Chapter Ten Derek #2
As I stepped out into the cool night air, the weight of the evening settled over me.
The laughter and camaraderie of the poker game had been a welcome distraction, but the stories of Miller’s Cove’s founders lingered in my mind.
Those men had risked everything to create a safe haven for their families, and their descendants were still fighting to keep that dream alive.
And here I was, a stranger with secrets, pretending to belong while working to derail everything Pike, Hodge, and Walker sacrificed to build. For the first time in a long time, I wondered if the job I was chasing was worth the cost.
I never thought I’d wake up before sunrise to spend the day grinding wheat, but then again, I’d never been to Miller’s Cove before.
The town was charming in a “too perfect to be real” kind of way, but it was also full of surprises.
Like David Pike. The man had the confidence of someone who knew every last detail about you before you even shook his hand.
And now, for reasons I still wasn’t clear on, I was spending the day at his water mill.
The air was cool, the sun barely making its debut as I trudged toward the old wooden structure on the edge of the stream.
The mill itself looked like something out of a storybook—weathered but sturdy, with a giant waterwheel creaking rhythmically in the current.
David was already there, predictably chipper, dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt like he’d stepped out of a farmer’s calendar.
You would never guess he had a near-genius IQ and held a handful of advanced degrees.
However, I was quickly learning that looks could be deceiving.
I only had to look back at my time spent with Jasmine to learn that.
“Morning, Derek!” he called, waving a hand that held a steaming mug of coffee. “Ready to make yourself useful?”
“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in,” I replied, yawning for effect. “But sure. Let’s grind some wheat or whatever we’re doing here.”
David chuckled. “Oh, it’s more than ‘whatever.’ You’re about to learn the fine art of milling. We don’t just grind wheat here—we perfect it.”
“Can’t wait.” I tried to muster enthusiasm, hoping my exhaustion wouldn’t be perceived as boredom.
David wasted no time putting me to work. He handed me a sack of wheat that felt like it weighed as much as a small child.
“Lift with your legs, not your back,” he advised.
“Thanks, Coach.” I groaned, struggling to hoist the sack onto my shoulder.
The process itself was surprisingly intricate. David explained every step as though he were revealing the secrets of the universe. First, we poured the wheat into a hopper at the top of the mill. From there, it fed into a pair of millstones—one stationary, one turning—powered by the waterwheel.
“The grind is all about precision.” David adjusted a lever. “Too coarse, and it’s useless. Too fine, and it clogs the stones. You’ve got to find that sweet spot.”
I nodded like I understood. “Got it. Sweet spot.”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised. “You’re not paying attention, are you?”
“Not even a little,” I admitted. “I might need a cup or two of that coffee.”
David chuckled and sighed. “Just try not to break anything. This mill’s older than both of us combined.”
As the grindstones rumbled to life, David leaned against a wooden beam and launched into what I soon realized was his favorite pastime: storytelling.
“This mill was built by my great-grandfather, John William Pike,” he began, his tone reverent. “The man was a genius. Invented half the tools you see in here.”
I glanced around at the various contraptions. “Yeah, he was an engineer, right?”
“An inventor,” David corrected. “And a damn good one. But his real passion was farming. He created wheat varieties you won’t find anywhere else but Miller’s Cove. Hardy, high-yield, and perfect for our soil, which he perfected, too.”
“That’s… impressive.” I was genuinely intrigued. “And all of this was his idea?”
David nodded. “He, Donald Hodge, and Joseph Walker built this town from nothing. Three Black men, richer than sin, buying up swampland and turning it into a paradise. People thought they were crazy.”
“And now?” I asked, dumping another sack of wheat into the hopper.
“Now, over one hundred years later, their descendants, including yours truly, are still running things.” David grinned.
“And we intend to keep it that way.” I shot him a terse nod before I turned in the direction of the coffeepot steaming on a countertop on the far side of the room, so he couldn’t see my face.
A couple of hours in, just as I was starting to get the hang of things, a familiar woman’s voice called from the doorway.
“David! Did you remember to set aside the flour I need?”
I turned to see Eleanor’s tall, elegant figure fill the doorway, her hair tied back in a loose bun. She carried a basket in one hand and wore a look of mild exasperation.
“Morning, my love.” David beamed. “Of course I remembered.”
“That’s debatable,” she replied, her eyes narrowing playfully. Then she turned to me. “Well, hello, Derek. David’s been talking about getting you into the mill.”
“I hope I haven’t disappointed him too much.” I took the basket from her arms and began to load it up with the flour David had had me set aside earlier.
“We’ll see.” She smirked.
Eleanor was here to bake, which apparently involved commandeering half the flour we’d milled so far. She took one look at my clumsy handling of the equipment and raised an eyebrow.
“Is this your first time in a mill?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Painfully.” She patted my arm. “But don’t worry. You’ll catch on. My David is an excellent teacher.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I said, but she was already walking away.
By midmorning, my arms felt like jelly, and I was seriously considering calling it quits. That’s when David decided it was the perfect time for another chat.
“So,” he began, wiping his hands on a rag, “how are you and Jasmine settling in?”
“We’re loving it… actually,” I said carefully. “But small-town life is a big change.”
David nodded knowingly. “It’s not for everyone, but Miller’s Cove grows on you. And the people here? They’ll look out for you.”
“Good to know,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be around to appreciate it.
David leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Speaking of which, there’s a big firefighters’ picnic this Sunday. You and Jasmine should come.”
“Firefighters’ picnic?” I repeated.
“It’s a tradition. The only event bigger is the Founders’ Day picnic. It’s a chance for everyone to let loose, eat good food, and show appreciation for the firefighters. They’re practically royalty around here.”
“Sounds… fun.” I wasn’t entirely convinced.
“It is,” David insisted. “And it’s a great way to meet people. Plus, there’s a three-legged race. You and Jasmine would kill it.”
The thought of being tied to Jasmine in front of half the town was not as appealing as he seemed to think, but I nodded anyway. “We’ll be there.”
“Good man.” David clapped me on the back. “Now, let’s finish this batch before Eleanor comes back and yells at us for slacking.”
Just as we were wrapping up for lunch, Eleanor returned, a tray of freshly baked muffins in hand.
“I thought you two might be hungry.” She set the tray on a nearby barrel.
David grabbed one immediately, biting into it with a satisfied groan. “You’re a saint, baby.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
I took a muffin and bit into it, surprised by how good it was. “Wow. This is amazing.”
“Secret recipe.” Eleanor winked. “Passed down from John William Pike himself.”
“Wait, your great-grandfather invented muffins, too?” I asked, half joking.
David laughed. “No, but he did grow the wheat for them. Everything in Miller’s Cove comes full circle.”
As we sat there, eating muffins and listening to the sound of the waterwheel, I found myself relaxing for the first time in weeks. Maybe it was the fresh air, or the sense of history, or the fact that David and Eleanor treated me like family despite barely knowing me.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t deny it: Miller’s Cove was starting to grow on me.
And with the firefighters’ picnic looming, I had a feeling things were about to get even more interesting.