Second Chance at the Orchard Inn, page 3
A display of homemade jewelry caught Aurora’s eye and she paused to browse, shifting three of the bags of corn to one arm.
“Hey there!” The lady who ran the booth greeted her. “Let me know if you need anything, okay, hon?”
“I will, thank you.” Aurora eyed a pair of wood-cut dangling earrings, stained a deep teal that would be set off beautifully against her reddish-blond hair.
“Good morning,” the lady said to a pair of customers.
An ache that shouldn’t exist clenched Aurora’s heart. A longing she couldn’t define, beyond knowing it shouldn’t live inside her, tugged at her soul.
The day was so lovely. Peaceful. The slow cadence of people talking, the jovial sound of the crowd weaving through the banjo being played on the main stage, she and Cece laughing earlier, the distinct scent of funnel cakes being made somewhere in a half-mile radius—comforting, yet it left her wanting.
The ache in her heart shifted and changed. It spread to her chest, tightening.
Not quite anxiety but getting alarmingly close.
Her heartbeat quickened as her face grew warm.
She could not long for this place, this town, this life. All this peace and loveliness was fine and dandy, but it came with a lot more baggage than corn and country music.
This place came with broken promises and a broken heart, memories of a blue-eyed boy who’d meant the whole world to her, before he’d thrown her away.
She didn’t want to live in this world anymore. She wanted to be Aurora Shipley, world-renowned chef and independent woman. Free of baggage and making a name for herself.
Aurora took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Nostalgia. That’s all her little panicked moment was about. These were the sights and sounds of her childhood. Funnel cakes and hanging out with her sister on a Saturday. Nothing more than that, no reason for alarm. She didn’t want to come home permanently.
The nostalgia would pass, it always did, and when she made her way back out west, back to the life she’d left behind, the small strands of longing that remained would fray and wear away, and she’d be free again.
“There’s one more bushel in the truck. I’ll get it,” a man called.
Aurora stiffened. She’d know that voice anywhere. The lilt of it filled her ears, like a song she knew by heart.
She turned, following the words to their source.
Jude Jones.
He stood maybe fifteen yards away, working at the booth for his family’s farm, as though thinking of him had conjured him from thin air. But some part of her knew he might be here. His family owned a farm. This was a farmers’ market.
She’d managed to avoid running into him for a couple of months now, and she’d hoped she could keep the streak going. So many years had passed and now there he was. She still wasn’t ready.
There’d been a time he was the love of her life, and she’d spent her nights wondering if he felt the same. Then a time she knew he didn’t love her, and she wondered if she’d survive the pain.
“Yeah, I’ve got it. You run the register,” he said to someone.
Ten years disappeared in an instant. She was seventeen again, waiting for him after baseball practice. Joyfully taking crumbs of his time, especially during playoff season. She didn’t have all the after-school activities he did, the pressure of perfection or the expectation to be exceptional.
Aurora had been just the ordinary girl next door.
Until she wasn’t.
“Miss?”
“Huh?” Aurora snapped back to the present.
“The earrings in your hand. Would you like to buy them?”
Aurora had wandered out of the tent with the lady’s goods and hadn’t paid.
“My goodness. I’m so sorry. Yes.” She juggled her bags of corn around to dig some cash out of her pocket.
“Would you like a bag?”
“No thank you.” She had enough bags.
Jude hoisted a crate and carried it around to place on top of one of the booth’s tables. His white T-shirt stretched across his broad back, tan arms tense under the weight of the crate, sunlight catching in his sandy-blond hair.
The last decade had been unfairly kind to Jude Jones. He’d aged perfectly, developing from boyishly handsome to, if she was completely frank with herself, smoking-hot grown man.
What would he think of how the years had treated her?
Jude had been her everything in high school. All she thought she wanted in life.
But he hadn’t wanted her.
At least half a dozen priorities had come before silly little Aurora. He hadn’t chosen her or the future they’d dreamed about, the one they’d talked about until the wee late hours.
So, Aurora had chosen her other dream. She chose herself and let him go.
Shaking off thoughts of the past, she shuffled the corn around and tucked her new earrings into a side pocket of a bag, nearly dropping everything.
Naturally, that was the moment Jude turned around, his gaze locking with hers.
Chapter 4
Jude froze in place, a giant bundle of lavender in his hands.
Aurora Shipley. Right in front of him, just a few yards away. Pretty as you please, in the middle of the Marktplatz green, standing all alone.
Except for the sacks of corn.
Aurora couldn’t wave with her hands full. Instead, she gave him a little smile.
A smile that, even after a decade, was still as familiar as his own.
He’d spent years missing that smile. But only after a year or so of resenting it for leaving him behind. He’d heard she was in town, albeit temporarily, to help at the Orchard Inn. The idea of her being so close had crossed his mind many, many times.
He’d thought of visiting her, but only once.
Common sense had corrected his wayward thoughts, reminding him his presence would be neither needed nor appreciated.
Better to let the past stay in the past.
“My word, is that Aurora?” His sister Jenna appeared beside him.
Jude played dumb and immediately busied himself with sticking lavender in a large, empty pail. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Jenna put an arm under her son’s baby wrap and did the bouncing thing she did constantly. “You don’t know? Mmm-hmm, sure. Because you barely know her?”
He ignored his sister, which was never easy.
“That has to be her. Look. She’s got it up in a bun, but no one has hair like that except Aurora.”
This truth jarred him more than it should.
With golden hair that could look strawberry blond in the right light, fair skin, and a sprinkling of freckles, he’d never seen anyone who looked quite like Aurora.
Then again, he was biased.
No one else was Aurora Shipley, and no one else ever would be.
“I don’t know,” he lied.
“Fine,” Jenna bit off in that tone she used, and he winced.
Nothing good ever came from that tone.
She turned away from him, waving frantically. “Aurora? Aurora Shipley? Hey! I thought that was you.”
What were the chances he could crawl behind their tent and hide? Now was not the time for some half-cocked reunion with Aurora. Not after how they’d left things. Time didn’t heal all wounds.
Ten years be damned, there was no way this wasn’t going to be as awkward as a dog in socks.
“I can’t believe it’s you!” Jenna’s voice drifted as she went down the street to greet Aurora. “I’d hug you but between your corn and little Wyatt here, I don’t think we’d make it.”
Aurora’s bright laughter tickled his ears.
“Wait a sec. Jude? Jude!” Jenna called to him.
He clenched his back teeth together and turned to face his past. “Yeah?”
Aurora looked like summer sunshine in yellow shorts and a white top, strands of her golden hair falling into her eyes. She followed Jenna toward the booth, juggling four or five bags of corn, one of which was in imminent danger of falling.
“Hey, Aurora.” Jude held out his hands in an offer to take the corn before realizing it looked like he was offering a hug.
Aurora would not want to hug him.
“Let me help you with that corn,” he quickly added.
Let me help you with that corn. That’s what he’d chosen to say when seeing his high school sweetheart for the first time in a decade?
Smooth, Jude. Real smooth.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it,” she insisted.
Now it was awkward, because she clearly did not have it.
“How are you?” he tried. “I’d heard you were back home for a while.”
“I’m good. Just picking up a few things for the inn. We’ve been wanting corn on the cob.” She lifted the bags a little to indicate them.
Then, silence.
Somebody put him out of his misery.
“Is that Old Man McGregor’s corn?” Jenna asked. “Though, he probably doesn’t like being called Old Man McGregor, huh? But now he really is! Remember when we used to call him old man, when we’d sneak through his field on the way to swim? He wasn’t but maybe fifty years old back then. At least now he’s in his late sixties or seventies, but even that’s not as old as it used to be.”
Thank the good Lord for Jenna and her tendency to ramble.
“Yes, it’s his corn.” Aurora finally got to answer when Jenna paused to come up for air.
“Good. His is the best.”
Jude just stood there, praying someone would need his help with something so he could bow out gracefully.
“So, things are good?” Jenna asked Aurora again.
This was going to take a while.
“Yeah, great. Busy. But more importantly, can we talk about this little one?” Aurora pointed to baby Wyatt, who was currently chewing on his fist.
Yes, baby Wyatt, coming through in the clutch.
They could talk about Wyatt and this whole exchange could be cute and pleasant, and painless.
“That’s right, I haven’t seen you since. This is my son, Wyatt.”
“Aww, Jenna.” Aurora’s gaze softened and Jude looked away.
“Here, come to our tent. I’ll let you hold him.” Jenna urged them all forward.
Aurora went to their tent but protested holding Wyatt. “I haven’t washed my hands and I’ve been handling money and corn.”
“Are you kidding? He’s a farm baby. He crawls around in dirt half the time, it’s fine. Put those bags down. Jude, do something with her corn for a minute.”
Aurora and Jude shared a silent understanding. There’d be no arguing with Jenna on this matter. Better for everyone if they simply complied.
Jude cleared his throat and took the bags of corn, refusing to acknowledge the familiarity of this whole exchange.
“Hey, Wyatt!” Aurora’s sister Cece joined them. “I thought you were taking the corn to the car.”
“I didn’t get that far. You’ve met Wyatt already?” Aurora asked.
“A few times.”
Truth was, Cece came by their booth almost every Saturday. She’d chat and pick out some herbs. Every time Jude had considered asking about Aurora, and every time, he’d held back.
Their time together was so long ago, but that hadn’t made their breakup any less severe or painful. That time in his life had changed him, irrevocably. Aurora left him and left Texas, making it clear she wasn’t interested in having anything to do with him. He’d never had anyone leave him like that.
Asking her family about her felt like prying. She’d had her reasons for cutting him out of her life. He could just imagine the conversation between Cece and Aurora if he’d nosed into her business.
“Guess who asked about you today at the market. Jude.”
“Ugh. Why does he even care? It’s been years. Move on already.”
“I didn’t know you’d been by here.” Aurora’s tone with her sister sharpened slightly, holding the faintest bit of edge.
“You didn’t ask,” Cece replied, while Wyatt was clutching her finger in his chubby wet fist.
“Don’t worry. I have wet wipes and hand sani a’plenty,” Jenna assured everyone.
The local musician providing this weekend’s live entertainment chose that moment to start strumming her guitar on center stage.
While they were all distracted by the music, hand sanitizing, and Wyatt, Jude slipped behind their tables and through the back of their tent.
He took a deep breath to steady himself. This was fine. He and Aurora were water under the bridge, yeah? Ages ago. They were different people now. Once he was done setting up the farm’s selection of herbs, he would make small talk.
No problem.
He busied himself with the basil and rosemary they’d brought to sell. He worked quickly, not wanting to come across as rude, but the Jones family’s herbs weren’t going to sell themselves. Besides, Aurora would be put much more at ease without him hanging around.
The last of the herbs were in the cab of his truck, including some Mexican tarragon he’d been working with and had finally grown into something worth selling.
“You really think you can hide back here?” Jenna popped her head out the back of the tent.
“I’m not hiding. I’m retrieving the tarragon.”
“Really? Because it looks like you’re avoiding your ex, like a big ol’ chicken.”
“I’m not a chicken.” But that’s exactly what he was doing. “I’m trying to get everything set up in the next five minutes, because we were running behind and got here late. We’re missing critical sales right now. All the serious buyers are in the early crowd.”
“I know that. Have you heard anything from Dad?”
In the past, their father was the first one here for setup.
“His back is at him today. He’s a little slow going this morning, but he’ll be by later.”
Unlikely, even if Jude wished it were true. Their dad had pulled a muscle in his back only two days ago and was struggling to get around, never mind lift anything.
Jenna rocked on the balls of her feet. “You don’t have to cover for him with me. I know he’s not coming.”
“But when people ask where he is”—and they would—“tell them he’s on his way or something.”
“You need to talk to him. It’s not the first time he’s overdone it and hurt himself. He’s ill as a hornet right now, but he’s got nobody to blame but himself. Trying to move those boxes all alone. What was he thinking?”
“Who knows? But I’ll talk to him. I just…I need to find the right way to broach the subject.” Jude grabbed the last of his tarragon and returned to the tent.
Aurora was holding Wyatt in her arms as he stuck a little bundle of lavender up to her nose.
Wyatt, the future lavender salesman, and Aurora, the cover of Town & Country magazine. Fresh-faced, even more strands of hair falling out of a haphazard knot on the top of her head, cheeks warmed pink. Behind her, a canvas of flowers and herbs. Greens and purple, a little yellow, a smattering of orange.
She’d always been pretty, but the years had turned the cute girl into a stunning woman.
“How much?” She looked up at him, her gray-blue eyes like steel.
“What?” He didn’t remember her eyes ever being that cold before.
“For a large bundle of lavender.”
“Oh, um, eight dollars.”
“That’s it?” She looked at Jenna to confirm. “I’m used to paying almost fifteen for this.”
“You’re a long way from Los Angeles.” Cece plucked the sprig of lavender from Wyatt’s hand. “Now, gimme that baby. It’s my turn.”
Aurora handed over Wyatt and gave Jude a ten.
As if he would take her money. “It’s on the house. Let us know what you create with it.”
“I insist.” She held the money out farther.
She could keep stretching that arm all day, he was not going to charge Aurora for a little lavender. “I insist you take it as a friendly gesture.”
“A friendly ges—” An expression, completely foreign to him, crossed Aurora’s face. She clenched her jaw, her pink lips pinched together, her eyes shaded impossibly colder.
As if on cue, to stop whatever storm was gathering inside Aurora, a noise exploded from the neighboring booth. Something that could be described only as a holler, then a cacophony of crashes.
“Dang it, Roscoe!” someone yelled.
The Wattersons’ seventy-pound German pointer barreled out of their tent, hauling off down the street, followed by a stream of at least a dozen tiny yellow chicks.
“Oh no!” Cece flapped her free hand toward Jude. “Baby chickens are loose.”
Jude blinked twice, taking in the full situation before him.
“Stay here,” he told Jenna, his brain kicking into gear. He grabbed the nearest empty basket and took off after the chicks.
“Y’all go that way, we’ll go this way.” Cece waved him on and followed Mrs. Watterson in the other direction.
He hurried down the walk that circled the center of the Marktplatz, scooping up a straggler as he went. He wasn’t as fast as when he was eighteen, but he still had more speed than most.
“Grab those two!” Aurora ran a few feet behind him, a baby chick in each hand.
He nabbed the two on her radar and slowed down so she could gently place her escapees into his basket.
“Some went this way.” She headed between two tents and he followed.
“I saw some headed toward Main Street too.”
“We better go after them when we catch these. Mrs. Watterson will never be fast enough.”
They scooped up several chicks that had run into the obstruction of a curb. The spacing between tents was intentionally tight, and they jostled one another as they tried to turn around. Aurora’s arm rubbed against his chest, and his hip bumped her side.
He was diligently ignoring all of this, of course.
“Okay, this way,” she directed.
He turned, a tight grip on the basket of baby chicks as they moved swiftly into the crowd.
“Hurry!” Aurora urged.
