Chapter 6
“Looking good, guys.” I smile and wipe my dirt-specked hands on my jeans as I survey the patch of pumpkins in front of me, my heart lifting at the sea of deep oranges and yellows and greens. “Everyone is going to love you.”
“Talking to the pumpkins?”
It’s the voice of Joe Bugelbach—Farmer Joe, he likes to be called—the owner of the pumpkin patch and the one who hired me to help manage this year.
I turn to see him shuffling toward me, dressed in his usual flannel and jeans, his weathered skin hidden from the midday sun in the shadow of a large straw hat.
His gait has grown more unsteady over the years, but so far nothing has been able to wipe away the good-natured smile that resides between his fluffy white mustache and matching beard.
“I like to talk to them,” I admit. “We open tomorrow, and I think I’d be nervous if I were waiting for someone to choose me. It can’t hurt, can it?”
“Not at all,” Joe says with a wheezing laugh. He comes to a stop next to me, looking at the pumpkins with his hands on his hips. “I do the same. ‘Course, I’m their father, so they need to hear from me.”
I smile at this. Joe’s a little odd, but I like that about him.
“We’ve got Juliet Monroe coming tomorrow morning to pick up a load of pumpkins for next week’s festival,” Joe goes on, rubbing his chin now. “Those are yonder.” He gestures further down the farm, and I nod.
A crisp breeze pushes some of my hair into my face, and I tuck it back in place before inhaling deeply. Next to me, Joe does the same, an exaggerated motion that he lets out with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Smell that?” he says to me. Then he winks. “That’s the smell of October, Miss Berkeley. She’s right around the corner, isn’t she? I think we’re all ready for her.” He gestures to the pumpkins.
And I think he’s right. Everything is looking good.
Bugelbach’s is more than a pumpkin farm; it’s a quintessential fall experience.
The pumpkins are stocked in large patches on the straw-covered ground with cleared pathways running throughout like a grid.
On the other side of the farm are the giant slides—two enormous black drainage pipes, each one easily large enough to fit a seated adult.
We have a pumpkin catapult over in the field itself.
There are hay bales built into a mountain with a winding trail up the side, and we’ll open the corn dog stand by the entrance for anyone who gets hungry while they’re here.
My stomach rumbles at this thought. I shield my eyes against the sun that beats down on me, looking in the direction of the food stand, but of course it’s empty.
I need some lunch, especially since I didn’t eat breakfast.
I was too nervous and anxious this morning, my stomach rolling with anticipation.
Surely Dominic has read the letter by now, right?
Is he going to say anything? He doesn’t have to, I guess—it might even be better that way.
But that didn’t stop me from checking my phone every five minutes until finally I stuffed it in my pocket and forced myself to think about something else.
“Well, Joe,” I say, turning to him. “I think I’m going to head out, if you’re good here?”
“All’s well, Miss Berkeley,” he says, waving one hand at me. “You go on home and do whatever you youngsters do these days.”
The batch of creative briefs I need to finish for work before midnight crosses my mind. “We work, and we visit the bakery and treat ourselves to something sweet,” I inform him.
His eyes light up at this. “Keller’s?” he says. “Try one of the maple bars.”
“Will do,” I say, as though I didn’t grow up eating as many maple bars as I could get my hands on. I give Joe a wave and then start back toward the entrance.
My feet rustle over the straw-strewn paths as I walk, the autumn breeze playing with my hair once more.
I crane my neck and look around one last time before I go, because this place is a sight I’ll never tire of—the golds and oranges and browns, the wide sky, the red barn ticket booth.
I smile fondly as I pass the patch of gourds, too.
Because while I do love the pumpkins, my favorites are the other gourds—twisting and asymmetrical and wonky. There’s something endearing about how splotchy and warty they are, the ugly ducklings to the classical beauty of the bold, pumpkin orange.
When I get to my car, I knock my feet against the edge a few times to get rid of any extra dirt and mud; then I hop in and lean back, closing my eyes and soaking up the heat. I don’t move until my phone buzzes.
Liv
Have you heard anything from Dominic yet?
Ari
Oh, seconded! Has he said anything?
ME
Ari, aren’t you teaching right now??
Ari
Eh, the class is taking a test
Answer the question!
Has Dominic said anything about the letter?
I chew on my lip as my mind is forced back to Dominic and the letter. I told Liv and Ari last night that my mother is dating Dom’s dad, and they were as shocked as I was. I told them about the letter, too, but I still don’t have any more updates for them.
Me
Nothing yet, and I’m trying not to think about it
What about you guys? Ari, how’s your sister’s wedding stuff going?
Ari
Ask me about something else. Landrie’s wedding is all anyone talks to me about these days.
Me
I’m on it. New question incoming: How is your fake boyfriend??
Ari
We’re actually going to a football game together tonight.
Which is so weird.
Liv
I’ll bet it’s hard to have to hang out with a gorgeous, flirty guy all the time!
Me
Says the woman with a smoking hot 24/7 bodyguard
Liv
He does roll his eyes in this very sexy way whenever I speak to him.
I laugh, but it’s not really funny that Liv has a bodyguard. She’s been having trouble with some psycho who won’t leave her alone, and we’re all a little worried. We try to keep the atmosphere lighthearted unless Liv shows signs of wanting to talk.
I sigh and set my phone on the console. My stomach is protesting loudly again, so I start the car and get moving.
Keller’s Bakehouse isn’t too far of a drive.
It’s located on Main, right next to my family’s hardware store.
I’ve spent a lot of time there, and I’d be real happy to spend some more.
Sadie Stevenson is the assistant baker, and it’s always fun to see her, too; I’m a year or two older, but we’ve always gotten along well, and she makes the most incredible maple bars in this corner of the country.
I can’t say no to a maple bar. So even though what my body really needs is protein and some vegetables, I head straight to the bakery to fill it up with bread and sugar instead.
I park in one of the poorly-thought-out street spots, the kind that are impossible to pull out of, and get out of the car.
When I glance over at the hardware shop and spot Nathan through the window, I mouth You are dead to me.
He winces—as he should—since he ditched me yesterday for the meeting of Alvina’s new boyfriend… .
…Which turned into the re-meeting of my old boyfriend, which has turned into a massive stomachache of anxious, queasy proportions.
I shoot one last glare at Nate before I cross the sidewalk and pull open the door of Keller’s. A bell jingles overhead as I enter, a cheerful sound that pairs perfectly with the smell of bread, maple, and baked goods of all kinds.
A smile flutters to my lips, and I sigh as I approach the counter.
“Two maple bars, please,” I tell the woman at the cash register—Morgan Keller, I believe, Mrs. Keller’s daughter.
Then, when I glance around and spot two old ladies sitting at a corner table, I amend my order: “Actually, let’s do three. ”
Morgan nods, and a few seconds later, a head pops out from the back.
It’s Sadie, a cheerful smile on her face, a smudge of flour on her cheek. “Hi!” she says. “I thought I heard you come in. Grabbing some donuts?”
Morgan hands me a paper bag, which I hold up to show Sadie.
“Guilty,” I say, and Sadie grins.
“Get in as many as possible before you leave town again,” she says, her red ponytail swinging behind her as she continues to lean out. “Or even better, just stay here!”
“Oof.” The sound pops out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Sadie wrinkles her freckled nose.
“Autumn Ridge forever isn’t for you?” she says, looking sympathetic.
“No, it’s not that,” I say quickly. “I love Autumn Ridge. I’m just—” But I break off, because it’s hard to accurately describe the experience 0f sharing a room with Alvina. “I have no problem with Autumn Ridge,” I say instead. “I’m just a bit cramped in my current housing situation. But it’s fine!”
“I totally get that,” Sadie says with a nod. She thinks for a second, tilting her head, and then she goes on, “You know, I’m pretty sure Rosie Harper has been doing a lot of work on her inn recently. If you’re desperate for some space of your own, you could talk to her.”
Rosie Harper—Dom’s twin sister. I haven’t run into her yet since being back, but she’d probably be happier to see me than Dominic was.
Then again, it’s a low bar.
“I’ll check it out,” I tell Sadie. It’s probably not true, but I don’t feel like getting into all the details; I’m here to buy donuts, and Sadie is busy anyway. So we wave goodbye to each other, and then she pops into the back again.
Rather than sitting at one of the empty tables, I grab a plastic knife and head to the table in the corner, where I settle across from the old ladies I saw a minute ago.
“Edna,” I say, nodding to the one on the left—Edna Gilbert. Then I smile at the one on the right, Edna Bloomberg. “And Edna.”
The Ednas are Autumn Ridge’s resident grapevine. Well into their wrinkled years, sporting the same name and the same penchant for gossip, they’re the perfect people to talk to if you want information.
You just have to be able to weed out what’s true and what’s…less true.
Both of them return my greeting nod. “Reese,” they say in rickety voices.