9. Jude
Jude
Escaping to the ciderhouse was one of my favourite ways to spend a day.
Cold, dark, and cozy. It was even better when Colt, Kasey, and Wells were here with me, laughing and drinking cider under the warm lights.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved being out in the orchard picking fruit, or sitting down at Colt’s dinner table with our grandparents, coming up with a name for a new blend—but this restored stone stable had a special place in my heart.
Colt and I had converted the crumbling building and fitted it out with metal accents, exposed wood, and a vaulted ceiling to give the guests visiting Bramley Farm the best experience.
This building, along with the wooden extension, which became the farm shop in the summer, was the closest building to my house.
The aged stone and musty smell from the fermentation in the basement felt like home just as much as my own bed did.
As I cleaned up the space, I tried my best not to let my thoughts wander to Harlow Spencer. I saw her leave this morning, walking out onto my porch wearing boots that had never seen real mud before. She drove away in her tiny car, which I already resented.
Just another thing that showed she wasn’t prepared.
I knew I shouldn’t have pushed her to talk about her past yesterday. But it felt irresponsible to trust her right now. I just had to know her before I could let her work on a project that would impact Autumn Creek so severely.
Autumn Creek was already struggling. Tourism had dwindled over the past decade or so as other towns in the Ottawa Valley became more popular day-trip destinations.
The town council was throwing as much money as we could at this festival.
It needed to be worth it. And Thomas Callahan had already tried to kill the idea before it even started, until Dawn went ahead without his input.
I didn’t need to give him any fuel for his fire.
I thought back to how he’d shot down Dawn’s ideas when she’d first brought them up. He’d tried to whisper doubts in our co-workers’ ears too, saying that bringing in tourists would only ruin our small town.
What was actually ruining our town was that we were financially crumbling. But for some reason, Callahan didn’t want to listen to reason.
So everything needed to run perfectly.
I sprayed down the wooden table tops a little too aggressively, as I thought about how I’d assumed I would shoulder all of that responsibility alone.
I did get Dawn’s point. I could have made it enjoyable for the locals, but I’m no marketing expert.
Bramley Farm didn’t even do much of that, we’d worked hard to make our cider speak for itself.
We could certainly be a bit busier with tastings, but we were doing well.
I shrugged away my worries and started polishing some glasses.
Maybe I was treating the town like it was as fragile as the cup in my hand.
But, to me, it felt that way. I knew the pain I’d felt when Bramley Farm had almost gone under.
I couldn’t bear to see more businesses in Autumn Creek face that fate, especially not when this town had always been there for me.
So I’d do anything to protect this place.
I tucked the towel into the back pocket of my jeans and my boots thudded across the stone floors, as I headed outside to tidy up the patio for the group we had coming in for a tasting.
I brushed some leaves off the outdoor tables with a gruff sigh.
It would be nice to keep this place open more often.
Maybe I could ask Harlow for some advice on this marketing thing.
We could actually post on the social media I’d barely updated in over a year.
But I scoffed at myself, tossing the rag over my shoulder.
I was busy enough already. I couldn’t picture myself running the page, and I definitely wasn’t in a position to ask Harlow anything after she’d stormed off.
Would she even come to the farmers’ market on Saturday? Had I completely fucked up my own plan here?
I was at war inside myself. Half of me wanted to make her smile and the other half focused on the cold nagging feeling about her in my gut.
I leaned against a wooden beam, which held up our string light canopy, and my eyes slammed shut.
I hoped she would come to the market. Something might be off about her story, and she may be scattered as hell, but if I could just show her Autumn Creek and get her to care—really care—we might be able to get on the same page.
And we needed that. If I wanted people to show up for the festival in less than two months, I needed to trust her.
“Taking a nap?”
My eyes shot open. Colt stood there with a slight cocky grin.
“Cleaning.” I peeled off the wall.
“Looks like it. Want a drink?”
“If it’s all right with you, boss.” I peered at my watch. “I’ve got an hour left.”
He scoffed and gave me a shove as he walked past. He poured us both a crisp glass of hard cider once we got inside. “What’s going on then?”
I leaned against the side of the bar as he sat down. “Work.”
“Boss giving you trouble today?” I shrugged back at him and he leaned forward. “Seriously, is Dawn mad at you or something?”
“No, no.” I shook my head, knocking some stray brown waves into my eyes. “Not Dawn. She says she doesn’t see you around town enough, by the way.”
Now it was his turn to brush me off. “Just trying to wrap my head around the festival,” I continued, taking a long sip of my cider. This keg was wild fermented and barrel aged. The lightly carbonated liquid was a good distraction from my thoughts.
Colt’s smirk returned. “Is it the new girl? You’re not distracted, are you, Judey?”
My fingers tightened against the butcher block surface that I was leaning on. “How’d you hear about her?”
“Kasey.” He sipped his drink and chuckled into it when I took a second too long to respond.
“So it is her.” Colt’s pale green eyes lit up.
They always did when he was chirping me or Wells.
He saved his jokes just for us, otherwise coming off much more stoic to everyone else around town.
But his brotherly tormenting was a comfort, a reminder that despite what we’d been through with our Dad, family wasn’t all bad.
Apart from Colt’s eyes, we looked similar. Both with brown hair—although his was darker—and both tall, but I was slightly taller—which, of course, I loved to hold over him.
I sighed. “I think I just rub her the wrong way.”
“Jude, you know better than that.” He scolded me with a rare grin. “But if you need the birds and the bees talk again—”
“Fuck off, Colt.” I threw a bar rag at him. “There’s just something I can’t put my finger on about her. She seems confident, but then I ask her a question and she completely closes up. Everything points to her being hardworking but then she shows up here a mess.”
“Women don’t like being called a mess.”
“How would you know what a woman likes?”
He tipped his head toward me in a nod, as if to say fair enough. After all, he’d been single longer than I had. “How are you dealing with her being in the apartment?”
“Mostly ignoring it.” I threw back the rest of my pint.
He huffed affirmatively. “Is she doing okay? There’s a reason I haven’t housed anyone there this year.” I could see his mind slowly slip from the conversation to start worrying about everything on the farm.
And I paused for a second, too. Not to linger on Colt’s worries, but instead feeling my own fear spike. Is she doing okay?
I hadn’t checked out the place before she moved in, or even asked. I was a shit landlord, even if I hadn’t intended to be one.
That apartment, only separated from the rest of my house by a thin wall, was usually kept for people who worked on the farm—mostly seasonal farm hands and occasionally some students studying agriculture at the local college.
I hadn’t even considered why none of them were staying in the room in my house this year.
Colt had made sure the new barn we’d built a few years ago, on the other side of our property, had much nicer accommodation. There were plenty of rooms there.
But maybe I should have thought about it.
I’d spent too much time wondering why Harlow swept into my life like a tornado tearing through my thoughts. So I’d avoided contemplating her being under my roof. Or at least, I tried.
Now it was at the forefront of my mind.
“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” I replied.
Colt finished off his pint and nodded as he slid his glass across the bar. “Enjoy the tasting tonight.”
I let my head fall back against the shelf behind me as he left. Events like this—telling people our history, guiding them through our ciders, and making them fall in love with the farm—that was where I shone.
But I worried that I wouldn’t tonight.
My mind was too taken up with thoughts about the city girl living in my house.