Page 44 of The Pumpkin Patch Promise

Prue listened as her sisters spoke, experiencing a profound wave of gratitude for their support. As much as she wanted to go ahead with this project, she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t have their consent. All of them needed to agree.

Dahlia picked up her pen, looking around the table at each sister in turn. "I vote that we go with Prue’s plan for the transitional sanctuary."

"Me too," Junie said without a moment's pause.

"And me," Teddy said, her voice firm.

All eyes turned to Prue. She reached out and placed her hand over the center of her architectural binder, feeling the solid weight beneath her palm.

"Of course I vote for the sanctuary too," Prue said, a smile tugging on her lips. "We're keeping our land, and we're building the future together."

“I’ll send an email response rejecting their offer,” Dahlia said.

“Well,” Teddy said at last, “that's done.”

Dahlia gathered the papers into a neat stack. “Well, I’d better get back to Beckett and tell him what we’ve decided.”

“Kent is short-staffed at the veterinary clinic today so I said I’d help out,” Teddy said. “Just make me a list of anything you want me to do, Prue. This is going to be fun.”

Prue laughed and closed her binder. She knew Teddy would love the restoration plan. There would be plenty to organize over the coming weeks, but none of it needed to be settled before lunch.

Junie stood and collected the empty coffee mugs.

“I need to go help at the farm stand this morning, but I agree with Teddy. Whatever you need from us, Prue, just let us know,” she said as she placed the mugs in the dishwasher.

“There’s nothing urgent that needs to be done. You three go. I've got something else I need to do anyway,” Prue said.

Her sisters exchanged a glance, but, mercifully, nobody asked.

A few minutes later, the kitchen emptied. Prue looked at the clock. There was one decision left that had nothing to do with the farm. This one, at least, was entirely hers.

Prue moved outside and sat on the porch swing. A cool fall breeze rustled through the sugar maples along Marchetti Lane, scattering stiff leaves across the drive. Sunlight filtered through the turning branches overhead, casting warm amber light across the front yard.

In her right hand, she turned over the small, carved wooden pumpkin ornament she’d won at the fire department ring-toss booth during her fourth date with Sam. The surface was polished smooth, catching the sunlight as she ran her thumb along the carved stem and the tiny leaf detail on the top.

Her thoughts returned to the previous evening, when she'd told Sam that their six-date arrangement had reached its scheduled end. He'd listened to her words with his usual attentiveness, accepting her boundary without a single argument or plea. For a moment she had been proud of setting a boundary and sticking to it, but that moment had passed very quickly. By the time she had reached the farmhouse she knew it had been a mistake.

She'd created the six-date rule specifically to guarantee her own emotional safety. It had provided a clear, predictable structure while she reclaimed her voice and rebuilt her confidence. Through every single date, Sam had demonstrated that his respect for her autonomy wasn't a temporary performance. It was who he was as a man. A kind, wonderful, sweet man.

She knew why she had created that shield, but the truth was that she wasn’t the same person she had been at the beginning of autumn. She wasn't a fragile survivor who needed protection. She was a capable, autonomous woman who owned her history and directed her own future. She'd learned that real freedom wasn't just setting a boundary; real freedom was knowing she'd earned the right to change her choice when her heart was ready. And her heart absolutely was ready.

Prue stood up from the porch swing, placing the carved pumpkin ornament securely inside her jacket pocket. With a clear mind and a steady heart, Prue moved down the porch entry and toward her vehicle, ready to travel to Main Street in Harvest Hollow and tell Sam exactly what she wanted.

Sam

By mid-morning, Sam was halfway through examining a set of drawings when someone knocked on the door of his new office on Main Street. He glanced at the clock.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Prue stepped inside.

For a moment, Sam simply stared at her.

His office was nothing like the grand studio he'd once imagined having. It was a small rented room above one of the shops on Main Street, with a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet and barely enough space for the drafting table he'd insisted on bringing with him. He'd only moved in a few days ago, and there were still boxes stacked against one wall.

Prue closed the door behind her.

“Hi.”