Instead of turning left toward the bridge, Jonas and Bailey head right. I wonder if Jonas has even realized that he’s walking her home.
Bailey and Casey’s neighborhood is a little run-down, but their house looks shiny and new, with fresh white paint and a bright purple door.
Scott and I were planning to buy a house together, but we couldn’t get a mortgage until he could provide two years’ worth of company accounts from his relatively new business.
Now he’ll probably buy one with Nadine.
That thought doesn’t hurt me as much as it would have only a couple of weeks ago. I guess I’m finally feeling better for getting some distance from him and Bury St. Edmunds.
Then again, the present company could have something to do with it.
Bailey spins around and faces us, grinning. “I’d invite you in, but... Yeah, no, I can’t invite you in.”
“WhereisCasey tonight?” I ask, and I confess, it’s a tactical question.
“With Brett. They probably spent the whole night shooting up kids on the PlayStation.”
“Who are Casey and Brett?” Jonas interrupts.
“Bailey’s husband and his brother,” I reply.
Jonas pulls a face at her. “You’remarried?” Job done.
“I know, it’s incredibly boring of me,” Bailey replies with a shrug.
“Well, see you tomorrow after work, maybe?” I step forward to give her a hug.
“Not tomorrow, we’re going to Casey’s parents’ place, but soon.” She looks past me at the brothers. “See you around?”
“Yep,” Jonas replies, saluting her before turning away.
Bailey heads up the path to her front door, flashing me a small smile over her shoulder as she goes inside and shuts the door.
I don’t know why I feel sorry for her, but I do.
On Saturday afternoon,I head out to the barn to take over for Dad. It’s a perfect day, in the mid-twenties with a cool breeze, and being the weekend, it’s busy.
I’ve just finished weighing one family’s haul when another family comes in, a man and a woman in their mid-to-late thirties with three young children. The mother seems familiar andsuddenly I realize she’s the woman Jonas was staring at. Is this Heather?
She’s quite beautiful up close, with piercing blue eyes and long dark lashes that may or may not be natural. She’s carrying the small boy she had with her at the grocery store on her hip. He has a gorgeous head of light brown curls and is nestled into her shoulder, sucking his thumb.
I say thank you and goodbye to the other customers and smile at the family. “Hi there! Are you here to pick peaches today?”
To my surprise, the woman sniggers.
Her husband, if that’s who he is, smiles amiably. “Yes, please.”
I guess itwasa stupid question—why else would they have come?—but it’s the welcome Dad and Sheryl have been using and I’ve adopted it because I thought it seemed like the sort of thing a nice, friendly American peach farmerwouldsay.
My smile wavers. “How many baskets would you like?”
“There are five of us, so five,” the woman responds, as though I’m dumb for asking.
Okaaay...I lift five baskets onto the counter. “Here you go.”
“Put that down, please, Jacob,” the dad says to their eldest child, a boy of about seven or eight, who’s picked up one of the glass jars of Bellini mix. His sister, who’s aged somewhere between her brothers, copies him.
“Evie, can you put that down, please?” her dad asks, equally patiently.
