“And well you should be proud. Genevieve’s a writer and speaker, which is work for the thinking person! I’ve done a fair bit of writing and speaking myself.”
“Oh?” Mom asked.
“My PhD thesis, of course, is on the pre-Columbian peoples of South America. After that, I wrote a great many articles for those of us who roam the hallowed halls of academia. I’ve been asked to speak on numerous historical topics, history being my professional area of expertise. But I’ve also taken it upon myself to educate on topics in which I’ve invested personal study. For example, wine, art, literature, horticulture, and symphonic music.”
“How fascinating!” Mom said.
“Mmm.” Dad gave Oliver his polite attention.
Genevieve bagged the guests’ produce and handed them receipts. Once done, she poured cups of steaming cider for her parents.
Oliver was of medium height and, likely thanks to his personal study of wine, husky around the middle. He kept what was left of his sandy gray hair short and tidy. He’d clocked in for work this morning dressed in the most dapper gardening clothes Genevieve had ever witnessed on someone who wasn’t an online model. A field shirt from L.L. Bean, zip-off pants he (mercifully) hadn’t zipped off, a bush hat, and gardening boots.
“During my years in Bogota, after receiving my PhD, I waspressed into service as a writer and speaker. The people practically broke down the doors, insisting to hear what I had to say.”
“Mmm,” Dad murmured again kindly, sipping his cider.
“Do you have a family, Oliver?” Mom asked, making a naked bid to steer the conversation toward the topic she cared about most—the God-ordained fabulousness of mothering and grandmothering.
“I do not.” Oliver gave his belly two satisfied taps. “Many the lady has tried to turn my head from the delights of the scholarly world, but my heart has stayed true to its first love.” A gusty laugh. “Learning.”
“Well, we have two daughters,” Mom told Oliver, undaunted by Oliver’s lack of either interest in or experience with families. “And two grandchildren whom we’re crazy about—just crazy. When they say that the role of grandparent is the best in the world, they’re right. What a joy. What a joy.”
“I happen to believe that sommelier is the best role in the world. And I won’t be dissuaded.” More gusty laughter.
Just then, a bright blue Chevy Cruze roared up the farm’s drive and skidded to a stop in the makeshift parking area. A slim blonde stepped out almost before the tires had stopped spitting gravel. She walked toward them, her attention glued to her phone.
This must be Anna. Sam had told her that Oliver gave his time because he enjoyed talking to a fresh audience. Anna gave her time because she was attending community college and looking to accumulate service hours before applying to universities.
“A sommelier in Madrid,” Oliver blustered, “introduced me to a divine Tempranillo one humid night at a sidewalk restaurant on one of the plazas. Let me think how many years ago that was....”
Anna lifted her head once she was upon them. “Oliver!” She gave him a wide smile and a hug.
Oliver stiffened. “Anna,” he said, the way someone might sayEbola.
Anna exchanged introductions with Genevieve and her parents. The girl projected sweet and wholesome prettiness. Her long hair appeared to have dried of its own accord, but had nonetheless dried in a mussed way that looked great.
“It’s so cool that your parents came by,” Anna said to Genevieve. Before Genevieve could reply, she continued. “I just finished brunch with my parents. My mom’s a nurse and my dad’s an accountant. You’d think accountants wouldn’t have any personality—because ...numbers. But he has lots of personality.” Her phone beeped, and she looked down at it for a few seconds. Her focus lifted again. “He took me golfing with him the other day, and he had the guys laughing and laughing. They were all drinking way too much on the course, by the way. I was all,‘How areyou expecting to drive the ball straight after flagging down the cart girl for beer every time she comes by’—and they called me a rookie. The day was so warm. Perfect for golf! Anyway ... numbers.”
Anna’s conversation made as much sense as a preschooler’s scribble.
“Mmm,” Dad said, nodding.
Oliver cleared his throat. “About that night in Madrid,” he ventured, just as Mom said, “Do you have siblings, Anna?”
“Yep!” She tucked her phone into the back pocket of the tight jean shorts she’d paired with a voluminous T-shirt. “I have two older brothers. One’s still in college, and one’s working in Atlanta. I’m definitely going to stay with him for a few days over Christmas break, which can’t get here soon enough, you know?”
Mom’s face pinched with consternation as she waited for the tiniest of opportunities to talk about herself.
“I’m taking twelve hours this semester,” Anna continued, “and chemistry is kicking my booty. I need about five cups of apple cider to make me feel better after all that chem. Is the apple cider hot?”
“It is,” Genevieve supplied.
“Yay!”
Just then Genevieve spotted Sam’s John Deere tractor and her heart hitched with delight. The tractor topped a rise and continued toward them, slowly towing guests back to the farm stand.
Anna checked her phone, turned the mobile receipt printer a different direction, started to jot a note to herself, got distracted, then unstacked the baskets guests used to pick their own produce and displayed them in a different way.
