Chapter Two
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Everyone knew the rule for bumping into any ex, significant or not, was that they should look effortlessly and casually beautiful, successful and, most of all, happy. Not dressed in an Olsen’s Apples sweatshirt, unflattering navy slacks with unwashed hair. Not makeup-free with huge shadows under their eyes after another three a.m. stress session about the business accounts. Not right where they were ten years ago when they were supposed to have graduated from Yale and become a resounding success.
Linnea knew all too well how capricious fate could be, but this was kicking a woman when she was well and truly down.
It didn’t help that Nat looked better than ever, maturity adding gravitas to his wholesome good looks. And he’d always been dangerously handsome.
“Okay. We’d better…” Linnea gestured at the bottles stacked up behind the bar. “Just give me a minute.” She was glad of the opportunity to gather her thoughts as she opened the hatch to the bar and slid through it, bending down to pick up the crate of bottles put aside for Crooked Corner. With a grunt, she heaved it onto the counter. “Here you go, the ones with the screw top are normal cider, these with the foil are alcoholic. Don’t get them mixed up.”
“Thanks.” But Nat made no move to take the crate, leaning against the counter, his navy eyes fixed on her with that the same old inquisitive gleam.
That was what had thrown her back in high school. The way Nat had always looked further, delved beneath the surface—and the way she’d always allowed him to. It had been so unexpected. She had been putting on a front for so long it had almost been second nature, the high-achieving, organized, responsible, reliable girl, a credit to her parents, her community, her school. The last person she’d expected to see beyond that persona was laidback Nat Hathaway. But then, he’d turned out to have unexpected depths too, if anyone cared to look beyond the guitar, the quips, and the string of dates.
Linnea looked down at the crate of bottles, her fingers tightening on the handle. High school was a long time ago and she couldn’t afford to look back. The only way to manage was to keep marching on. There was no time to question herself. No room for doubt. Too much depended on her, too many people needed her to stay strong. She straightened, pinning on a professional smile, pushing the crate over to Nat, a clear hint that good as it had been to catch up, she really had to get on now.
Not that Nat took any notice, leaning on the counter, his arms folded as if he was settling in for the duration. “So you’re back in Marietta? For good?”
So few words for so much soul-searching and turmoil. “For good?” Her laugh was a little unsteady. “If I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that there’s little point making such sweeping statements when life is quite capable of throwing huge curve balls every now and then. But, yes, I’m back and have no plans to move on.”
Truth was moving back hadn’t been an easy decision. She’d been content in Milchester, the little town outside New York where she’d lived ever since she married; she’d loved her job, had some good friends, and her daughters were happy. Putting all of them through a second life-changing upheaval was difficult for everyone, especially for Elsie, her eldest daughter. But the decision had been made and they were here now. Once the girls were settled in, once she had begun to reconnect with her old friends, once her dad was back to full health, once she felt she had a right to make changes here at the orchard. Once she was back in control, then she would be able to relax.
“Mom and Dad are struggling to manage everything, it got to the point where they were talking about selling,” she said. “I couldn’t let them do that. Dad inherited the orchard from his dad and he from his, it would break his heart to see someone else running the place. So I packed the girls up a few weeks ago and moved back. It’s an adjustment. But it’s a wonderful town, I have lots of family here, it’s a great place to grow up. I think it was the right thing to do.” There, that was the right kind of positive note. If only she felt as positive as she sounded.
“My parents have bought a house right here in Marietta,” Nat said. “All those years they never spent more than three months in one place and here they are, buying Christmas trees on Thanksgiving. Not only that, my dad’s invested in a whole load of Christmas lights which he is planning to put up this weekend, which will replace the quite astonishing display of Thanksgiving decorations currently taking over their house. If settling down is what they want to do then I fully support them. It’s just a little odd seeing two people who prided themselves on their lack of possessions have an entire house’s worth of decorations for every holiday.”
“It’s funny isn’t it? We reserve the right to chop and change, but find it difficult to adjust when our parents do anything different.” Funny how old habits reasserted themselves so seamlessly she couldn’t even see the join.
She hadn’t seen Nat for a decade and yet here she was, using him as a sounding board for her restless thoughts once again as if they had been in constant touch.
“My girls don’t even like me to get a haircut and you should have heard the fuss when I thought about getting highlights! I’m the same. I spent the last ten years just assuming Mom and Dad were as invincible as they always have been, even though my life moved on so dramatically in that time. Then I came home because Dad was in the hospital and saw that this place was a little tired, realized that they aren’t just older, but heading toward being actually old. That he needs to take it easier, that Mom needs more emotional support than a phone call three times a week. Now I’m the grown up, not just for the girls, but for my parents too. I don’t think anything can prepare a person for that.” Although being widowed with two small children in her mid-twenties was a pretty good training ground, not that she’d recommend it to anyone.
“Did you want to come back? To run the business? I have to admit I was surprised when Lacey told me you were here. You always said you wanted to live in London or Paris or New York, or better yet all three!”
Linnea didn’t often allow herself to remember the young woman with her life ahead of her, the woman who confidently thought she’d spend her life striding through some capital city, briefcase in hand, a lawyer or an editor or a manager. Life might not have turned out the way she’d envisioned it at eighteen, but she had a good life, one full of love. But she could imagine the incredulous expression on that girl’s face if she’d been told that a decade after graduation she would be back in Marietta, back in her childhood house. Back in the business she’d helped out in since she could first pick fruit. No one had made Linnea move back, but how could she have dashed the hope that had flared in her father’s eyes when she first suggested that maybe they wouldn’t have to sell the orchard after all.
Besides, it was her home too.
She raised her eyes to his, her smile rueful. “I always said I wouldn’t return to Marietta until I’d achieved everything on my life list. But I’ve learned you’re still you whether you live in London, New York, or right here in Marietta. Same problems, same truths, same needs… And there’s so much to do here. It’s not like I’ll be bored. Mom needs a lot of support, Dad’s still supposed to be taking it easy and keeping him quiet and stopping him stressing is a full time job. Meanwhile, I’m settling the girls into school, making a home here, and dragging this place into the twenty-first century. Cider is suddenly really hipster-cool, but we’re behind all our competitors when it comes to expanding into new markets and products. I need to think about a whole new brand refresh, a new website, bringing in business during the low season. A Santa on site is a start, but there’s a long way to go.” The orchard’s income had been falling steadily over the last few years. If she couldn’t turn it around and soon then there would be no point in having moved back, they would have to sell anyway.
“Same old Linnea, never seen a challenge she can back down from.”
“We can’t all charm our way through life with a guitar and a boyish grin, Nat.” She grinned to show she was joking, but his return smile didn’t reach his eyes. What was going on there? “I downloaded every song you made you know, followed your Facebook page, your YouTube channel. I was so proud when I could actually go into a store and buy an actual CD with your name on the cover. I wanted to tell everyone, I knew him back when. I nearly bought tickets to see you when Piper Flynn played Madison Square Gardens. Your number one fan!” She actually preferred the downloaded early tunes to the recent CD, instantly enjoyable as it was.
She’d put a playlist together, one she only listened to alone, when she was feeling nostalgic. Nothing in Nat’s album had touched her heart in quite the same way—but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“You should have, I would have let you come backstage if you’d promised to be good.”
Her smile faltered. “It was the second anniversary of Logan’s death. I needed to be with his family, with the girls. Not that he would have wanted that, he’d have told me not to be so silly, to go to the concert, but he didn’t get to have a vote so I stayed home.” And, with that, all her responsibilities came crashing back. “It’s been great catching up, Nat, but we’re closing at one so we can have our own Thanksgiving. Let me get the apples and I’ll bring them out to the car.”
Nat’s expression was a little quizzical, like he knew she was shutting him down, backing off for a reason, but he simply straightened. “I’ll carry the cider,” he said. “The pickup’s just outside.”
“Great, I’ll see you out front in two.”
Linnea met him just outside the main doors, the box of apples balanced on a cart. She smiled briefly, but didn’t speak as she followed him through the parking lot to the pickup where she instantly recognized the smiling blonde who resembled Nat so completely.
“Linnea!” Lacey surged forward in the same exuberant way Linnea remembered from school. “I’ve been meaning to drop by and say hi. I’m away half the week, working, and haven’t had a chance, but it’s lovely to see you. We must meet up and catch up.”
“That would be great.” Linnea righted her cart as she smiled over at Nat’s sister and the older man who with identical blue eyes and the same easy smile must be their father. “In some ways it’s harder to come back to a place after a long absence than it is to start again in a new place. Everyone knows you, but no one knows you now, if that makes sense. I need to start getting out and about.” She swallowed, the truth of the words hitting home, and searched for a quick change of subject, eying the two trussed up trees in the back of the truck. “I thought Crooked Corner always got their trees from your family ranch? I’d have put one aside if I’d known.”
“These aren’t for the aunts, they think Thanksgiving is far too early for trees, but I didn’t want to wait any longer for mine and Grandpops won’t cut any until December—he says it’s too early as well,” Lacey said. “One is for me and one is for Mom and Dad. We want our trees up right away!”
“You should listen to your elders, Thanksgiving is too early,” Nat said.
By the way Lacey elbowed him Linnea guessed that this was a long-running argument. Her chest tightened as Nat elbowed his sister back. It must be lovely to have a sibling, someone to have inside jokes with. Someone to share the load with as well as the joys. Someone to confide in without fear of being judged, of found wanting.
“We don’t put ours up until the week before Christmas, Swedish tradition,” Linnea said. “But Dad says people want them earlier and earlier every year. He started opening Thanksgiving morning a few years back and it seems to be an established tradition for people to come on out before lunch. Talking of which, I’d better not keep you, you’ll be wanting to get home and have yours.”
“We’re due at the ranch in an hour so we’d better get going,” Nat’s father agreed. “Nice to meet you, Linnea.” He nodded at her as he swung into the truck.
Lacey moved to follow him and then paused, one foot inside the truck cab. “The aunts always hold an open house at Crooked Corner on Thanksgiving evening. You should come, Linnea. Bring your family. Everyone is always welcome. There’s always plenty of children.”
It was a tempting offer. Linnea had had no opportunities to do anything remotely resembling socializing since moving back. “I couldn’t intrude…”
But Lacey clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. “You said yourself you need to start getting out more, it’s never family only at Crooked Corner, and there is always enough food to feed the whole town. Come along, do.”
Linnea glanced at Nat, seeking a clue as to whether to agree or not. Was running into her as odd for him as it had been for her?
“The aunts would love to see you,” he said, heaving the cider into the back of the truck before taking the barrel of apples off the cart. “It’s very short notice so you probably have plans, but if not then it would be good to catch up properly.”
She could actually wash her hair and apply some lipstick. Try and regain a little pride in her appearance. “We haven’t planned a lot for the holiday, not while Dad is still so unwell, the girls could do with a treat,” Linnea admitted, tugging the unflattering sweatshirt down over the even more unflattering slacks. “Maybe it’s just what we need.”
Just what Elsie needed to start integrating into the town. No wonder her daughter was finding it hard to settle. So far, she’d only really spent time at school or in the orchard. An outing, the chance to socialize with other kids was the kind of opportunity Linnea had been looking for. The thought of her daughter’s unhappiness made her mind up for her. “Thank you, Lacey, that’s really kind of you. If you’re sure it’s okay then I’d love to come. Bye, Nat, it was really good to see you again. I’ll see you both tonight.” She lifted a hand in a brief farewell and turned away, pushing the cart in front of her, her thoughts racing as fast as her treacherous pulse.