35
A GIRLFRIEND QUESTION
RIPLEY
It’s working. The number of inquiries about having picnics is up. Sales at the online store of lavender pillows, lotions, oils, and soap are slowly rising. Plus, the Darling Springs mayor herself reached out to see if the town could promote tours of the lavender farm and its maze on its site. Yes, please!
All thanks to the advance buzz from the shoot. Several days later, on Wednesday morning, I mention all this to Grandma as we make breakfast for the crew early in the day. “I’ll be able to send you to Paris in no time,” I tell her.
“I love that you even think about that. But you really shouldn’t worry about me. I can probably find a way to do it on my own.”
I meet her gaze straight on, brooking no argument. “I want to. You did so much for us.”
“And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“Which is why I want to do this,” I say.
“So stubborn. Just like your mother.”
I smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” When I leave the kitchen to tend to farm tasks, she returns to her French app, practicing how to sayI would like a baguette.
“Now that’s useful,” I call from the door.
The next day, as the crew shoots in the lavender fields again, I tell Banks about the upticks, too, as we visit customers, then stop at Josiah’s Hardware to pick up some items I need for the farm. “I guess I don’t mind all the photos after all. Even the ones of me. They seem to be helping us. So I can’t really complain,” I say, waving to Josiah at the counter and to his fickle orange cat.
“Good to see you, Ripley,” he says.
“How are the fish? Were they biting this weekend?” I ask.
“Caught a couple trout. Grilled them to perfection,” he says, and I smile, remembering the times he did that with my dad when I was younger.
“Bet they were delish,” I say, even though I don’t eat fish or meat. But I’m glad he enjoyed his meal.
“They were. Henry would have loved them,” he says, and I smile.
Then Banks and I turn down an aisle of gardening supplies.
“I’m really happy to hear it’s all working out,” Banks says as we return to our earlier convo.
“Thanks. Me too,” I say as I hunt for a new bulb planter. “I wouldn’t exactly say the farm was struggling before, but it wasn’t a money tree either.”
His lips quirk up. “Can you grow those?”
“I wish,” I say, laughing as I spot the planter I want. I grab it, then set it in the red basket Banks has been holding.
“If you find the seeds, let me know. So far, it’s hard work and hustle.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I say. “Back when my parents did this, I had no idea what went into running a farm, from the insurance to the equipment, to the management, to the employees.”
“Did you ever want to do anything else?” he asks as we turn the corner, passing potting plants and soils.
“Briefly, I toyed with being a florist. Which I still think would be fun.Maybebeing a dog trainer. When I was in my rebellious era, I thought I’d work for some corporation in human resources, so I earned a business degree with an HR focus in college. Then, when I graduated and came back to the farm for the summer, I saw how hard Grandma was working. And I knew it was time to help.”
Tilting his head, Banks seems to give that some thought. “Did you do it out of obligation then, or did you like it?”
“Both,” I say, answering with total honesty. “Iwantedto help because it seemed the right thing to do to carry on the farm, and then the more I got to know the inner workings of Lavender Bliss Farms, the more right it seemedfor me. Like maybe this is where I was supposed to be all along.”
“I get that. It’s nice when duty and love can be one and the same.”
