Chapter 2
CLARA
The cheese-stuffed sweet potato viral videos had done a lot of good for our family’s orchard.
We’d already been growing sweet potatoes as a companion crop for some of our trees because they were a great groundcover for suppressing weeds and keeping the soil cool.
Now we could barely keep them on the shelves of our farm store.
Every soccer mom, health aficionado, and teenage girl with a social media account within thirty miles showed up to buy them by the bagful. I’d already hauled three crates from the back before the doors opened at nine, and I was going to need to do a restock before we closed.
The bell jingled over the door, and a woman in yoga pants pushed through with two children. The older one pointed at the sweet potatoes immediately.
“Gross,” he declared, his nose wrinkling.
His mom laughed, bouncing the baby girl on her hip. “They’re not gross, sweetie. They’re yummy.”
“Nuh-uh,” he disagreed, shaking his head.
Sighing, his mom stuffed half a dozen sweet potatoes into one of the paper bags we had at the end of the aisle. “Remember that dish Grandma makes with the marshmallows on top?”
His little face lit up. “Yeah!”
“The orange stuff is these.”
His eyes widened at her explanation. “Oh.”
Snagging a slice of pie, I lifted it high enough for the mom to see. When she nodded, I rounded the counter and walked over and crouched to his level. “You know what else you can make with sweet potatoes? Pie.”
Licking his lips, he eyed the container I popped open, then his mom.
“Go ahead. You’re going to love it.”
He took a nibble before grinning at me. “More!”
“Delicious, right?” I handed him the spoon.
When they made it to the register, he pointed at the whole pies in the display case. “Please, Mommy?”
“Sure, sweetie.” She turned her attention toward me. “I guess I can’t complain too much about the sugar content when there are v-e-g-e-t-a-b-l-e-s in his dessert.”
“You should see what my mom does with zucchini in the summer.” I started to ring up her order. “That’s when it’s the most plentiful, and we usually have bread with chocolate chips or lemon. And she came up with a recipe this year for chocolate zucchini brownies that were amazing.”
“Thanks. I will definitely keep an eye out for those.”
She swiped her card to pay, and I tucked the slice of pie I’d let her son try into the bag. “On the house for the brave taste tester.”
Juggling her daughter in one arm and the bag in the other, she prodded, “What do you say, sweetie?”
“Thank you,” he chirped.
They left, the bell over the door jingling behind them.
I turned to wipe down the scale and found Harper leaning on the end of the counter, smirking at me. “You’re off your game today.”
My sister was right, but that didn’t stop me from denying it. “I’ve sold half our sweet potato inventory and turned a toddler into a vegetable fan. I’m on fire.”
“You’re distracted,” she insisted, tilting her head at the display case. “You mentioned something we won’t have in stock again until next June instead of trying to upsell the apple cider donuts.”
I rolled my eyes. “She mentioned hiding vegetables in desserts, so recommending the brownies made more sense.”
“That’s fair,” she conceded, coming around the counter to open the case and grab a donut. “But it’s never stopped you from talking about these before.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Harper took a bite and hopped up to sit on the counter, something our mom would’ve yelled at her for if she’d been here.
“Please. You’ve been staring into space like a lovesick cartoon character ever since you went to hang out with Poppy yesterday.
There’s only one explanation—one of those bikers caught your eye. ”
I sighed. My seventeen-year-old sister was like a bloodhound when she smelled gossip. There was no point fighting it. She wouldn’t let up until I spilled all the details.
“Fine.” I walked over to the door and peered out the glass to make sure nobody was about to walk in mid-confession. After confirming the coast was clear, I turned back toward her. “You’re right. There’s a guy. I was grabbing a drink, turned around too fast, and basically ran into his chest.”
“Nice.” She snorted. “Classic rom-com move to get the guy’s attention.”
“I wasn’t trying anything,” I muttered. “I didn’t even know he was there.”
“But you still captured his interest, right?”
My cheeks filled with color as I thought about how Rebel’s steel-gray eyes had zeroed in on me. “Maybe.”
“That’s a yes,” she teased before taking another big bite of her donut.
“Probably because it is,” I mumbled.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not,” I automatically denied.
“You so are.” She quirked a brow. “Which means he must be ultra hot.”
“He really is.” I fanned myself. “Tall and muscular enough to make me feel dainty. Built like he could bench-press one of Dad’s tractors.
With thick dark brown hair that’s a little long and kept falling over his forehead.
A full beard. Steel-gray eyes that didn’t miss anything.
And full-sleeve tattoos that made me wonder if he has more that I couldn’t see. ”
She let out a low whistle. “So you’re already mentally stripping him.”
“Maybe.” My cheeks flamed even hotter.
“I’ve known you forever.” I rolled my eyes because that was obviously true since I was two when she was born. “And you’ve never talked about a guy like this.”
I busied myself rearranging the baskets of apples so I didn’t have to meet her eyes.
“I’ve been busy helping Mom and Dad since I was old enough to carry a crate.
Dating wasn’t exactly on the schedule. And boys my age are so immature.
They want to play video games and text memes.
Rebel is different from them. Older. More mature. And a Hound.”
Growing up in Riverstone, she knew exactly what I meant by the last part.
The Hounds of Hellfire MC owned a lot of businesses in town, and we grew up with them riding up and down the country road that bordered our land.
But our family wasn’t connected to the club, at least not until my best friend fell for their treasurer.
Harper softened. “That’s one of the things Mom loves most about Dad. How steady he is.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “And I always said I wanted what they have.”
She nodded as she finished off the donut. “Do you think he might be that guy for you?”
“I don’t know. But when he looked at me, I felt it in a way I can’t quite explain.”
The bell jingled again. A regular came in for his weekly apple haul. I rang him up on autopilot, teasing him about how he was single-handedly keeping the orchard in business.
Harper helped bag his order, but as soon as he left, she asked, “You gonna see him again?”
“Only if Poppy invites me to something at the Hounds compound again.” I shrugged. “He’s in a motorcycle club, and I sell fruit for a living. Totally different worlds.”
She smirked. “Worlds collide sometimes. Did he get your number?”
“No, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to find me if he wanted to.” I shook my head with a soft laugh. “You know how much Poppy likes to talk.”
“If you’re mooning over him like this, I bet he asked her about you, and she spared no details.”
My phone buzzed on the counter, offering me an out from this conversation. Spotting my best friend’s name on the screen, I grinned. My smile only widened when I opened her message.
Poppy
I totally forgot to ask yesterday because I was overwhelmed, but you’re going to be my maid of honor. Right?
I snorted, my thumbs already moving.
Me
Obviously yes. You’re stuck with me.
Her reply came in seconds.
Poppy
YAY! Love you. Also…has a certain biker hunted you down at the orchard yet?
Heat hit my cheeks again. I quickly tapped out a reply before I could overthink it.
Me
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Poppy
Sure. Keep telling yourself that.
I set the phone face down, but the stupid smile wouldn’t leave my face. Poppy and Ace were disgustingly happy. She’d found exactly the kind of love I’d always wanted. And if she’d picked up on whatever spark had happened at the clubhouse, maybe it wasn’t just in my head.
Harper caught the tail end of my grin. “Was that the guy? Your face just did a thing.”
I shook my head. “No, it was Poppy. Asking me to be maid of honor.”
“And?”
“And nothing. It’s just wedding stuff.”
She smirked. “Liar. Your cheeks are pinker than those apples.”
I flipped her off good-naturedly and headed to the other side of the store to straighten the jam jars, but my mind drifted again.
Then the bell over the door jingled again, and I glanced up reflexively.
I met the steel-gray eyes I couldn't seem to get out of my head, and it felt like time stood still.