Chapter 16
Molly strode along the lakeshore, each step punctuated with frustration.
The bottle of premium cider the older man had gifted her swung in its paper bag, the glass clinking against her leg with every determined stride. She hadn’t come halfway across the world for her mission to be thwarted by a stubborn apple farmer who couldn’t see past his own suspicions.
‘Corporate vultures,’ she muttered, mimicking Jack’s accusatory tone. ‘As if I care about his precious apples.’
But even as the words left her lips, she knew they weren’t entirely true. The brief encounter with Patrick had revealed something special – an operation that valued tradition and quality over commercial efficiency, a place where apple varieties with history and character still thrived.
In another context, she might even have admired Jack Flynn’s dedication.
The lake stretched beside her, its surface rippling under a gentle breeze that carried the scent of water and soil. Sunlight danced across the small waves, creating shimmering patterns that shifted with each gust.
Molly paused, her irritation momentarily forgotten as she watched a heron glide low over the water, its reflection a perfect mirror image before it disappeared into the reeds.
The vibration of her phone broke the moment. She pulled it from her pocket to see Cole’s face filling the screen, her brother’s familiar grin distorted slightly by the wide-angle lens of the video-calling app. She swiped to answer.
‘There she is …’ Cole’s voice boomed, slightly tinny through the phone’s speakers.
Behind him, a locker room bustled with activity – bare-chested hockey teammates in various stages of dress, equipment bags being unzipped, voices echoing off tiled walls.
‘How’s my favorite sister enjoying the old country? ’
‘I’m your only sister, smartass,’ Molly replied automatically, a small smile breaking through her foul mood.
‘Gimme a second.’ She spotted a weathered wooden bench facing the lake and sat down, adjusting her position until she found the perfect angle that showed her face without catching the afternoon glare.
‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now I can properly see your smug mug.’
Cole’s laugh was as warm and familiar as a childhood blanket. ‘Uh oh. Not having the idyllic Irish vacation you imagined?’
Molly sighed, her shoulders slumping. ‘It’s beautiful here, don’t get me wrong.
The village is exactly like Nan described it.
But I’m hitting a wall with accessing the oak tree.
’ She lowered her voice, though there was no one within earshot.
‘It’s on private land – an apple orchard called Goldenridge – and the owner is … difficult.’
‘Difficult how?’ Cole leaned closer to the screen.
‘He thinks I’m a corporate spy trying to buy his orchard,’ she grumbled.
‘He practically called me a Yank and ordered me off his property just now.’ Molly ran a hand through her hair, disheveling it further.
‘It was like something out of that movie Nan used to make us watch – The Field. I half-expected him to start ranting about his father’s father’s land. ’
Cole burst out laughing. ‘Only you, Molls. Only you could travel to the land of a thousand welcomes and immediately make an enemy.’
‘It’s not funny,’ she protested, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. ‘I need to get to that tree, Cole. I promised Nan.’
‘And when has Molly Harris ever failed to keep a promise?’ His voice softened. ‘Remember when you were eleven and promised Mrs Abramowitz you’d shovel her walk all winter? Pop said it was too much, but you did it anyway – even during that massive storm when the snow was up to your waist.’
‘I had to stand on a bucket to reach her doorbell,’ Molly remembered, the image clear as yesterday.
‘Or what about the time you were determined to get Nan’s recipe for soda bread exactly right? Fourteen batches, Molls. The apartment smelled like flour for a month.’
‘Fifteen,’ she corrected. ‘And I still didn’t manage it.’
Cole’s expression grew more serious, his voice dropping. ‘My point is, you don’t give up. Ever. It’s your superpower and your curse. If anyone can break down this farmer’s defenses, it’s you.’
The reminder of her own tenacity straightened Molly’s spine a little. ‘Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.’
‘Anytime.’ His grin returned. ‘So tell me more about this difficult farmer. Is he all rugged and handsome too?’
Heat rushed to Molly’s cheeks. ‘Irrelevant.’
Cole’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh-ho, he is! This just got interesting.’
‘Shut up,’ she chided, but she was smiling. ‘How’s Pop doing?’
The abrupt subject change didn’t fool Cole for a second, but he allowed it.
‘He’s great. Still refusing to use the pill organizer I bought him, insisting he can remember which medications to take when.
But I check the bottles every few days, and he’s keeping up with them.
’ Cole shifted, and the camera angle wobbled.
‘Speaking of, he told me to check that you’re eating OK. ’
The familiar worry in their grandfather’s question made Molly smile. ‘Tell him I’m being force-fed Irish fry-ups and apple tarts. The food here is amazing, actually.’
A voice called Cole’s name from off-camera. Her brother turned and nodded before facing her again. ‘Gotta go – team huddle. But hey, you’re supposed to be relaxing too, remember? Not just mission-focused. Enjoy the downtime.’
‘I am,’ Molly assured him. ‘The village is beautiful. The people are friendly. Well, most of them.’
‘Except your Hot Farmer Nemesis,’ he teased.
‘He’s not hot,’ Molly lied. ‘And he’s not mine.’
‘Yet.’ Cole’s grin widened.
‘Goodbye, brother! Go break a leg or whatever.’
The screen went dark, and Molly stared at her own reflection for a moment before pocketing the phone.
Cole’s confidence in her was heartening, but he didn’t understand the full complexity of the situation.
This wasn’t a matter of pure determination.
Jack Flynn was proving a helluva tough nut to crack.
The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of nearby trees and sending ripples across the lake’s surface. Molly shivered slightly, realizing the evening had advanced and the air had cooled. Her stomach growled, reminding her that anger and frustration burned calories.
She stood, stretching muscles stiff from sitting, and headed back toward the village, her feet carrying her almost automatically back to The Cherry Blossom Café.
The blue door stood invitingly ajar, and the rich aroma of Eva’s baked goods wafted onto the street.
Her mouth watered in Pavlovian response.
Inside, the café embraced her once again with warmth; both physical from the ovens and emotional from the cozy atmosphere. Late afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor.
Eva stood behind the counter, her curly auburn hair escaping from beneath yet another colorful bandana.
Flour dusted her forearms and speckled her apron as she poured tea into mismatched mugs; a blue willow pattern for one customer, a hand-painted ceramic for another.
She looked up, her face brightening with recognition as she spotted Molly.
‘There she is! I was beginning to think you’d abandoned us already.’ The proprietor’s smile was wide and genuine. ‘Perfect timing too, I just pulled a batch of gingerbread from the oven. Crisp edges, soft center, like the best men. If we could only find them,’ she added wistfully.
Molly perched onto a stool by the counter, her frustrations settling heavily on her shoulders. ‘I’ll take all the gingerbread, thanks. And the strongest tea you can legally serve.’
Eva laughed, already reaching for an oversized mug painted with tiny rabbits. ‘That bad, eh? What happened? Did you get lost on the lake path? Told you some of those trails can be tricky.’
‘I didn’t get lost,’ Molly said, unwinding her scarf. ‘I’ve just been up to the Goldenridge farm shop.’
‘Ah.’ Eva’s expression became knowing as she set the steaming mug before Molly. ‘Jack charming as ever, I take it?’
‘If by “charming” you mean “accused me of being a corporate landgrabber and ordered me off the property”, then yes, absolutely.’ Molly wrapped her hands around the warm mug, inhaling the fragrant steam.
‘He seems utterly convinced I’m there to …
what was it? Make an “insulting offer” for his precious orchard. Why the heck would I do that?’
Eva winced sympathetically as she slid a plate with a generous square of dark gingerbread across the counter.
Molly bit off a corner. The gingerbread was still warm, the spices releasing their aroma as she brought it to her lips. The first bite was a perfect balance of sweetness – ginger, cinnamon and something else she couldn’t quite identify, all wrapped in molasses depth.
‘Oh man,’ she murmured, momentarily distracted from her frustration. ‘This is incredible.’
‘The secret is fresh ginger and a splash of stout. Guinness to you,’ Eva added, winking.
‘OK, I finally get the attraction.’ Molly swallowed and took a fortifying sip of tea. ‘So who or what is Crest? Jack Flynn keeps throwing the name around.’
Eva lowered her voice and look around, even though the café was practically empty.
‘A big multinational drinks company that’s been buying up smaller operators all over the country.
Once they get a place, they gut it – rip out old trees and crops on the land, replace them with more commercial varieties, let go most of the staff.
’ Her expression darkened. ‘They’ve had their eye on Goldenridge for a while now.
Aggressively pressuring Jack to sell up. ’
Understanding dawned on Molly’s face. ‘And he thinks I’m their latest tactic?’
‘Sounds like it.’ Eva straightened. ‘One of their executives was sniffing around town in the summer and Jack sent yer man packing with the kind of language you’d only hear in The Orchard Pub.
So you showing up now asking questions straight off the bus about the orchard?
I can see why his suspicions were raised. ’
‘But that doesn’t explain why he’s so … hostile,’ Molly protested. ‘I have no interest in his stupid land.’
Eva’s expression softened with something like sympathy.
‘It’s not just about the land for Jack though.
Goldenridge is his identity, his purpose.
The Flynn family has worked that soil for generations.
When his parents died, the orchard became even more significant to Jack – his last connection to family, I suppose.
’ She refilled Molly’s mug. ‘For Jack, selling would be like cutting off a limb.’
Molly absorbed this, feeling a twinge of guilt for her anger. She understood legacy and promises all too well. Wasn’t her own mission here driven by largely similar forces?
‘His uncle seemed more personable at least,’ she offered. ‘He actually gave me a bottle of cider as an apology for Jack’s behavior.’
‘Ah, Patrick’s a gem,’ Eva agreed fondly. ‘If anyone can make Jack see reason, it’s him.’ She paused, studying Molly with newfound curiosity. ‘Though I’m surprised he took to you so quickly all the same. Usually just as wary of outsiders, just a bit more polite about it.’
Molly shrugged, focusing intently on her gingerbread. ‘Maybe he recognized that I’m not a threat.’
‘Or maybe he saw something else entirely …’ Eva suggested, a hint of mischief in her tone.
Molly looked up, caught off guard. ‘What do you mean?’
The other woman wiped her hands on her apron, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. ‘Just that amongst other things, Patrick Flynn has always had a great eye for matchmaking. Claims he can spot a good match the way he spots the right weather for harvest.’
Heat rushed to Molly’s cheeks. ‘That’s ridiculous. Jack Flynn can barely stand to be in the same room with me.’
‘Mmm,’ Eva hummed noncommittally. ‘Strong reactions often mask even stronger emotions.’
Molly rolled her eyes, though the thought sent a traitorous flutter through her stomach. Despite herself, she found she wanted to know more. She tried for casual interest, keeping her tone light. ‘Has Jack always been so …’ she searched for a diplomatic term, ‘… intense?’
‘Since I’ve known him, yeah,’ Eva said, her voice warm with obvious fondness. ‘Even as a boy, he took everything so seriously. While the rest of us were passing notes in school, he was off studying grafting techniques and soil compositions.’
‘I’m surprised someone hasn’t managed to … soften him up by now. Young farmer with his own land? Must be quite the catch in these parts.’
Eva’s eyes twinkled knowingly. ‘Oh, there have been attempts. Maura Delaney chased him all through secondary school, and more recently a blow-in from one of the new houses tried her luck.’ She leaned in, voice dropping confidentially.
‘There was a summer romance with a Dublin girl who was here on holiday one time – serious enough by all accounts, until he made it clear he wasn’t interested in a move to the city, so that was the end of—’
The bell above the door jingled, and Molly glanced over her shoulder, then froze, a piece of gingerbread halfway to her mouth.
Jack Flynn himself stood in the doorway, a box of apples balanced against his hip, his tall frame blocking most of the evening light.
His dark hair was windswept, his expression guarded as he spotted Molly again at the counter.
For a heartbeat, their eyes locked – his narrowing slightly, hers widening in surprise.
Eva straightened, smile broadening with what looked suspiciously like delight. ‘Speak of the devil!’ she sang, and Molly glanced at her, horrified. ‘I was just talking to Molly here about the festival.’ The impressively smooth transition held not a hint of their actual conversation.
Jack’s gaze flicked between them, clearly not believing this for a second.
He stepped fully into the café, the floorboards creaking beneath his heavy boots. Molly turned resolutely back to her gingerbread, determined not to acknowledge him, though every nerve ending in her body seemed suddenly, traitorously aware of his presence.
Was there no escaping this man?