The town of Pala flies by in blurry swatches of sage and beige as both of us check our phones. I assure Kara the flight was great and that I kept my pants on, while purposely leaving out the fact that Noah helped me with my seatbelt. No need to get herexcited. Noah, meanwhile, taps away on his phone, and I find myself curious about who he’s talking to. I mean, it’s none of my business, but surely his mom wouldn’t be contacting him this often.
My mind wanders to the woman I found on his instagram and I wonder if I missed a vital piece of information. For all I know, he has a girlfriend, and the thrills of his proximity are all the makings of my overactive imagination. There’s no great way to organically ask about it now and I kick myself for not asking on the plane when we were discussing our respective backgrounds. Not that it matters. His being single has little to no bearing on how this weekend is going to play out. We are here to work.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it through my nose, I reconfirm my pledge to keep things professional. Just a few days and we would be back in Portland, getting things ready for the final stretch of our launch. What’s the worst that could happen with a bunch of conservative lavender farmers?
Scented Acres is exactly as it sounds: a hundred acres of land farmed and cultivated for various aromatic flowers and herbs at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains. With the line of sleep aids we are developing and looking to launch as an exclusive in the store front, lavender is our primary interest when it comes to this hunk of land in the California desert. However, the farm boasts of much more— like their own distillery and packing plant where they ship to individual consumers. Flourish is the first big brand they’ve been open to partnering with and the pressure of that reality presses down heavier the closer we get to the farm.
The car crests a hill revealing a horizon painted in shades of pastel before we descend and turn onto a private drive. It is clear where the farm gets its name, for before we are even inside thelarge iron gate, the strong aroma of lavender fills the car. I roll the window down and let the fresh breeze wrap around us.
“Wow.” I sigh, slumping back against the seat.
“Wow,” Noah concurs.
“I didn’t realize we’d be coming straight here,” I whisper.
Noah’s response is monotone, as he’s barely paying attention to me. “Why wouldn’t we? I told you they invited us to stay on the farm.”
I stiffen. “I must have missed that part.”
“Oh,” he says, jerking his head to look at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to mention it again after our first phone call.”
I reach to remember the exact words, but all I can conjure is the way I felt having Noah call me and the panic that had been lacing his voice.Thisis why we don’t swoon; it blocks out important details.
“It’s fine. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s nice of them to offer.”
The flowers don’t smell as sweet now, so I roll the window up as the thought of bunking up with strangers steals the magic of this place. When the car stops, however, I have a hard time not ogling the house that sits before us. The driver opens my door first and I climb out, the back of my head glued to my shoulders as I take it all in.
White pillars lining a wrap-around porch frame the three story farmhouse, and wide windows, with dark blue shutters, punctuate the frost colored siding. I spin in a slow circle, trying to absorb the whole image: gnarled laurel trees and beautifully manicured gardens sweeping out in a breathtaking yard.
“Noah Graves!” A booming voice calls out, snapping my head back into place.
A robust man in blue jeans and a cowboy hat struts out of the dark stained door, a slender blonde in linen pants and a pink sweater following closely behind him. Noah breaks into his most sincere smile and offers his hand to the man.
“Tom Barker. It’s truly a pleasure.”
“Welcome to Scented Acres!”
The man turns to me and offers his palm. “And this beauty must be Ms. Charlotte.”
I shake his hand but he pulls me into a deep bear hug. Noah stifles a laugh at the look I shoot at him over the big man’s arm. The instant familiarity is not what I expected, especially given the reason for our visit, and I’m left wondering how much of our trip is because of the tabloid disaster and how much of it is Noah’s need to be the best. I stumble back as Tom releases me, only to be caught by the blonde woman. She smells like baby powder and expensive perfume and her hug is even tighter than the man’s.
“We’re so glad you were able to make it out in time for the festival,” the woman purrs. “How was the flight?”
“Best I’ve ever had,” I say, matching her smile.
“Glad to hear it. I’m Cheryl, by the way. Tom’s wife.” She turns to the driver before I can respond and motions to our bags. “Lance, please make sure their things get settled in the guest house.”
Tom smacks Noah on the back. “I am just so tickled you took the time to come all the way out.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Noah says, stepping towards me. He places his hand on the small of my back, sending a chill of nerves up my spine. They settle at the base of my skull, the skin there tingling with his proximity. The gesture is far more familiar than any of our other encounters, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from throwing him a confused glare.
Cheryl claps her hands together and looks at us as though we are part of a Precious Moments catalog. “How about a tour? Then you two can freshen up before lunch on the terrace.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Noah chimes.
The energy here feels wrong, but I write it off as wealthy people speaking a language I don’t understand and step forward to follow Cheryl and Tom as they turn to head back inside. Noah follows close behind, his hand dropping from my back as soon as we are out of our hosts’ line of vision.
The Scented Acres compound is impressive. Though we keep to the main house and grounds, we can see most of the farm from the terrace where Cheryl mentioned lunch. A few other people mill about, but they pay us no mind. I gather they are the staff. Tom and Noah fall into conversation about the farm and this year’s lavender crop and Cheryl approaches with a glass of white wine. “We’ll let the boys chat business while we enjoy the afternoon.”
