Chapter 9
By the time Rebecca reached the edge of Calloway’s Orchard in the late afternoon, plum hues had taken over the sky and the air was growing chilly—and all she could think about was the hurt in Cort’s eyes, hurt that she had caused.
She hadn’t been fair to him, she knew it, and she was ashamed.
This was not at all how her grandmother had raised her, and it was not what she wanted from herself.
Cort had been nothing but helpful. She was making the hurt she felt over his rejection of her somehow his fault—and it wasn’t.
She was the one who had come on to him. And she knew she had to find a way to somehow make this right.
She was glad for the walk in the fresh air to help clear her head somewhat.
All day, after Cort had left the diner, Rebecca had felt like she was walking around in a fog.
Every task she attempted, from going through papers to cleaning out closets, had resulted in her just staring into space, reliving moments she wished she could forget about forever and knew she had to deal with.
Finally, she had put a bottle of apple wine in a canvas bag and texted Sabrina that she was coming over.
She walked along rows of apple trees, which ran in clean, shadowy lines through the fields.
The scent of the ripe fruit thickened as she followed the gravel path toward the rambling Calloway farmhouse and the converted red barn beyond, where Sabrina lived.
Crickets sang among the trees, united in what sounded like indignation against the early chill.
She was relieved to have left the diner behind for now, with its piles of plaster dust, Crispin’s invoice sitting on the counter, the new lock installed by Cort a reminder of how poorly she had treated him after he had been so kind.
Lights glowed warm in the barn’s wide windows, and the barn-board door swung open almost before she could knock. “You’re here! Just in time. I baked apple cinnamon buns and I need a taste tester.”
Rebecca followed her best friend up the stairs and into the farmhouse-style kitchen, with its wide-planked, honey-colored wooden floors; apple-red Viking range; and double wall oven.
The spicy-sweet scent of apples, cinnamon, and yeasty buns filled the air.
Sabrina already had one on a plate, and she set Rebecca up at the harvest table, with its red-and-white-checked buffalo plaid runner and the wooden bowl in its center, constantly filled with fresh apples in varying shades.
“Now, I need you to pretend you’re a food critic,” Sabrina said to Rebecca, handing her a fork and an oversized red-and-white-checked napkin.
Rebecca took a bite of the still-warm and gooey cinnamon bun. “First impressions are…perfection,” she said, mouth still full, meaning every word.
“Yes, but is this the one?”
“Are you planning to propose? I can’t say I’d stand in your way.”
Sabrina laughed. “No, this is for the frozen apple cinnamon bun contract.” When Rebecca looked blank, she added, “For the big box store.”
“Oh, right.” She felt a flash of guilt at being so clearly behind on what was going on in her best friend’s world, because she had been so distracted by the urgency of her return to a place she had been trying to avoid.
“I didn’t realize you had reached the product development stage.
Tell me everything.” Sabrina was in the process of bringing some of the food sold in the Calloway’s Orchard farm market to the masses.
The year before, it had been their apple butter, which could now be found in most grocery stores.
A frozen version of their famous apple cinnamon buns was next.
“The plan we landed on is to sell the buns frozen, not fresh,” Sabrina explained.
“Which means we can stick close to the original recipe and don’t have to add ingredients to make them shelf-stable.
But now I need to know how you feel about the result.
This batter was baked, flash frozen, and now I’ve rebaked it.
Can you tell? If you can tell, does it matter?
” She frowned. “Shoot, maybe I should have made this a blind taste test.”
“I would never have known this was previously frozen,” Rebecca insisted, taking another bite just to be sure. She nodded. “I swear. It’s delicious. Just as delicious as the ones that haven’t been frozen. This one might actually be better.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not! I love it.”
“I believe you, then. And thank you. I’ve reached the point where if I eat another apple cinnamon bun, I just don’t know what will become of me.
Which is sad, because I used to love them so much.
Cost of doing business, I guess.” Sabrina ran the orchard as her day job, alongside her parents, and was busy turning it into a mini empire—but Rebecca knew cooking and baking were her friend’s true passions, and always had been.
When they were kids, Sabrina used to enthusiastically help Lenore develop her seasonal menus.
The muffuletta sandwich had been her idea and had ended up a town favorite.
Lenore had always said that while she was a good cook, Sabrina was a true chef, an artist.
“Something tells me you aren’t feeling fulfilled with the big box store contracts,” Rebecca said.
Sabrina sighed as she uncorked the apple wine. “Not entirely,” she said. “It feels more like a science experiment at this point than anything to do with food. But,” she said firmly, generously pouring pinot into two glasses. “It’s good for the orchard. And that’s that. So, want to stay for dinner?”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble.”
“Are you kidding? Cooking for friends and family is what fulfills me. You know that. As soon as you texted you were coming, I planned a menu. Sweet potato chowder and French onion grilled cheese. Simple. You can help chop—and tell me what’s on your mind, because you’ve clearly had a day.”
“How can you tell?”
“I’d like to say it’s best friend’s intuition, but my mom called on her way out of town with my dad—I sent them for a spa night, I always do during harvest season, just to prove to myself I can handle things on my own.
She told me that earlier, she saw Crispin’s Volvo and Cort’s truck in your parking lot at the same time.
Plus, that Eli Walsh had been spotted there midday, in a tricked-out purple pickup truck. Tell me everything.”
Rebecca let out a groan so agonized it caused Sabrina’s Bernese mountain dog, Rusty, to rouse from his nap by the fireplace at the other end of the wide, open-concept room.
When he lifted his head and spotted Rebecca, he wagged his tail and lumbered over for a pet.
Rebecca buried her hands in his thick, soft fur as she began to tell Sabrina about her day.
Sabrina laughed over her recollections of the Eli Walsh visit, and Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh a little herself as she told Sabrina about the plaster disaster, the destroyed floorboards, the running leap onto the countertop.
“The guy is a menace,” she said. “Somehow, worse than when we were in high school.” But her expression grew serious as she began to talk about Cort’s arrival, then Crispin’s.
“I didn’t even know the back door lock was broken. If I can’t handle that, how am I going to source an entire fleet of pumpkins and gourds?”
“Something needs to be done about Crispin,” Sabrina said grimly. “Autumn decorations should not be causing people such anxiety.”
“Tell me about it. And it feels like extortion! Somehow, I owe the BIA two thousand dollars. You’d think, with fees like that, they’d take care of the decorations themselves.
” She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, feeling something loosen inside her that she’d been holding in all day.
“And I just feel so guilty. Even when the diner was closed, Lenore kept the building shipshape. She decorated every fall. It was important to her. Crispin is right—I’ve let it go to ruin.
But…” She trailed off, sipped her wine for fortification, but found it hard to swallow over the lump in her throat.
Meanwhile, Sabrina’s expression contained understanding.
“You miss her. And I bet it hurts, not to be getting a ton of grace from the town Lenore so adored, the place where you grew up. But please, don’t let Crispin be a representation of everyone’s feelings toward you. This town loves you. They loved Lenore. It’s going to be okay.”
Rebecca put her wineglass down. “I treated Cort so badly today, Sabrina. When he was just trying to help. I’m ashamed of myself.
I don’t know what it is about this place, but it sometimes feels like every time I drive under the ‘Welcome to Bramley Hollow’ sign, time starts to reverse.
I’m not seventeen, but I’m acting like it.
It feels like a curse—in a depressing fairy tale with no happy ending in sight. I know I owe Cort an apology.”
Sabrina dropped into the chair beside Rebecca.
“You’ve been through a hard time, Rebecca.
I know it’s been a year, I know it wasn’t unexpected—but we lost Lenore.
” Now her blue eyes were shining with tears, and Rebecca felt one of hers fall, too.
Her best friend handed her a cloth napkin and she sniffled into it.
“We lost Lenore,” Rebecca repeated. “And she was the best. Wasn’t she?”
“She was so good.”
“I wanted her to live forever.”
Sabrina’s smile was sad. “So did I. Not just for you—she made me feel like family. I think about her every day.”
Rebecca reached for her friend’s hand. “We needed this, didn’t we?” she said with a watery smile. “We needed to sit here, in this town, and talk about how sad it is that she’s gone. And I put it off, way too long.”
“Stop doing that. Stop blaming yourself for things you decided on during a really hard time, after you had lost someone so important to you. Aside from Crispin, no one is holding this against you.”
“Except Cort.”
“Not even him, I’m sure of it. And, yes, maybe you do need to apologize to him for today, but that doesn’t mean you have to hire him.
I know last night I was making a real case for it, even after you told me about that night at the Tipsy Apple.
But after sleeping on it, it feels really clear.
Your history with Cort is complicated. And, sure, you’re both adults now, not the teenagers you were when it all started—but that doesn’t make it less painful.
High school leaves a mark. I still go the other way in the grocery store any time I see Heather Walsh, even though it shouldn’t matter anymore that she bullied me when we were kids. ”
“She was just jealous,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “And you’re right about Cort. Somehow, I just can’t seem to get past all that history we have, no matter how much I want to. And I guess the truth is, I’m embarrassed.”
Sabrina stood and returned with a Calloway’s Orchard branded notebook. “We’ll figure this out. You know I believe there’s no problem a good list can’t solve. Let’s figure out your vision for the project. Then I’ll ask around with some of my contacts, and we’ll find you someone else.”
“I don’t have time for a vision. Crispin gave me thirty days. I need to repair what’s broken, clean it out, and put it up for sale. I have no other choice.”
Sabrina’s pen stilled on the page. She looked up at her friend. “Right. And then? You’ll head back to Toronto?”
Now it was Rebecca who paused—though she wasn’t sure why. “I’m on a monthlong leave from work and then, yes, I do have to get back.”
“Of course.” Sabrina shook her head. “I don’t know why I get like this.
You’re back here for five minutes, and I start to convince myself you’re just going to stay.
You’re not the only one with regressive tendencies.
I have to remember you can’t live across a field from me anymore, flash signals at me before you go to sleep, no matter how much I miss it. ”
“I miss it, too,” Rebecca said softly. “Last night, I was looking out my bedroom window, remembering our flashlight code.”
“What was wrong with us?” Sabrina shook her head. “We could’ve IM’d each other, but instead we pretended to be Anne Shirley and Diana Barry.”
“I wouldn’t have us any other way,” Rebecca said with a smile. “I wish we could always live so close to each other, too. I wish it could be different but…it isn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter where you live, though. We’ve determined that. We’ll always be best friends—and I’m always on your side, okay?” Sabrina picked up the apple wine bottle and refilled their glasses. Then she lifted the pen again—but Rebecca gently eased it from her fingertips.
“I already know,” Rebecca said, her voice steadier than she felt. “There’s no one else I can hire. It has to be Cort. He’s available, he knows the building, and unless I want Crispin to follow through on his threats, I don’t really have a choice.”
Sabrina searched her face. “And you’re truly okay with this?”
Rebecca hesitated. Then she shook her head.
“No. But I am sure it’s what I need to do.
” And as she spoke, she felt a sense of calm steal over her.
Because some version of this had been true since they were teenagers: Avoiding Cort Adams had never actually worked.
It had only delayed things, made it, somehow, more painful instead of less.
Sabrina lifted her glass. “I’m on Team Rebecca,” she said firmly. “Always.”
Rebecca clinked her glass against hers. “I know.”
As Sabrina stood to turn on the lamps against the gathering dusk and begin pulling ingredients from the fridge, Rebecca let herself sit with the decision she’d just made.
She had come back to Bramley Hollow telling herself she would fix what was broken and leave again.
Instead, she was already tangled in the past. In old rhythms, unfinished business, and her ever-unresolved feelings for Cort.
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the familiar, delicious smells of her friend’s cooking, and accepted what she’d been resisting all day.
It was almost as if Lenore were speaking to her.
Avoiding something doesn’t make it smaller, Lenore would have said. It just gives it more time to grow.
She opened her eyes, picked up a paring knife, and began to chop the vegetables Sabrina had set in front of her. Enough was enough. Starting tomorrow, she was going to face her life head-on.