Then his friend engulfed him in a back-slapping hug, and Seth swallowed hard to control the emotions rattling through him.
He was welcome. Relief made him laugh. “Good to see you, Bobby. How are you enjoying life in the middle of nowhere?”
Lawson laughed. “It surprises the hell out of me, but I love it. You’re going to love it too. Did you tell anyone you were coming, or is everyone else going to be as surprised as I am?”
Feeling a bit embarrassed by his choice, he shrugged.
Lawson didn’t make him feel bad at all. “Awesome. We’ve already had dinner, but there are leftover enchiladas in the house if you’re hungry. Let me text everyone to meet inside. I won’t tell them you’re here, just that I want a group conversation. Nash’s daughter is probably in bed, but I’ll get him to head up from his place at the back of the orchard. You can meet the rest of his family tomorrow.”
After he pocketed his phone, Lawson grinned at him. “I’m happy you’re here, Babs. It’s a good place, and you’re going to love it.”
With this kind of welcome, Seth thought his buddy might be right. Maybe this was the place he could heal. Maybe even fit in.
Chapter 2
Hail, Hail, The Gang's All Here
Mara knew she should unpack her bags and settle into the pretty room upstairs, but the lure of the huge farmhouse kitchen was too good to resist.
She’d work out a few of her nerves and bake something. Something with apples, obviously.
A quick peek through the cupboards and pantry had her smiling and pulling out ingredients. Apple donuts or fritters were off the table until she got a good fryer and fresh oil, but an apple cinnamon loaf wouldn’t go wrong.
And a pie. Everyone liked pie, especially with a fresh honey glaze.
Mara pulled up her music app. New adventures called for her Courage playlist. She’d set it up before leaving New York, and it had gotten her through packing up, moving out of her apartment, and driving to Vermont.
The playlist was a little reminder that changing directions and taking chances weren’t bad things.
During their enchilada supper, Amber had appeared genuinely thrilled that Mara wanted to take on the job as a baker for the inn. She’d promised to show her the kitchen in the morning and to buy any additional equipment she’d need.
Mara knew Amber had worked at multiple fancy hotels in Chicago. The woman knew all about running a kitchen, and Mara couldn’t wait to see the inn’s setup.
For tonight, she’d enjoy this kitchen. It didn’t take long for the scents and the processes to soothe her. Baking had been her solace for as long as she could remember.
The first time she’d made banana bread on her own, her brothers had been surprised because she was in kindergarten. She had to ask Tate to turn on the oven because she couldn’t reach the buttons. After tasting her bread, they’d all offered to turn on the oven and take out the food any time.
It had been gratifying to make her family happy. As the youngest, she didn’t have many opportunities for that. Baking gave her joy and filled her with pride.
Thankfully, it had given her a skill to support herself as well. While she loved singing and Broadway, the thought of being on stage made her queasy. She’d much rather sit in the audience.
The pies were cooling, and the loaves were almost done when Mara’s phone beeped.
Her heart thumped. It had better not be Anson. She’d blocked his number, but he’d found her again. The asshole thought he could get her to return to his bakery. His idea of a perk was for her to move in with him, as she’d given up her apartment.
Idiot.
She responded to his first text with a blunt refusal and a demand that he leave her alone. After that, she hadn’t responded. She’d taken screenshots of his texts before blocking him. Both times. Hopefully, he’d finally gotten the message. She would never work for that asshole again. He’d probably already found out that his baking skills were mediocre at best, and his creativity was nonexistent. Without her, he’d need to find someone who could bake and tolerate his creepy advances. Good luck with that.
The text wasn’t from Anson. It was from Lawson Malssum. Ford had added Mara to the Apple Gang chat, a text group that included everyone on the farm.
Kitchen meeting in twenty minutes. No emergency. No worries. No need to bother the kids.
At supper, Mara had met the entire group. She knew Nash and Olivia’s family lived in an almost-finished house in the back of the orchard. Charlie was eleven while Ella was two. At this time of the evening, she’d bet the little one was fast asleep.
Mara looked around the kitchen. She filled the sink with soapy water and then set to work cleaning the table. She’d used it to roll out the dough and to mix the ingredients. It would need to be clean for the group meeting.
At least she could offer some treats to make up for the mess she’d made. She didn’t know Lawson well, but she doubted he would mind the kitchen not being pristine.
