Chapter 21
The following week, Dad and I get ready for our meeting with the farming co-op.
I had hoped Gavin would be back from his date with Callie, but three hours later he’s still out, which I consider a success, even without knowing the specifics of what went on.
I’m still not letting him off the hook, though.
The second he comes home, he owes me an update.
The meeting with the co-op is taking place in Jean’s backyard, since her garden provides the perfect backdrop for the occasion.
So I put on a Dolce & Gabbana chambray shirt and pair it with slimming black leggings.
On the way out, I slip on sensible flats.
It’s classy yet relatable. But also practical.
As nice as Jean’s farm is, it’s still a farm, and it’s completely covered in dirt.
There are no concrete pavers, no elevated deck, and no slabs of stone leading into the garden.
When I’m satisfied with my look, I head out of my room to get Dad.
For the past few days, he’s been busy writing his proposal.
I offered my help, considering I’m more familiar with this group of people than he is, albeit marginally.
Still, he declined. For a foolish second, I thought meeting the co-op together would make us business partners or that he’d make me his protégé.
Or, at the very least, that he’d warm up to hearing more of my ideas.
But I guess if Dad is going to Dad, even in Blaire, I should be happy he even took me up on my offer to organize this meeting in the first place.
Bright side? Since our meeting is at four o’clock, I’m relieved of my sous-chef duties tonight.
“Ready?” Dad says by the doorway, carrying his briefcase. I’m a little surprised to see him dressed in a suit considering the meeting is taking place in a field next to a barn and not in a glass-walled conference room on the thirtysomething-th floor of a high-rise.
“Yep, ready.” I smile at him. Guess you can take the man out of the corporate world, but you can’t take the corporate world out of the man.
I follow him out to the tractor and climb into the passenger seat.
Although he’s not dressed the part, Dad seems to be in his element, comfortably wielding the heavy-duty farming machinery.
I, on the other hand, am not so comfortable with it and hold on for dear life, closing my eyes and mouth to keep dust, debris, and bugs from entering any of my orifices.
Thankfully everything in town is about a five-minute drive, and we’re not in the tractor long before it’s parked in Jean Bakewell’s driveway.
The pathway leading up to the front porch is lined with rows of lavender bushes. “I’ve never seen so much lavender in one garden.” Dad stops to inhale the scent. “And it’s more fragrant than a bottle of perfume.”
I draw in a deep breath and agree with him. “Just wait until you see the arrangements she makes with it.” I motion for Dad to follow me to the front door. When I knock I’m caught off guard to see a woman who’s not Jean answer.
“Hi, you must be Elena. Jean is in the back setting up. I’m Callie’s mother, Annabel.
I’ve heard so much about you.” Annabel holds out her hands expectantly for a hug.
Remembering how Mr. Hartford gave Brennan a bear hug, I’m guessing Callie’s parents are both huggers.
So I have no choice but to lean in. Even though this is supremely awkward for me, she gives me a squeeze that is comforting and sets me instantly at ease.
“Nice to finally meet you,” I say when she releases me. “Callie speaks so highly of you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
“This is my dad, Dale Ok.” I introduce Dad, who, compared to Annabel’s warmth, is frigid. He holds out his hand and shakes hers stiffly.
“I would have put in a little more effort if I had known this was going to be a formal affair,” Annabel says, taking notice of Dad’s attire.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, swatting a hand at her.
Her jeans and galoshes aren’t quite designer, but they’re practical and tell us that she takes her job seriously.
We’re here to sample her farm-to-table products, after all.
“You’re perfect the way you are.” I look expectantly at Dad to chime in, but he doesn’t.
I can tell by the judgmental expression on his face that he agrees with Annabel.
Even though he should feel overdressed, he thinks she’s underdressed. As a leader in the fashion industry, Dad always said that you are what you wear, and what you wear says a lot about you. I’m pretty sure he’s thinking that these people are not serious.
“Dad, what was it that you said about your tea the other day?” I ask before an awkward silence lingers.
He seems truly puzzled. “Elena, this is a business meeting. Now is not the time for—”
“You said the honey elevated the flavor. Made it taste ten times the value of the cost.” If I’m being technical, I believe he said that the honey made the otherwise unbearable tea drinkable, but I’m paraphrasing.
For obvious reasons. Dad may know what sells, but I know people.
And you can’t sell a product without selling the idea first. “Isn’t that right, Dad? ”
Annabel beams. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Oh, you’re the bee farmer.” Dad finally catches on. I swear, for a man who built a company from nothing, he can be pretty dense.
Annabel nods proudly.
“I always enjoy honey in my tea, but yours had the most unique flavor I’ve tasted. What’s your secret?” Dad asks.
“I’ll tell you.” She smiles, leaning in.
Dad waits with bated breath.
“It’s Jean’s flowers.” Just then Jean pops up from behind her. “Oh, here she is. Jean has the most beautiful garden, and her arrangements always sell out at the farmer’s markets.”
“Flowers?” Dad blinks. “This is honey we’re talking about, right?”
“It benefits us both, really,” Jean explains.
“We need the bees for pollination, and the nectar from the flowers makes the honey so rich in flavor.” She stops herself from going on.
“Well, don’t just listen to us talk about it.
Why don’t you try it for yourself?” She motions for us to follow her through the side gate. “We’ve got it all ready for you.”
The spread they have set up for us in the backyard is exquisitely charming.
And not just for Blaire. For anywhere. Dr. Blaire is placing a chilled bowl of yogurt at the center of a rustic wooden table next to a variety of jars of honey.
Along the sides are floral arrangements with bouquets of ranunculi and dahlias from Jean’s garden that are elegant yet understated, like the bouquets we took to the farmer’s market.
“Hi, Dr. Blaire. It’s nice to see you again. I believe you’ve met my dad before.” I point between Dr. Blaire and Dad.
“Yes, it’s nice to see you both.” Dr. Blaire smiles at me and Dad.
“You as well.” Despite the fact that they’ve met each other before, Dad shakes her hand. “Thank you again for lending us the tractor.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. We’re always happy to lend a helping hand,” Dr. Blaire says graciously. “And we can’t wait to hear what you have for us today. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“This is lovely,” Dad says. His smile falters, taking inventory of the place setting. “Will your husbands be joining us?”
The women exchange glances. It’s clear from their collective expressions they know what Dad is thinking.
“Not that I know of,” Annabel says, placing her hands on her hips.
“I hope that’s not a problem.” Dr. Blaire folds her arms across her chest.
“Sorry, Charlie. It’s just us,” Jean says.
Instead of reading the room, Dad thinks it’s a good idea to correct Jean. “My name is Dale,” he says, putting a hand to his chest.
Dad is one more comment away from offending everyone in the room, including me, so I take it upon myself to spell it out for him.
“It’s just an expression, Dad,” I explain in a kind but serious tone.
“Jean and her husband tended the chicken farm together. When he died ten years ago, Jean took over everything, even his beloved garden. She discovered she had a knack for it, and now, instead of one business, she runs two.”
“It makes me feel closer to Gerry. He loved his ranunculi,” Jean says with a wistful look in her eye.
I smile at Jean kindly before glancing over to Annabel.
“The Hartfords harvest honey, but only in the summer, after the flowers bloom and the bees are done pollinating. Which is perfect for Annabel, because she works at the school. During the school year, the beehive is used as an educational resource in the insect unit of the science curriculum. Callie said you’re a first-grade teacher? ” I look to Annabel for confirmation.
Annabel nods, smiling proudly. “The kids call me Mrs. Hart for short.” She points to a heart-shaped enamel pin below the collar of her shirt.
“How sweet,” I say, then turn to Dr. Blaire. “Not only do Dr. Blaire’s cows provide the dairy for the town, but she is the one who is working with the city council to raise funds for the town beautification initiative,” I say.
“It helps to be married to the mayor.” Dr. Blaire cocks her head with a cheeky smile.
“You see, Dad? Their products are the ones we’re sampling today. And if we want to partner with them on some potential collaborations, then we’re talking to the right people,” I assure him.
“Oh, of course.” Dad bows apologetically. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but in my experience with business, it’s usually men who attend the meetings.”
“What kind of business did you do?” Jean asks.
“I’m a retail enterpriser,” he says proudly. Then, a second later, his lips curve downward. “Or I was. I guess you could say I’m retired now.”
“Semiretired,” I say. “He’s venturing into a different market now. Produce.” I gesture to the spread on the table.
Dad’s smile returns. Not all the way to what it was before. But close.
“On that note, let’s dig in.” Annabel motions for us to sit while Jean grabs us a bowl each.