone wandering through after dark,” she added.
“Exactly,” I said. “Anything official goes through me or Becket. No drop-ins.”
Sandy nodded, already making a note. “I’ll pass it along.”
Harmony didn’t look at me when she turned to leave. “Thanks,” she said to the room, not to me.
“Anytime,” Maya chirped, filling the space she left behind.
They left. I set a timer and pretended it needed my full attention.
Harmony and I were being civil to each other.
We didn’t need to pretend everything was okay between us when it wasn’t.
Did the sight of her make memories flood my mind like a bad dream?
Maybe. Was she more beautiful today that it took my breath away?
Also maybe. None of that mattered anymore.
She came back for I don’t know what. . .
closure, to reconnect with her family, with Nico?
Nah, I doubted that last option. Harmony was better than her family always had been, and Nico never deserved her.
By late morning I ran back to the orchard.
I checked that irrigation was fine; two trees needed a hard prune but the early morning shift had done their job.
On the drive back to town, the radio I carried on my waist, which connected me to the fire department as one of their volunteers, gave me two routine updates and a false alarm.
After dinner, I texted Isabelle, my baby sister. She was a married woman now, her husband, Luc, played in the NHL.
Me: Thinking about building on the ridge. Do you or Luc have a contractor who won’t vanish mid-foundation? I know you’re in Philly, no rush.
She replied twenty minutes later.
Isabelle: Luc will send two Quebec-side names. We’ve been looking into a contractor too. Want to build a cottage-style home on the Chabot property.
Me: Sounds fancy, Bean. Happy for you. Tell Luc thanks
Good luck on your exam and don’t forget sleep.
Isabelle: Bossy
A small smile tugged at my lips. She and Luc had been best friends growing up.
It was good to see how happy they had made each other.
At twenty-six, I was very single with no prospects of settling down.
It wasn’t that I was allergic to the idea of a relationship, I just hadn’t found someone who fit the bill.
I looked at the drawing of my house. I was making the dream of building a home a reality.
I’d always been a hard worker, but I expected to have more downtime.
Time to take hikes in the forest, time to stop and breathe in the fresh air.
Instead, I worked so hard that by the time my head hit the pillow at night, I was out.
This house would give me something to look forward to.
I had enough money saved up that I could have it built without taking a mortgage or a loan from Dad.
On some level, I would’ve hoped I would have found my match and then built the home, but it seemed to work out okay for Phoenix, my older brother.
He built his house on the property and then Elyna Chabot came back to town, and the rest was history.
For a moment my mind jumped to Harmony, but I closed the thought down before it materialized.
By the lunch rush, Main Street had that steady hum of people who knew where they were going. A man in a fleece paid for a coffee and glanced out our window at the flower shop. “Must be nice having a lease like that when you’re dating the police director,” he said to nobody in particular.
Harmony stood next to our counter, picking up a pre-order. She didn’t raise her voice. “Sandy pays like the rest of us.”
The man’s face went red. “Didn’t mean anything.”
She took the bag. She didn’t look my way. I didn’t look hers. That felt about right.
Back on our side, Maya slid next to me. “You going to let people say that about Sandy?”
“I’m going to let Sandy handle her own business,” I replied.
Maya pinched her lips together and didn’t say a word.
She was good at gauging my moods, and I appreciated that she turned around and walked away.
Between orders, Sandy added Harmony to a vendor group chat for festival deliveries and garbage pickup.
Ten minutes later, Harmony showed me her screen from the doorway.
A stranger from the chat had already DM’d her: After-hours collab?
Quick Story shots in your alley—thirty minutes max.
She forwarded it to Becket with one line: Public link?
He answered fast: Looks like it. Don’t engage.
I’ll clean the list. That was the end of it.
No drama. Just one more reminder the rules mattered.
Harmony’s return home was complicated. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
She was on bad terms with her brother, since she walked away from her family’s business eight years ago, and I may have heard her talking to Dad on her last visit here about helping the police secure her father’s arrest, which meant she had enemies.
Enemies who could pop up out of nowhere.
Since I was on the security committee for the festival and Becket, my younger brother, was a police officer, we were making sure there were no red flags involved.
By midafternoon, Dad stepped in to the bakeshop, took one look at the line, then the display case, then out the window to the florist’s shop. “Isabelle texted me,” he said, not wasting time. “Luc has two contractors for you. You aren’t wasting any time.”
“There’s no reason to waste time. I’ll meet them after the wedding,” I said. “I’ll bring you a plan. I’ll budget so the orchard and the bakery don’t bleed. I don’t want you worrying. I have it all under control.”
“I know.” He pinched his lips. “I worry you have too much on your plate. You don’t have time to breathe. I may know a thing or two about that lifestyle,” he said.
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Yeah,” he sighed like he didn’t believe me. “I was fine. I was handling it.” He set a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Volunteer shift tomorrow?”
“Yes.”