Chapter Nine
The scent of fresh herbs and ripe fruits filled the café parking lot as Eloise made her way through Tuckers Bluff’s Saturday farmers market. The cheerful red and white striped awnings fluttered in the morning breeze, shading tables laden with everything from fresh eggs to homemade jam. Children darted between the stalls, many clutching warm cookies from the church ladies bake sale table. The whole scene felt like something from a vintage postcard—pure small-town America at its finest.
Unlike Chicago’s crowded urban markets where everyone was in a hurry and vendors would bag, pack, and brush their paid customers along; here vendors chatted with customers, sharing recipes, family news, and laughter like the old friends they clearly were. One woman’s tomatoes practically glowed in the morning sun. Once Eloise had a bagful, she not only had ideas for what to do with them, but she knew that these were Abby from the café’s favorite tomato, and Carolyn Brown two rows over had the freshest basil to go with them. Her fingers itched to start cooking.
Balancing bags overflowing with herbs, peaches that smelled so ripe she wanted to sit and eat the whole bag on the spot, tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, and snap peas, she paused at the local honey stall. Coming from hives scattered across three counties, the sample of wildflower honey the old man had insisted she try still lingered sweet on her tongue. One more stop at the sweet corn lady’s booth and she’d be set.
Smiling, thinking over all the conversations she’d had in the last hour, she felt like she’d been part of this town her whole life. So much information to process: who was expecting twins, whose grandson just made Eagle Scout, and which jam won first prize at the county fair. Every vendor had a story, and they seemed genuinely interested in her plans for the restaurant.
Whistling down the sidewalk to the front of the hardware store where she’d parked the ranch pick up she’d been using, she shifted the bags, wishing she’d brought the rolling cart she used to use for groceries in Chicago. Almost spilling the tomatoes, she quickly lifted her knee, propping it against the truck as she balanced a couple of bags on it while fishing for the keys in her purse.
She really should have just left the keys in her pocket. Trying desperately to hunt in her purse while the dumb thing kept sliding down her arm and threatening to fall to the ground, she dropped her leg and shifted the bags, praying the peaches didn’t tumble out and bruise. This was nuts. It shouldn’t be so hard to find the dang keys. Propping the bags on one hip and her other knee against the fender, she plopped her purse on the lifted knee and once again searched for the key ring.
“You sure you don’t need some help with that?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.
Eloise blinked. Was the voice talking to her or someone else? Shifting her weight ever so slightly, she tried to glance over her shoulder. All she could see was the back of a denim jacket under a massive sack of something.
“Thanks, Chase. If I can’t handle a bag of feed, I’m no use to the family.”
She’d recognize the second voice anywhere. Quinn Farraday. Focused on the voice, she’d lost her concentration and the bag of tomatoes began to slip from her hip. “Dang it.”
No sooner had the word tumbled from her mouth when her purse crashed to the ground and the knee pressed against the fender slipped, throwing her off balance. Arms flailing, her feet scrambling to find purchase, bags toppled over, tomatoes rolled across the sidewalk, the peaches smacked against the concrete and the bunch of fresh basil she’d been particularly excited about took flight.
As her feet slipped out from under her, all she could see was the blue sky above. Panic shot through as she realized there was nothing to grab onto to stop her fall. Like it or not, she was about to kiss the concrete.
What the hell? Quinn had barely stepped out of the hardware store with the fifty-pound bag of feed his uncle had asked him to pick up perched on his shoulder when a sprig of green smacked him in the face. Swiping it away, he heard a screech behind him as he stepped on something squishy. Glancing down, he spotted red balls rolling along the sidewalk. Not balls, tomatoes. And that’s when he caught sight of someone flailing around, about to land flat on their back.
Practically hurling the sack off his shoulder, stumbling over peaches, he managed to lunge forward and grab the arms of the woman beside him. Pulling her against him, he spun about, holding her tightly in front of him. Her weight propelled them both backward until tripping over more fruit, he fell, landing splat on the feed bag.
Instinctively, his grip on the warm body now on top of him tightened.
“What happened?” a soft voice spoke. Not any voice, Eloise.
“We fell.”
One eyebrow shot up as she stared at him a long moment before turning her attention to survey the situation. “Oh, my peaches.” Another second as she looked the other way and her normally sunny disposition faded into a frown. “And the tomatoes.”
“Shopping?”
Her attention back on Quinn, her eyes flew open wide, only now realizing she was sprawled across him, and pushed herself up and off him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you okay?” Aunt Eileen and Sally May had come running across the street from the pub and were now hovering over them.
“I’m fine.” Eloise stood upright, brushing non-existent dirt from her arms and torso. “Wish I could say the same for my peaches and tomatoes.”
Sally May was already gathering the wayward produce and putting it back in the bag. “It’s not all ruined. Most of them are barely dirty.”
“Are you planning on spending the rest of the day napping on the ground?” Hiding a smile, his aunt did her best to sound stern.
“No, ma’am.” Quinn stood up and noticed that despite the two of them landing on the feed sack, it had not split open. Thank heaven or that would have been much more time consuming to clean up than the errant produce.
“I’d say you two deserve a good lunch. Put all this mess in your respective vehicles and come on over to the pub for a hot meal.”
Sally May handed Eloise a bag of tomatoes. “Finn’s making Reuben sandwiches.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips and kissed them before bursting her fingers open wide. “To. Die. For.”
“Good idea.” He glanced at Eloise. “You have time?”
All she did was nod before bending over to retrieve the scattered purchases.
“Okay, then.” Aunt Eileen kissed him on the cheek and turning on her heel, she and her friend of a million years sauntered across the street.
Kneeling down to help her pick up the last remnants of her morning shopping trip into a bag, he smiled at her. “Are you okay? You didn’t hurt anything?”
Shaking her head, her mouth teased into a smile. “I had a softer landing than you.”
“Glad to have been of help.”
That made her smile widen into a full-fledged amused grin. “You hurt anything?”
“Just my pride.” It was a miracle that more people weren’t mulling about to see him embarrass himself falling, literally, all over a woman.
“Well,” she glanced around, “weren’t we the graceful ones?”
“I’d rate it a solid eight out of ten.” His hands at his side, he continued to smile. “Extra points for aerial herbs.”
“Sorry about that.” Shifting the rescued bag of tomatoes to the other arm, she pulled the keys from her purse.
“Let me.” He took the keys and unlocked the driver-side door, then leaned over and picked up the other bags, placing them in the back seat of the quad cab.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” How was that for stellar conversation. “I’ll put the feed in my truck and meet you at the pub.”
Her head bobbed, she closed the car door, then locking it, turned to cross the street.
Why was it he could watch that woman do anything for hours?
“Full house. Aces high.” Sally May fanned her cards on the table and grinned at her friends. “Looks like Quinn and Eloise changed my luck.”
“Hmm,” Eileen grunted. If her nephew and the new chef in town were going to change anyone’s luck, you’d think it would be their hostess and not a family friend.
Sally May scooped up her chips and piled them in front of her.
The music playing overhead had Eileen tapping her fingers. By the next verse, she was humming softly to herself. Light from the open door filtered into the family pub. She didn’t need to turn around, she knew it had to be Quinn and Eloise.
“I’m in.” Ruth Ann tossed her chip into the pot and stared at the hand she’d been dealt, doing an awful job of hiding her smile.
Even though the chips didn’t represent real money, the intensity with which they all bet, anyone would think they were playing for cold, hard cash. Tossing her own ante into the pot, Eileen shifted to get a better look at her nephew and house guest. Ever since Gray had taken a liking to Eloise, Eileen had wondered who would be the one to fall for the pretty chef. Carefully watching him walk her to a table, Eileen was pretty sure she had her answer.