Chapter Eight
It was not the eye contact that did him in. It was the cowgirl in the passenger seat of Walter’s truck. The one Asher did not want to let down. Troublesome territory, that.
Now here he was driving to Herman Whittaker’s farm to find out about a trailer for a parade float that Asher would rather not design or build for a July Fourth parade he had not even planned to be in Gold Finch for.
All because Asher wanted to show a certain hazel-eyed chef that he could be counted on. Definite trouble there.
Apparently, Asher had tossed his intention to steer clear of his cowgirl right out the window.
There was nothing for it but to buckle down.
He would get the trailer, get home and get back to unraveling the accounting books in his father’s office alone.
After all, he was good on his own. Asher knew how to succeed at being alone.
He preferred it that way. At least, until recently.
Kelley laughed. The bright sound filled the car until even Asher’s frown softened.
He slanted his gaze toward his pretty yet bothersome-for-his-peace-of-mind passenger.
Kelley was on the phone with her older sister working through what she’d dubbed just another wedding crisis before she answered the call.
Kelley glanced his way and gave him a thumbs-up, signaling all was well on the wedding front.
Minutes later, the call ended yet her amusement lingered. Kelley said, “Sorry about that. Laura-Beth wants her dream day, and any little hiccup throws her into a frenzy.”
“And you are making sure she gets that dream day by handling all the details,” Asher said.
“I’m doing everything I can.” Kelley gave a quick but firm nod. “Laura-Beth deserves it. It’s her wedding. Everything should be perfect, right?”
“Was yours?” he asked, then clamped his teeth together and said quickly, “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No, it’s fine.” Kelley set her phone in the console and ran her palms over her jean-covered legs. “Obviously, my marriage was not perfect, seeing as we are now divorced. As for our wedding day…”
At the sudden silence, Asher glanced over and watched Kelley slowly deflate as if backing away from the memory that was suddenly staring her down.
If only he stopped there. Instead, he reached over and curved his fingers around hers and said, “I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories. Again, I’m sorry. Just ignore me.”
Her chin lowered and her head tilted as if she suddenly noticed his hand over hers.
Asher started to pull away. Kelley was faster.
One flip of her wrist and she linked their fingers until their palms pressed together.
Then she anchored her other hand on top of their joined ones as if to ensure he wouldn’t let go.
Finally, she turned her gaze on him and said, “In case you aren’t aware, you are sort of hard to ignore. ”
Right back at you, cowgirl. He squeezed her fingers and said, “I could say the same about you.”
Asher caught a glimpse of her pink cheeks before she ducked her head again and said, “I got married at the courthouse. No fanfare. No fuss. Just a judge and a standard courtroom script.”
Not what he would have pictured. It didn’t sound special or dare he say magical enough for someone like her. “Is that what you wanted?”
“It was for the best,” Kelley said, her words indifferent and practical. “We were opening the restaurant and putting all our efforts into ensuring it was a successful launch.”
That made their wedding sound like an afterthought as if she was an afterthought. How could anyone consider Kelley that? He noted she did not quite answer his question, yet decided not to press and asked instead, “How do you feel about marriage now?”
“It’s not on the consideration list for the future,” she said, then added, “Neither is dating or a relationship.” Yet, her fingers flexed around his and her hold tightened. “What about you?”
“It’s not on my list, either,” he confessed and turned onto the drive for Whittaker Farm.
She shifted in her seat to face him and said, “Bad experience, then.”
“Not really.” Asher shrugged and explained, “It’s more the opposite, actually. After my last relationship ended a few years back, I dated here and there. But there wasn’t a spark or a connection worth pursuing. So now I put my time and energy into things where I actually see a return.”
“I like that,” Kelley said, a lightness in her tone. “You’ve put a value proposition on dating and found none. I have to agree with your assessment.”
They were aligned. That should suit Asher extraordinarily well.
Why, then, did he want to change her mind?
It wasn’t as if he was changing his mind.
Asher was not known to be indecisive or wishy-washy.
He would not start now. He frowned. Fortunately, the Whittaker farmhouse came into view before Asher could find out how firm her new stance really was.
A reed-thin farmer in a flannel shirt, oversize moss-green waders and matching rubber boots waved and stepped off the wraparound porch to greet them.
Kelley slipped her hand from Asher’s, opened her car door and hopped out, denying Asher the chance to lean in to his chivalrous side.
Probably for the best. Had Asher opened her door and offered his hand to help Kelley out, he would have most likely tucked her right into his side and been tempted to keep her there.
But this was not that kind of relationship in the making.
He just needed to remember as much. Asher grabbed the box of blackberry turnovers from the backseat, climbed out and walked around the hood of the truck.
Kelley gave Herman Whittaker a quick, friendly embrace. She asked after his wife and grandkids.
“You just missed her and the grans. They’re headed to the waterpark to swim off some of their energy.” Herman’s smile brightened his sun-burnished weathered cheeks. “And I’m fixing to get in a spot of fishing before they get back.”
Kelley grinned at Asher. “Herman has eight grandkids all under the age of ten.”
“And for reasons unknown, they all want to be together kicking up a ruckus for the summer under our roof.” Herman frowned, yet affection filled his words.
Growing up, Asher and his brothers had traveled as a pack, too.
It was rare to find one Blackwell brother without another one close by.
Now they were adults, and it was even more rare to find them together.
Asher ignored that twinge of nostalgia in his chest, yet acknowledged that he missed his brothers. A lot.
Asher offered the box to Herman. “I’m not sure if you’ll want to keep these for yourself as a pick-me-up. But there’s plenty in there to share with the grandkids, too.”
“They’re blackberry turnovers,” Kelley said, almost shyly.
Herman peeked into the box and whistled. “Now, don’t those look delicious.” He reached inside, removed a turnover and took a big bite. One long sigh later, Herman said, “Now this tastes just like my great-gran’s. You can’t measure the love, but you can sure taste it.”
Kelley fluttered her hand as if she wanted to brush aside the compliment with little fanfare and said, “That’s kind.”
And all too true. Asher had tasted Kelley’s food. But watching her now, he wondered if Kelley knew how truly talented she was. Either way, his chef wasn’t one to easily accept a compliment. And that made Asher all the more determined to show Kelley that she deserved all the praise and more.
While Herman finished his turnover, Kelley asked, “We came to see about your parade float trailer, Herman. Do you still have it?”
“Sure do. Got it certified last month.” Pride was there in Herman’s thin face and words. “It’s ready to make its big parade debut.”
Kelley smiled at Asher. “As it turns out, we can help make that happen.”
“Don’t tell me Lawrence needs it. I told him the stage for his Bluegrass band would never fit on his trailer.” Herman frowned. “Lawrence should’ve set up the band on the courthouse steps like we’ve always done. No reason to change a good thing.”
Asher knew something about that. He had the same good thing going in New York.
A successful career and an apartment he renovated himself and friends he saw on his terms. He had built a good life there.
There was no good reason to change anything.
Except when he looked at Kelley, he considered something different. Something more than what he had.
“No, it’s not that. Lawrence is on schedule for the band’s float to go into the parade as planned,” Kelley assured the wiry farmer, then added, “We’d like your trailer for a new parade float.”
“I see.” Herman’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows pulled together as if helping him to focus better. Although the perceptive farmer seemed to read things clear enough. He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his waders and drawled, “Hmm, that’s going to cost you, then.”
“Of course.” Kelley patted her pockets as if searching for her wallet. “We can pay you a daily rental fee. That won’t be a problem.”
The farmer chuckled. “I don’t want your money.”
Kelley stilled and cast Asher a perplexed look.
Asher cleared his throat and said, “I’m happy to pay. Whatever you need.”
“Keep your money, son,” Herman said swiftly. “As it happens, I’ve got a different sort of deal in mind.”
That was not a surprise. Herman Whittaker might look more like an unstuffed scarecrow in his waders, plaid shirt and rubber boots. But he was sharp and astute and proof that, as Asher’s mom always claimed, a dusty hat did not mean a dull mind. Asher asked, “What kind of deal?”
“The kind where you build me a chicken coop and I give you full use of my trailer.” Herman grinned at Asher. There was merriment in his gaze and delight in his words. He rolled up onto the balls of his feet and lifted his eyebrows. “Didn’t think I remembered you, did you, son?”