Rosie’s bun flops around on her head as she laughs at me. “Because it’s a ton of work.”
“I could help,” Fletcher offers, walking straight into my plan.
She lets out a derisive sigh. “Of course you can. Don’t you have a town to run? A child to raise?Somewhere elseto be?”
“You’d really help?” I ask hopefully.
“Of course. Hope Harbor is nothing if not helpful,” he says proudly. “I bet I can have a group of us over there this afternoon, and we’ll have it done by dinner.”
“Really?” I ask, hope blossoming inside me. This is how my dad got stuff done. Everyone in town always lent him a hand because he was the guy who helped everyone else. He actually engaged in conversation with his neighbors, unlike my roommate. I can’t wait to see my mother’s and Walker’s faces when they see the farm blooming just like it used to.
And it will be a good test. If Walker’s upset that everything is finally ready for the festival, it will only confirm Penny’s and my suspicion. Either way it’s a win because the farm needs to be ready, and this is step one.
“Really,” he says. “I’ll call Eli.”
Fletcher pulls a phone out of his pocket but just before hewalks away, he flashes Rosie a smirk that could kill a woman. “And, by the way, I’m definitely not bad in bed.”
With that, he hits Eli’s number and walks toward the porch, leaving my jaw on the floor and Rosie throwing daggers his way.
CHAPTER 12
Walker
For the first time in a long damn time, I feel relaxed and content. Hell, I’m even smiling.
I’d like to say it has nothing to do with Tally, but of course it does.
I’ve successfully avoided the woman for two whole days. Andthatis something to smile about.
We only have two weeks until the start of the Daffodil Festival now. And the following weekend, we have our first wedding of the season. The magenta flowers in the east field were standing tall this morning, ready to dazzle the happy couple and their guests. The tulips in the west field are still warm and covered beneath the tarps, ready to bloom when I release them—which won’t be for another three weeks so they’re still pretty for the late-May weddings and maybe even the early June ones.
The daffodils need a bit more time, but by next week, they, too, will be showing off, right in time for the festival.
All in all, things are good. Right. Exactly as they should be.
I pull the ball cap off my head, spinning it so I can see Quinn as he takes the plate and prepares for the first pitch.
It’s Little League, but this is the first year the kids are pitching rather than the coaches, so the ball has been a bit wild. My sister grips my arm as the ball releases from thepitcher’s hand. Quinn shakes his little butt like he’s a professional, and when the ball gets close, he swings wide, missing it completely.
“That’s okay, Quinn. Eye on the ball,” I shout. “You’ll get the next one!”
Beside me Billie cheers, “You’ve got this, Quinny!”
My nephew’s head swings back, and he glares at his mom.
“Don’t call him ‘Quinny,’” I mutter.
“He’s seven, not seventeen,” she retorts. “I’ll call him whatever I want.”
I shake my head and clap my hands. “You got this, Quinn!” I holler, annunciating his name clearly.
Billie rolls her eyes and ignores me, cheering louder, though I notice she doesn’t use the baby name again. The next pitch is wide, but Quinn doesn’t swing.
“Wayne didn’t want to come?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough that only my sister can hear me. We’re standing by the batting cage, away from the other parents, who are mostly seated in lawn chairs or on the metal stands, chatting away.
My sister is younger than most of the other mothers because she had Quinn when she was only nineteen—something I didn’t love at the time—so she’s never really fit in with this crowd.
My mind wanders as I try hard not to imagine how well she and Tally would get along. They’re about the same age and both enjoy rolling their eyes at me, and in general, my sister smiles a hell of a lot more than I do—so yeah, I have a feeling that they would be friends if given the chance.
