7. Teddy
TEDDY
The dry rasp of sandpaper against seasoned white oak was the sole sound inside the cider barn, keeping the predictable rhythm of the morning.
Teddy stood beside the newly braced support timber, holding the sanding block as she worked to smooth the splintered edges where the horizontal brace met the column.
Fine wood dust settled over her denim shirt and clung to the stray dark curls escaping her neat braid.
She kept her focus locked on the grain, her muscles working with a steady force to block out the residual tremors of her childhood memories and the sudden, overwhelming comfort of Kent’s company.
Kent remained standing near the workbench, securing the zipper of his medical bag with a deliberate slide.
He'd finished packing his clinic tablet, the digitized records of the carved initials and the rusted recipe tin safely encrypted on his network.
The quiet weight of their shared secret seemed to fill the cavernous space between them.
This feeling of partnership was unfamiliar to Teddy, but she liked it.
Kent didn't rush his movements, his gentle amber eyes watching her profile as she continued to sand the wood with an intense, unyielding dedication.
"The Fall Festival harvest dance is scheduled for this coming Saturday," Kent said. He slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his gaze remaining steady and level as he watched her. "I'm planning to attend, and I'd be honored if you'd accompany me."
Teddy's hand halted on the oak block, her fingers tightening around the wood as a sudden, sharp panic flared beneath her ribs. Her shoulders went rigid under her denim shirt, her defensive walls rising instantly to protect her from the vulnerability of wanting something so intensely. She had felt the spark between them as they’d worked side-by-side all morning.
If she was honest, she’d even had a small crush on him when he was just a shy teenager.
But her deep-seated fear of being rejected, and the thought of attending the public gathering with him brought a tense ache to her temples.
She turned her head slightly, keeping her gaze locked on the sanded joint as she searched for a plausible deflection.
"I’m not sure. Saturday is our opening weekend," Teddy replied, her words brief and flat when she resumed her sanding with a tensed, rapid stroke.
"Hosting the dance means taking care of the logistics.
It requires constant supervision. The cider press and the farm stand will be open and they have to be managed, and someone has to oversee the closing. "
"Your sisters and the other employees are perfectly capable of handling those things for a few hours," Kent noted, his voice gentle and patient as he shifted his position near the workbench.
He didn't argue with her defensiveness, and he made no attempt to dismiss her anxiety.
He simply stood in his quiet way, his presence offering a steady support that didn't press her before she'd been ready.
"I won’t push you if your answer is no, but your sisters have managed successful harvests here before, and they don't expect you to shoulder every burden. It’s just a couple of hours. "
Teddy's jaw tensed, her skin paling over her knuckles as she pressed her weight against the sandpaper block.
Her sisters' competence was a painful double-edged sword; they'd praised her professional mastery and called her the sole expert capable of saving the barn.
While she appreciated they recognized her talent, unlike Ian, it also left her feeling entirely alone.
And having Kent point out their independence somehow made her feel even more exposed, stripping away the convenient shield of her duties.
"I have to be here to ensure the timber braces hold under the vibration of the pressing machinery," Teddy insisted, as she kept her face turned from him. "The underlying support is fragile, and we can’t risk any failures on opening night."
"The bracing's secure," Kent countered, his voice remaining calm and absolute.
He moved closer, brushing the dusty rim of the timber column near her hand.
He didn't offer a patronizing correction, but his touch carried a quiet reassurance that made her breath pause.
"You've done everything you can for now.
The frame's stronger than it's been in decades.
You don't have to stay behind to guard it from some imaginary collapse. You deserve a little bit of time off."
Teddy’s heart rate rose when she looked at his hand near hers. The physical closeness brought a sudden, dizzying warmth. She felt an intense pull toward his steady partnership. But she was so used to being on her own that accepting his offer felt like a dangerous leap across an uncharted chasm.
"I don't know if it's a good idea," Teddy murmured, her words hesitant as she finally lowered the sanding block. She stared at the grain of the white oak as she made excuses. "The town's already whispering about my return, and standing together at the dance'll only invite more curiosity."
"Let them whisper," Kent said, seemingly unperturbed.
He didn't back away, his steady gaze holding hers with such devotion that it made her heart squeeze.
"Since childhood, I've watched you working like a slave on the farm, bearing the most punishing physical workload alone without a word of complaint. I refuse to stand back and watch you fix everything alone. I’m here for you, Teddy. And not just to help you fix things."
The emotional weight of his words seemed to vibrate through the space, bringing a deep, protective feeling that made her tensed muscles soften.
Why did this man have to be so perfectly sweet?
Teddy looked at him, her resolve wavering as she registered the sincerity in his amber eyes.
He was offering a friendship that respected her strength.
Maybe he was offering something more, but she was afraid to put a name to it.
"I might attend," Teddy conceded, her voice falling to a soft murmur as she addressed her sanding block once more. "But I won’t make any promises. And if I do attend, I won't call it a date."
Kent's mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile, his eyes bright with a quiet satisfaction. He accepted her guarded terms without any resistance.
"I'll find you near the main entrance when the music begins," Kent said. The heavy strap of his medical bag settled over his shoulder as he turned toward the door. "I'll be waiting for you."
He moved out into the bright light, leaving Teddy alone in the peaceful cider barn. She stood motionless beside the oak column. The smooth grain where his hand had rested was still warm.
The following day, the mid-morning sun cast a copper sheen across the dirt driveway of the Hillion Veterinary Clinic, illuminating the pine grove that separated his property from Hannah’s.
Teddy entered the small reception area of the converted barn, the brass bell above the heavy wooden frame chiming softly in the stillness.
She held a wooden clipboard containing the Fall Festival schedule, using the mundane chore as a pretext to visit the clinic.
The room smelled of pine disinfectant, cedar shavings, and clean wool, a familiar atmosphere that carried a quiet sense of order.
Behind the counter, a middle-aged receptionist gave her a polite nod. “Hello, dear. How can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m just here to talk to Kent about the Fall Festival volunteer schedule. He usually helps out with hayrides and the pet stands that are part of the festivities we host at the Marchetti farm.”
“Ah, of course. He’s just seeing a patient at the moment but he shouldn’t be long if you’re happy to wait,” the receptionist said, before returning to her filing cabinet.
Teddy stood waiting near the display of equine supplements, lightly gripping the edge of the clipboard.
Her heart rate rose as she heard Kent's calm voice originating from the rear examination room, his tone soothing and steady as he spoke with somebody.
She told herself she'd been merely completing a practical errand required for the farm's Fall Festival schedule, but the memory of his invitation to the dance still hovered in her thoughts, bringing a persistent warmth to her chest that she struggled to dismiss.
The examination room door opened with a soft click, and a large golden retriever bounded out into the waiting area, its tail thumping against the wooden partition.
Following the dog was a polished woman in her late thirties, dressed in a cream sweater and tailored trousers.
Teddy recognized her as Cecilia Brooks, a physical therapist who'd recently relocated from Boston following a divorce to open a wellness studio in town.
"He's been so much more comfortable since you adjusted his joint therapy," Cecilia said, her lively words matching her bright expression as she swung toward the doorway.
She paused near the counter, her dark locks tumbling gracefully over her shoulder as she looked back at Kent.
"I can't thank you enough for taking the time to see him on such short notice. "
Kent emerged from the hallway, wearing his canvas work shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He carried a clinical chart in his hand, his demeanor professional and composed.
"His hip mobility has improved significantly," Kent replied, his tone polite and even as he set the chart on the counter. "Just maintain the exercise routine we discussed, and he'll be fine."
Teddy remained near the supplement display, her muscles rigid as she observed the exchange. She noticed the way Cecilia leaned against the wooden partition counter, her posture deliberate and her demeanor radiating an effortless charm that seemed entirely natural.