Chapter 10
T wenty minutes later, Aiden and I drive out the entrance to the inn and orchard.
It’s a long, twisty road lined with trees and a rough-hewn wooden fence on either side.
I have the window down and stick my head out like a golden retriever.
When is the last time anything felt this fun?
It’s the middle of the day, and I’m just cruising along with the wind in my hair.
I spent all morning doing the thing that makes me happy. Making an event come together. And now I’m sucking in the autumn-scented breeze. It’s sweater weather, with candles and cozy blankets in my mind’s eye. And I feel total freedom.
Back in the city, I might hop on the subway to grab a few things for an event, but my phone would be blowing up with a million questions from Steve.
It’s almost always him asking about things I’ve already taken care of.
It slows me down to have to keep him informed of every little move I make.
But when I’m in charge, I can do whatever I want .
It’s a feeling I’m not used to, but one I could get used to real quick.
Aiden is driving, and his ride is not exactly what I expected.
It’s not a car. It’s a truck. And while one might guess a farmer drives a truck, this particular truck is an old red jalopy that looks like it should be hauling around the characters from The Grapes of Wrath .
The thing is old. And loud. And smells like diesel.
But far be it from me to judge anyone’s whip. I don’t even own a car, and I am in need of a ride, so old-timey red truck with apple barrels in the back, it is!
We take Highway 12 straight into town and pull up in front of the coffee shop on Main Street.
Everything on this street looks exactly like it did the last time I was here.
The little library on the corner. The town hall building across the street.
Layla’s Diner front and center. The general store on the corner opposite the library.
And Wilkins’s Hardware Store two down from Layla’s.
It’s all here, and because it’s fall, everything is wrapped in orange and green and brown and yellow.
Every business is flanked by large planters filled with bright mums, and the little trees planted along Main Street are turning orange and yellow and red.
There are pumpkins and gourds and hay bales aplenty.
The town square across from the library is filled with apple barrels from the Parkers’ orchard, and a scarecrow has been erected near the stone podium where the mayor gives speeches on holidays like Groundhog Day and the Fourth of July.
“Nothing in Harvest Hollow ever changes,” I say to Aiden. It’s a line I’ve said many times in the past to my parents and to myself, but this time is the first time I realize it’s a good thing. Not a bad one. It’s comforting here. It’s reliable. Unlike jobs and boyfriends in the city.
“It’s true,” Aiden replies. “You ready?” He’s grinning at me, clearly about to enjoy watching me be grilled by every single townsperson on this street. I’ll be lucky to be home by dinner. If Aiden leaves me, I may have to take the only rideshare in town, which I’m pretty sure is operated by Donny.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I take a deep breath and steel myself before wrenching open the door of the truck and climbing out.
I know precisely what I’m in for, and it’s going to be a lot of welcome back s laced with pointed questions about my life in the city, especially about why I’m not yet married, and probably not a little judgment for not having been back in a hot minute. I need to be prepared. Mentally.
“Let’s go into Layla’s first,” I say, pulling the flyers from my bag and tucking them in the crook of my arm. If it’s clear I’m on a mission, I may have a better chance at escape in a few of these places. We head toward the glass door with the words Layla’s Diner painted atop a coffee mug.
Layla’s is the center of Main Street here in Harvest Hollow.
It’s where business deals are made, everyone drinks coffee and eats hamburgers, and, perhaps surprisingly, more than one engagement has taken place.
It’s a hole-in-the-wall, but it’s clean and familiar, and frankly, the food is delicious.
Like, seriously delicious. Plus, Layla serves tater tots, which are my favorite.
We walk inside, and the minute the bell on the door chimes it’s as if a record scratched. Everyone sitting at the 1950s-style soda fountain counter turns to stare at us.
“Hey, Layla,” Aiden calls, putting up a hand in the semblance of a wave.
“Who’s this?” Layla says. She wipes her hands on her bubblegum-pink apron and comes around the counter. I wait for her to put on the black cat-eye-framed glasses that hang from a shiny gold chain around her neck, and it’s as predictable as three, two, one...
“Oh my good gracious, it’s Ellie!” Layla points at me and then comes rushing over to hug me. “Ellie Lawson, everyone. She’s back!”
This is precisely how I knew this would go, but I’m still turning a little red. I can feel my cheeks heat. If for no other reason, I need to come back here more often to avoid embarrassing moments like this made even more awkward by my prolonged absence.
“Ellie Lawson!” says Abe Bennett. “Imagine that.” He’s chuckling and shaking his head.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” says Homer Wilkins. He and his wife are the owners of the only hardware store in town, but he’s in Layla’s more often than his store.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, giving a little wave.
I see a handful of other locals I know. Like Mrs. Lawrence, who owns the drive-in movie theater.
Mr. Timmons, who teaches piano out of his house a block down the street.
Mr. Culkin, the building inspector, who, along with his friends—Mrs. Sharma, one of the only real estate agents in town, Mr. Higgins, the electrician, and Mr. Wainwright, the plumber—have coffee here every Friday at this time.
Everyone greets me like I’ve just returned from the war, before Layla grabs my hand and drags me to one of the stools in front of the counter.
“Aiden, where did you find her?” Layla says as I take a seat. “Don’t tell me you went into the city and dragged her back here.”
“Nope. No. I came of my own accord,” I say quickly so Aiden doesn’t have to explain my homecoming. “There was no dragging.”
“Is that right?” Layla shakes her head. “What can I get you?” She pulls her sparkly silver pen from behind her ear. “Tots?”
Aww. Layla remembers my love of tots. “Absolutely!” I say, licking my lips in anticipation. I am already looking around for ketchup.
“We can’t stay,” Aiden interjects, pulling the stack of flyers out of my hands and giving me a fully grumpy look. “We’re just here to drop off some flyers.”
I scowl at him. He’s a tot-blocker.
But as much as I want the tots, I have to admit he’s right. I need to remember that I’m here for work. I need to get these flyers hung and help my parents and the Parkers make some money.
I point at the stack of flyers cradled in the crook of Aiden’s arm and turn to Layla. “Will you help us get the word out about the Autumn Harvest Festival at the inn and orchard?”
“Let me see that,” Layla says.
I pull the stack of flyers from Aiden’s arms and drop them on the countertop. After Layla takes one, Mr. Wilkins grabs one too, and so does Mrs. Lawrence.
“Autum Harvest Festival, eh?” says Mr. Wilkins. “So, you’re not just doing the standard parade float?”
“We thought we’d do something special this year,” Aiden tells him.
“Hmm,” is Mr. Wilkins’s reply. His eyes are narrowed as he reads the flyer.
I stifle a laugh because it’s clear to me that, being as predictable and reliable as this town is, they all question change as if it might signal the apocalypse. I hope two weeks is enough for them to get used to the idea of the festival. It might be too much for them.
“Can I leave some of these here, Layla?” I ask, pointing to the flyers.
Layla nods. “Of course, honey. Leave them right here on the counter and I’ll make sure everyone takes one when they pay.”
Oh, even better than I’d hoped for. “Can I tape one on the front door also?”
“Sure.”
Layla lets me borrow some tape, and I have the flyer up in record time before I come back to stand next to Aiden near the counter. I still say we coulda made time for tots.
“We better be going,” Aiden says. “Lots of flyers to distribute.”
I nod and begin to turn toward the door. But Layla’s voice stops me.
“Don’t the two of you just look perfect together?” Layla shakes her head, as I blush because all the patrons of the diner turn to stare at Aiden and me again. “Two good-looking kids,” Layla adds.
Mrs. Lawrence’s brows shoot up in interest, and I inwardly cringe because back in the day when blogs were a thing, Mrs. L had a blog devoted to town gossip.
No one was safe. She used a pseudonym, but we all knew it was her.
One of the kids from computer class tracked her IP.
It was the town’s worst-kept secret. I can tell by the look of sheer delight on her face that the town’s biggest gossip is going to spread the word that Aiden and I could be a thing, in a matter of hours. Not days.
Why did I agree to get a ride from Aiden and his rickety truck again? I can think of no good reason at the moment.
“Thanks again. We’ve gotta go,” I say, knowing from years of experience that it’s futile to argue with gossips about potential gossip. Arguing just gives them more fodder. Far better to cut and run from them.
I head for the door, ready to book it out of there. I don’t even stop to ensure Aiden is behind me. He’s on his own. He may need pepper spray.
Just as I’m about to escape, I hear Mrs. Lawrence say, “You’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”
I do not stop. I go. I go until I’m inside the hardware store. A few minutes later, Aiden comes in behind me, laughing. “What?” I prod. “Where are we supposed to go tonight?”