Chapter 18
‘Ah stay for a cuppa, Jack,’ Eva ordered, already pouring without waiting for an answer. She set down the fresh mug of tea in front of him, purposefully lingering as she arranged it just so, her lips curved in a smile. ‘Sit yourself down there.’
He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I should really get back to—’
‘The orchard, yeah, yeah, we know.’ Eva thrust the steaming cup at him anyway. ‘Ten more minutes won’t kill you. And it’s Saturday.’ Her tone was light but brooked no argument, the same voice she’d likely used on him since they were children.
Molly sensed a trap closing, though she couldn’t deny that Eva, having now ensured Jack knew that Molly wasn’t the enemy, was very deftly smoothing the path for her to properly broach him about access to the oak tree.
The café had grown busier now, people trickling in for late coffees and treats, so Jack had no choice but to take the stool beside hers at the counter.
‘So,’ Eva declared then, as if a sudden thought had just occurred to her. ‘Maybe what Goldenridge needs to fight off all these corporate feckers once and for all, is to fight back.’ She looked at Jack, eyes bright with growing enthusiasm.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
But Eva simply turned to Molly and topped up her mug.
‘You know more about this stuff than the rest of us combined …’ The proprietor leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially though her words remained perfectly audible.
‘Think about it – authentic local cider, ancient apple varieties that corporate giants have abandoned, all made by hand using methods unchanged for generations. Under threat from the big bad corporation. Sure, the story practically writes itself.’ Eva gestured back toward Jack.
‘Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the cider-maker himself looks like he stepped out of one of those Hot Farmer calendars, does it? ’
Jack choked on his tea, a flush creeping up his neck. ‘Eva, for God’s sake.’
Molly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at his discomfort, though her own cheeks felt suspiciously warm. ‘I’m sure Jack doesn’t need anyone interfering …’
‘Interfering?’ Eva exclaimed, loud enough that several nearby customers turned to look.
‘It’s not interfering to help show the world what Goldenridge is truly about, make sure it gets the recognition it deserves.
You should see the awards Jack’s won – only they’re all sitting in a box in the press because he can’t be bothered to display them. ’
A local appeared alongside them at the counter as if out of nowhere, abandoning any pretense of not eavesdropping. Molly recognized her as one of the committee women Eva had pointed out the other day.
‘I’m always saying that Goldenridge really should be doing more to attract the tour buses from Dublin. They all go to bloody Bulmers instead.’
Eva beamed at the unexpected support. ‘Exactly, Josie. And here we have a secret weapon, a high-flying marketer from New York to raise our profile.’
‘New York?’ The older woman’s eyebrows shot up with newfound respect. ‘Isn’t that the ticket. What about one of those big billboards like in the films?’
Before Molly could answer, a familiar voice joined the conversation.
‘Well now, I had no idea we had such talent in our midst. It’s always the quiet ones.
’ Brid from the hotel had just come in, a wicker shopping basket over one arm, her elegant figure again perfectly tailored in a rich purple dress, despite the casual setting.
Her shrewd eyes took in Molly with fresh interest. ‘Very good of you to agree to help us out.’
‘I haven’t actually agreed to anything,’ she spluttered, glancing at Jack who looked as trapped as she felt.
‘But you could?’ Brid pressed, her tone suggesting refusal wasn’t an option.
‘Well, yes, technically,’ Molly admitted. ‘That’s part of what I do, but—’
‘Oh, that’s brilliant!’ A short-haired woman she recognized as the bookshop owner also appeared as if out of nowhere, carrying a cardboard box.
‘Brid and I have just come away from a committee meeting and we were desperate for fresh ideas for next year’s tourist season instead of more miserable flyers.
’ She set down her box with a thump. ‘We’ve been trying for years to put Golden Valley on the map.
Cork and Kerry get all the tourism while we’re just as picturesque here in Tipp – friendlier too.
And Goldenridge is the jewel in our crown. ’
Jack, who had been watching this snowball of enthusiasm with growing alarm, finally found his voice.
‘Hold on now, Maeve. Everyone’s running away with themselves here.
’ He turned to Molly, his expression a complex mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.
‘She’s here on holiday remember. I’m sure she has better things to be doing. ’
‘It … wouldn’t be a problem, really,’ she heard herself saying, professional instincts kicking in despite her better judgment.
‘I’d be happy to help. Even a simple online campaign showcasing the heritage offerings could be effective.
’ She hesitated, seeing Jack’s face tighten.
‘If you wanted to be involved, of course.’ But by the look on his face, Molly could tell that he was intrigued by the prospect all the same.
Plus she really did need to get him on side.
‘“If you wanted …”’ Eva mimicked with a laugh. ‘Jack, when was the last time a high-flying marketing expert offered advice? A gift horse if I ever saw one, and you’re examining its dental work like it’s going to bite you.’
‘Exactly,’ Brid agreed, her bracelets jangling as she gestured emphatically.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, further disheveling it in a way that Molly found inexplicably charming. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘But Goldenridge isn’t about flashy online promotion and what-have-you. It’s about heritage and …’
‘Tradition, yeah, yeah, we know,’ Eva repeated drolly.
‘But who says those things can’t coexist with modern marketing?’ Molly challenged. ‘The best promotion doesn’t change what a business is – it merely amplifies what already makes it special.’
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.
‘I can see it already,’ Eva said, warming to the theme.
‘Beautiful shots of the orchard amidst the autumn leaves.’ She gestured her arms dramatically in the air.
‘Short clips explaining the pressing process. Maybe even a series highlighting the history behind each variety.’ She turned to Jack, her expression suddenly more serious.
‘The kind of thing that might even make the likes of Crest Beverages appreciate that you can’t just swallow up what makes Goldenridge special. ’
At the mention of Crest, Jack’s expression shifted subtly. Molly watched as something more calculated and considering entered his eyes, replacing the knee-jerk resistance.
Quick as you like, Brid seized on this crack in his defenses. ‘And more awareness means more understanding of what those types want to destroy.’ She turned to Molly. ‘The hotel would benefit too, of course. You’d include a mention of the Glen Arms in your plans?’
‘And Wildflower Books,’ Maeve added quickly, not to be outdone. ‘We’ve a few local history authors that would only love to be part of it. Landscape artists too.’
The requests continued to pile up as others drifted into the conversation, each suggesting how their business might be included in this hypothetical awareness campaign. Molly watched with a mixture of amusement and alarm as the scope expanded with every passing second.
‘Wait,’ she said finally, raising her hand to stem the flood of suggestions. ‘I’m not planning anything yet.’
The little group fell silent, all eyes turning to her with expressions ranging from surprise to dismay.
‘But you will, won’t you?’ Eva asked, her voice softer now, genuine. ‘It would mean so much to the village. And to Jack, even though he’s too stubborn to admit it.’
Molly looked at him, finding his dark eyes already fixed on her face, studying her with that intense focus she was beginning to recognize. Despite his evident reluctance, there was something else there too – uncertain optimism, even?
She thought of Aoife’s stories about Golden Valley, about the orchard, about the ancient oak tree that remained her ultimate goal.
From a purely selfish perspective, agreeing to help would allow her legitimate access to the land, the oak, and the man who was now watching her with such complex emotions behind his guarded expression.
Though it also meant she’d need to stay around here longer than she’d planned.
‘I could look at maybe putting together something simple alongside the festival,’ she conceded. ‘A good opportunity to showcase what makes Goldenridge and Golden Valley unique?’
‘Good woman!’ Eva clapped her flour-dusted hands. ‘Jack, you’ll cooperate now, won’t you? Show Molly around the orchard properly, show her the trees, explain the process, give her access to everything?’
If Molly didn’t know better, she’d swear Eva could read her mind and was actively trying to get her closer to the oak tree.
But the café owner’s face was all innocence.
For his part, Jack’s jaw worked as he visibly struggled with his conflicting instincts. Molly could almost see the internal battle taking place, his ingrained suspicion of outsiders warring with practical business sense.
‘Fine,’ he said finally. ‘But nothing too … fancy. Nothing that makes it look like we’re changing what Goldenridge stands for.’
‘Authenticity,’ Molly assured him, meaning it. ‘That’s always what resonates.’
Their eyes met briefly and, for a moment, the café and its chattering occupants seemed to fade into the background. Jack’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, the tension in his shoulders easing by the slightest degree.
Molly felt something shift between them – not quite trust, but a tentative bridge spanning the gap of their initial misunderstanding.
‘Right, so,’ Jack said, breaking the moment as he turned to gather his empty crate. ‘Come out on Monday maybe. Eight o’clock. I’ve a lot to do and you can tag along for a bit in the morning.’
‘I’ll be there,’ Molly promised, slightly dazed by his change of heart. In more ways than one.
Jack nodded once, then turned to leave, his tall frame silhouetted briefly in the doorway before he stepped out into the evening.
Through the window, she watched as he paused on the cobblestones, momentarily frozen as the clouds parted and golden sunlight spilled across the square, illuminating his figure against the backdrop of the village.
Then he was moving again, striding away with long, purposeful steps, the empty apple crate tucked under one arm.
Eva sidled up beside her, following her gaze with a knowing smile. ‘Well now, that went very well, I’d say.’
‘You set us up,’ Molly accused, though she couldn’t muster any real indignation.
‘Me?’ Eva pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. ‘I merely provided an opportunity for two people to recognize their mutual interests.’
‘Professional interests,’ Molly clarified, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach that suggested otherwise.
‘Of course,’ her new friend agreed with exaggerated sincerity. ‘Purely professional.’ She patted Molly’s arm and winked. ‘Now, you’ll need sustenance for all this planning. Another piece of gingerbread, I think. On the house, since you’ve just become Golden Valley’s honorary marketing director.’
As Eva bustled away, Molly found herself surrounded by Brid, Maeve and the other woman Josie – who it turned out ran the newsagents – the committee members eager to share their thoughts on what should be included in the campaign to put Golden Valley ‘on the map’.
She nodded and smiled, making mental notes, but part of her mind was already racing ahead to Monday morning.
To Goldenridge. To Jack Flynn and his ancient oak tree.
Molly definitely hadn’t planned on becoming so entangled in village affairs when she’d arrived in Golden Valley.
Her mission had been singular and specific: fulfill her grandmother’s final wish.
Yet somehow, within days, she’d committed to help save a suspicious apple farmer’s business and, by extension, promote an entire Irish village.
As she eventually left the café and ambled back towards the hotel through the square now bathed in the golden light of approaching sunset, Molly’s marketing mind automatically filled with campaign concepts.
Heritage varieties photographed against ancient stone walls.
Jack’s hands – strong, capable – demonstrating the grafting techniques passed down through generations.
The cider press in operation, capturing the rich amber liquid as it flowed from apples to barrel.
And perhaps, if she played her cards right, the ancient oak tree in all its glory, standing watch over the orchard as it had for centuries. The tree that had called her across an ocean, and still waited for her to fulfill a promise made at her grandmother’s bedside.
Well, if there was one thing the Harris family knew how to do, it was adapt to changing circumstances. Jack Flynn and his oak tree might have started as obstacles, but now they were becoming something else entirely – something she wasn’t quite ready to name, but couldn’t deny feeling.
Monday morning at eight, he’d said.
The thought sent an unexpected shiver of anticipation down Molly’s spine that had nothing at all to do with marketing plans, and everything to do with dark eyes that softened when speaking of ancient trees in morning light.