Chapter Six
Smith
I’m tucked into the largest booth at Honey’s Diner, surrounded by local business owners. Cara was the last one to arrive, and after last night, I don’t blame her.
When I finally managed to pry myself away from Mrs. Haverford after an eventful—and long—conversation full of tangents, I spotted the sign in the window for Cara’s book club and I knew what I had to do.
Hadn’t she told me that morning the exact book they were reading?
After the stunt she pulled on me, I thought I needed to issue my own form of payback. Just like old times.
But I was out of line. And it might have ruined whatever hope I have of winning her back.
Last night, everything came flooding back.
Cara left me without a word. Completely cut me off and out of her life without a hint of explanation.
Just…gone. A black hole had taken over my life, become my heart and soul, and last night, the veil covering that hole had ripped free, leaving me raw and bleeding. It was too much.
Having Cara sitting there, finally giving an inkling as to why she left and taking my heart with her, dragged everything buried deep back to the surface.
I fucked up.
She looked so sad, her golden eyes filled with tears. It’s the first outward sign of any emotions toward me. But I can’t figure out the reason behind them. Everything that happened six years ago continues to be a mystery to me.
What happened last night is making the atmosphere between us more tense than it has been, and I need to fix it.
I need that snarky, playful Cara back. We need that back, especially if I’m going to win her back.
And I will win her back. There’s no other option for me.
I need to remind her of what we used to be—and could still be.
She’s refusing to look at me, to turn those gorgeous eyes in my direction and settle this feeling in my chest. Cara loosens her shoulders before rolling her neck and letting out an audible sigh.
Her long hair catches my eye as it slips behind her neck, dancing over skin I know to be smooth as silk, utterly distracting me.
It’s a good thing my recorder rests in the middle of the table because my eyes, and attention, are glued to Cara.
“—booming. It’s a shame when things slow back down after a rush like that.” Cooper, the owner of Eatin’ Good shakes his head, his hands sitting heavy on the table. Plates clinking, ice sloshing, and the low murmur of the restaurant linger around us as all eyes turn to me.
Shit, what had I asked?
Managing to drag my eyes away from Cara without her noticing, I clear my throat as I brush that damn lock of hair off my forehead. “So the publicity helps, but only for a moment?” I ask, and heads nod around the table.
“It’s also brought in new businesses into town as well,” Scarlet, co-owner of the bakery who I recognize from last night’s fiasco, adds. “Right now they’re building another chain down the road, I saw it on my drive back into town the other day.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Margi agrees, her short white hair bobbing as she nods.
“I had heard that they were building something off Hodge Street, but I didn’t know what it could be.
Surely this town only needs one kitchenware store, right?
” Her kind, wrinkled face is etched in concern as she scans the table.
Cara reaches over and gently rubs her shoulder, giving her comfort.
“We will all be fine,” Cara adds, the jut of her chin and the fierce look in her eyes conveying her confidence as she locks eyes with her peers. “No one is going to shut down or close businesses. Rose Prairie won’t let that happen.”
“So would you say this town looks out for each other?” My question hangs in the air, not directed at any one person, but my gaze is locked on Cara, begging her to look at me. Hell, even the raise of her middle finger in my direction would be a welcome sight at this point.
“Of course we do.” Cara slowly turns toward me, her voice softening from the fierce tone from earlier. “That’s what makes Rose Prairie different from any other place. The people have so much heart and loyalty.”
Those honey eyes fill with pride as she speaks about her town and as they flicker over my face, I feel myself relax into them. That sense of panic at her cutting me off melts until it’s nothing but a memory.
“I agree,” Scarlet nods. “I spent years away from this place and the moment I come back, the people never fail to leave me in awe. Why do you think we all come back?” She nudges Cara with a playful grin.
“In the city, people stick to themselves and stay within their bubble, not thinking about where they get their bagel every morning. Our community does, plain and simple.”
“You speak for the established businesses though,” I counter, wanting to make sure everyone has a say. “What about newer businesses that come in without the backing of the community? What then?” My eyes bounce from person to person, some of them sitting stoically as they contemplate my question.
A throat clears in the corner of the booth.
“It’s hard.” Cooper leans forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes downcast. “Don’t get me wrong, opening a new business is difficult everywhere, but getting a foot up here?
” His head shakes to emphasize his point.
“It was hard as hell. My deli opened in January and I still see locals walk by without a second glance. I’ve got to thank those college kids though, 'cause they almost single-handedly keep me open.”
Our meeting lasted for several hours, going from a relaxed interview to discussions on how to work better together as a community.
Sammie stopped in during lunch and her brow scrunched in thought as she took in what everyone had to say.
Many thanked her for getting them involved in her projects, which she brushed off with a wave before heading back to work on the Fall Festival set up.
The firm set to Cara’s shoulders loosens the longer the meeting lasts and I’m glad for it. I need to get us back on solid ground after the rift that halted any progress I had deluded myself into thinking I made.
Several owners mingle after the meeting ends, and I grab my stuff and start packing up.
I can’t stop myself from watching Cara as she hugs Scarlet with a tight squeeze before turning to the door.
My movements pick up, carelessly tossing my notebook and recorder into my bag and scrambling out of the booth.
Is she running? Cara moves like a gazelle and is already halfway to her car by the time my foot hits the pavement.
“Cara,” I call after her, hoping she’ll slow her pace.
My bag bounces on my shoulder as I jog to catch up to her right as she slams her car door shut.
“Cara.” I try again, my knuckles bouncing off the solid window a little too hard.
“Shit,” I curse, waving my throbbing hand in the air to dull the pain.
“I was hoping to talk to you.” She snorts at my pain but rolls down her window.
“Don’t go hurting yourself, Smith. I wouldn’t want you injuring your writing hand.”
To show her how uninjured I am, I raise my middle finger towards her. “I think I’ll be fine.” She huffs out a laugh, her smile tugging at the corners, and for once, I wish she’d direct that smile at me.
“Did you come over here to flip me off or…” she gestures for me to continue. Right, this probably isn’t the best way to get her to loosen up.
“I’ve heard about the pumpkin patch down the road and thought I should check it out.
Someone mentioned pumpkin carving and thought maybe you’d like to join me.
You know, make a friendly competition out of it.
If you have the time, that is.” Please say yes, I beg.
If I could get some one-on-one time, and get her to let her guard down, then maybe I stand a chance.
Cara clicks her tongue, her eyes squinting up at me as she weighs my offer. The Cara I knew would never back down from a challenge, especially one that involved me. “Alright, Smith. Let’s see what you’re made of.” She flicks her chin to the right. “Get in.”
I waste no time and hop in the passenger seat before she can change her mind and speed away. Cara leans over and turns the radio up before I can utter a single word.
So much for getting her to talk to me.
The drive out of town into the farmlands doesn’t take long, but I use the time to study the woman next to me. How is she this stunning?
Wearing a magenta sweater and leggings, she looks like heaven.
Even more, she looks like home. The sweater clings to her hips and chest like a glove showcasing her neck-breaking curves.
Suddenly, my mouth is dry and my palm tingles as I fight the urge to reach over and caress her thigh.
It had once been a reflex to reach across the expanse of the center console and run my fingers along her inner thigh as she drives.
Although it’s been six years without her, the longing is still there.
Perhaps she can sense the change in my thoughts because she glances my way, her eyebrow raised. The sun streaming through the windshield washes her in a golden ray, its beams like a beacon pointing directly at what—who—I want most. “Stop being a creeper,” she shouts over the stereo.
“I’m not creeping,” I argue, turning back to look at the sprawling country road. I was creeping, but that doesn’t mean I need to let her know that. “I thought I saw a deer on that side.” I’m not completely lying. I had seen a deer, but that was when I first drove into town.
“You’re such a liar,” she laughs, shaking her head.
We reach the turn-off I passed on my drive-in, the sign for the pumpkin patch pointing down the gravel drive.
The rumble of tires on gravel drowns out all but the dinging hits of the rocks on the undercarriage.
Cars leaving our destination pass us slowly and before long, rows and rows of pumpkins lie in fields on both sides of the road, families carefully searching for their perfect pumpkin.
Cara pulls into the dirt parking lot and wastes no time getting out of the car. I shake my head, smiling to myself as I step out of her car.
If it didn’t feel like fall before, it certainly does now.
Somehow the air out here is more crisp and we’re only several miles outside of town.
I can’t help but breathe deeply, letting the scent of fall settle my nerves.
Cara waits for me outside the entry gates and I watch as she rolls her shoulders as I approach.
Her eyes follow me until I come to a stop beside her.
Now who’s being a creeper?
“You ready to get your ass whooped?” Reaching into my wallet, I pay the attendant at the booth.
Cara walks past me, turning sharply on her heel, her arms spread out wide as she walks backward. “I think you’ve got that all wrong, mister. If I recall correctly, your knife skills are severely lacking.”
“Oh really? How much you wanna bet?”
She stops, narrowing her eyes. The space between us seems to electrify as she eyes me up and down, her gaze scrutinizing the challenge in my eyes. “Alright,” she clicks her tongue, “the loser has to wear their pumpkin on their head all Sleepy Hollow-like.”
“Deal.” My hand stretches out between us. “But the loser has to walk around the pumpkin patch, it can’t be a quick on-off thing. Plus,” I add, “he never actually wore the jack-o'-lantern as his head.”
She shrugs her shoulders before her delicate hand slides into mine. “Semantics. It’s not going to really matter when you lose.”