Chapter 13
W hen I pull open the door to the food barn, the smell of cinnamony baked goods fills my nostrils.
I suck it in like a drug. If being addicted to the scent of warm apple-y goodness is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
I’ve been out here every day since I arrived, and I always leave with my belly (and pockets) full of deliciousness. Maria’s gonna love it too.
“What is in here?” Maria asks, already closing her eyes and drawing in the scent like me.
“Magic baked goods,” I reply, making my way toward the bakery corner. “And lots of alcoholic cider.”
“Magic?” Maria echoes, following me.
“That’s right,” I toss out just before Sera comes out of the back with a tray filled with tarts.
“Hi, Sera.” I wave at my new friend. “This is Maria.” I haven’t asked Sera to read my tarot yet, but I’m working up to it. Yesterday I casually mentioned something about wanting to know the future. She didn’t bite, so I’m relatively certain I’m just going to end up blurting it out one day.
Maria waits for Sera to set down the tray before offering her hand. “I’m El’s friend, and I have a ridiculous sweet tooth,” she declares.
“Ooh, glad to hear it.” Sera is wearing all black again and the chains.
It’s a look I know Maria will also appreciate.
Chic. Timeless. Slightly witchy. Besides, Maria respects woo as much as I do.
She once told me her grandma is a little clairvoyant.
Which seems to me like being a little pregnant, but what do I know?
I nod toward the tarts. “What do you got there?” I rock back and forth on my heels as if I’m not totally trying to nab one.
“Apple strudel tarts. Want some?”
Of course I want some. I want all. “Yes, please.”
Sera points at the sheet with her oven-mitt-covered hand. “Take as many as you like. It’s a test batch.”
I love the sound of that.
“Happy to be of service.” Maria picks up a tart with a napkin she pulled from a nearby stack.
I am much more ill-mannered. I just grab a tart with my bare hand and bite right into it. It is eye-crossingly delicious. I moan.
Maria takes a bite too, and we exchange equally heart-eyed glances.
“Hey, did you hear that Charlotte went to the drive-in with a mystery guy last night?” Sera asks. And now I love her even more because the tart and the smell of cinnamony apples made me forget to ask her the same question.
“Yes,” I say. “Do you have any idea who he is?”
“Who’s Charlotte?” Maria asks, and as soon as I tell her, she’s just as invested as we are. Maria can get on board like that. It’s one of the many things I love about her. We both stare inquisitively at Sera, ready for additional information.
“I don’t know,” Sera says. “But it sure sounded like they were on a date. It was just the two of them.”
Well, I know from experience that you can be alone with a person at the drive-in and not be on a date, but it’s not about me right now, so I keep that comment to myself and instead say, “I kinda got the feeling she likes Sawyer.”
Sera’s crystal-green eyes go wide. “Oh, she does . She does like Sawyer.”
“Who’s Sawyer?” Maria asks next.
“Sawyer is one of the farmhands,” Sera explains. “And he’s really cute. Not my type, but cute .”
I want to ask Sera what her type is, but instead I say, “Does Sawyer not feel the same about Charlotte?” I am already sad and a little indignant just thinking about that possibility. Charlotte is adorable and helpful and kind and smart. Who wouldn’t like her? Sawyer is a fool if he doesn’t.
“I think he does,” Sera reports. “Only...”
“Only what ?” Maria and I both say this at the same time because we are equally intrigued when someone is obviously struggling to keep from saying something.
Sera removes her oven mitt to pluck at her gold chains. “Only, from what I hear, Sawyer came to work here when he was twenty-two.”
“So what?” Maria says before taking another bite of her apple tart.
“Charlotte was eighteen at the time.” Sera lets her chains drop with a clink. “Just out of high school.”
“Ooooh,” I say, wrinkling up my nose. I see where she is going with this. “Yeah, that’s a big difference at those ages. So... maybe she had a schoolgirl crush that never went away?”
“Yeah, that’s the impression I get,” Sera continues. “And Sawyer is a really good guy. He would never be inappropriate. Especially with his bosses’ daughter.”
Sera doesn’t have to say more. We all get it. No good guy is going to entertain a crush from a younger girl when he works for her parents. It’s just a hard no .
“How old are they now?” Maria wants to know.
I am trying to do math in my head when Sera says, “I think she’s twenty-four, and he’s my age, twenty-eight.”
“Oh, well, that’s perfectly fine now,” Maria adds, ever practical.
“Yeah, but I get it,” Sera says.
“I get it too.” I sigh. But I’m still a little sad for Charlotte. She is the best, and I can’t imagine having a crush that lasts, what, six years? I mean... kinda adorable, when you think about it.
“Sounds like she’s moving on, though,” Maria says. “Probably for the best.”
“Yeah, but we need to find out who this new guy is.” Sera’s voice is stern. “We can’t have our little Charlotte dating just anyone .”
I agree with Sera. Charlotte is special. We need to vet this drive-in date. I tell Sera as much. I finish with, “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Sounds good,” Sera says. “Now, I’d better get back to the ovens. I’m testing a lot of new stuff for the festival.”
“Happy to be the testing subjects,” I remind her in a singsong voice before glancing over at the brewery. I nearly forgot the reason Maria and I came out here was to talk and drink. “Is Jesse here yet?”
“He’s always here,” Sera replies, waving her hand. “Hold on. I’ll get you some chocolate chip cookies too.” She pulls a plate from under the counter and puts it next to the tarts before she disappears into the back.
Chocolate chip cookies? Yes, please.
“Who’s Jesse?” Maria asks. So far, she’s doing great keeping up with all these new people. Time to add one more.
“Jesse’s the brewer. I’ll introduce you when he comes out.”
I move the apple tarts to the plate and hand it to Maria. “Head over, and I’ll wait for the cookies.” I nod toward the bar stools on the other side of the barn.
I drum my fingers along the countertop as Maria makes her way to the brewery counter, where she picks a stool in the center of the space.
I’m still happily waiting for the cookies when the door behind the bar opens, and Jesse steps out with his ubiquitous tray of beer growlers.
He stops short when he sees Maria sitting there.
She immediately starts to place an order, but he cuts her off.
“We’re not open yet,” he informs her. “Can’t you read? ”
Oh no!
The cookies are forgotten, and I begin to half run, because if there’s something I know about my friend Maria, it’s that she’s not going to take that sort of rudeness in stride. In fact, she’s about to—
“I’m sorry,” she’s saying by the time I make it to her side. “Did you just ask me if I can read ? Because you’re welcome to read my lips when I say that you can go f—”
“Hey! Wait. Wait a minute, here,” I nearly shout as I jump up on the bar stool next to Maria.
My voice is panicky, and I’m desperately trying to choose my words carefully.
“No worries. No worries. This is just a misunderstanding. Jesse, this is my good friend Maria, from the city. Maria, this is Jesse, the brewer here at the orchard.”
Did that sound breezy enough? Happy enough?
Conciliatory enough? The thing is, you don’t want to get on Maria’s bad side.
There’s no getting off of it. And I like Jesse.
He gave me the growlers I requested. He seems really good at his job.
He was definitely rude, but I don’t want to see him murdered.
My head swivels back and forth between their angry faces. Both of them have narrowed their eyes at each other, and it’s clear neither one of them has the intention of either apologizing or backing down. Oh boy. What we’ve got here is an old-fashioned standoff.
“Maria is here with me,” I explain to Jesse. “That’s okay, right? I was hoping we could get a drink a little early. Sorry if I’m wrong.”
“Don’t you apologize to him,” Maria says. She’s got one hand on her hip, and she’s glaring at him. If looks could kill, guy’s dead body would be lying behind the bar right now. “Doesn’t he work for your dad?” she adds.
“So what, I’m at your beck and call?” Jesse claps back.
“You come into my job, where I’m breaking my neck trying to prepare for a major festival, staring at your phone, and just expect me to drop everything to serve you?
What sort of spoiled-rich-girl...” His voice trails off, but honestly, the damage is done.
I gulp. This is escalating quickly, and it’s about to get way uglier because Maria is the polar opposite of a spoiled rich girl.
In fact, she’s a third-generation Italian American whose grandma barely kept a small restaurant running to send her father and his siblings to school.
She’s also a next-level PR genius who is on Instagram all the time for work, so in zero minus zero seconds, Jesse is about to get his ass handed to him and honestly there’s nothing I can do for him now.
He’s made his bed. I tried. I resist the urge to cover my head as if real shrapnel is about to fly.
Maria stands up on the footrest of the bar stool so she’s taller than Jesse, who is a good six foot two.
“Spoiled? Rich girl? Rich girl! ” She’s not even turning red.
She’s gone straight to purple. Not good.
I’ve never witnessed anyone stroke out before, but there’s a first time for everything. Is Donny also a paramedic?
I dart behind Maria and do the throat-slashing gesture with my finger to indicate to Jesse that he had better de-escalate or die.
Maria takes a deep breath. “First of all—”