“Now that you put it like that…”
Hilary nodded slowly, the smile still there.
He downed two tablets, took a drink, and refilled the glass with tap water. “So what are you doing down here?”
“I came for some tea. Join me?”
He was a coffee man. Two cups a day, three during harvest. He’d never tried tea. Now was not the time to admit it. “Sure, why not?”
There was a serving cart in the corner with a coffee maker, mugs, and enough single-serve coffees, packets of hot chocolate and cider, and boxes of tea to keep the entire town satisfied from now until Christmas. Hilary set two mugs on the counter and took her time studying the tea varieties.
She held a finger up, her focus still on the cart. “Don’t tell me—an herbal blend, right?”
“How’d you guess?”
“You own a lavender farm.”
Dane slid a stool away from the center island and sat down. “That’s really brilliant.”
Hilary tapped her temple when she turned around, then went back to heating water in the coffee maker. He grinned
A few minutes later she set two mugs down on the island. She pulled out another stool and sat across from him. She dipped her tea bag into the water, draping the string thing over the side. Okay, that was simple.
Elbows on the counter, she clutched the mug with both hands. Dane waited for her to say something, but she seemed content with the silence for now. Somewhere in the house, a door closed. He sipped the tea, struggling to keep a grimace off his face. He couldn’t believe people actually enjoyed this stuff.
“I never told you how much I liked your keynote,” Hilary said, finally looking up at him. “You really had them laughing.”
“Never realized how funny lavender farming could be, did you?”
Her smile widened. “Not for a minute.”
“I figured if the subject matter bored them I can at least disguise it with humor.” He shrugged.
“Good strategy.” She picked up the spoon and stirred her tea. “Did you always know you wanted to work on your family’s farm as a career?”
“Honestly? I didn’t think about it until my uncle passed away ten years ago. He and my dad farmed it together. But it felt pretty natural stepping into his role after I got out of the navy.” He’d been too carefree as a teen to look to the future. Working alongside his father and uncle were so routine he never regarded it as a career, only a way to keep a few bucks in his wallet. But then Uncle Chuck had a heart attack. A bad one. He raised a can of cola to his lips one July afternoon and never took that sip. Dane’s father took Uncle Chuck’s death especially hard. They’d been the best of friends as well as brothers.
Hilary blew into her cup. “It must smell heavenly, the farm when it’s in bloom,” she mused while she dipped her spoon into the cup, playing with the tea bag.
“It does.”
“Lavender always reminds me of the sachets my grandma used to keep in her chest of drawers. She used to rub oil on my wrists before bedtime when I stayed at her house. Said it would help me sleep.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if watching a film play out in her head. “Good memories.”
“That’s true. It’s also good for stress and anxiety. Oil in our shop sells out quite a bit.”
The look she gave him made him think he’d hit a nerve. He took another sip of tea and shuddered.
“What other good memories do you have?” He was stepping into sensitive territory he knew, but he wanted to steer the conversation away from negative thoughts. She’d shied away before from answering too many questions. Maybe the quiet house, the tea, and the dimly lit kitchen empowered him.
Hilary rested her chin in her hand. “Oh, let’s see,” she said wistfully. “Summer vacations on Puget Sound, a yellow barn cat I named Arrabelle, my mother’s cranberry apple pie.”
“Your mom is a good baker?” Dessert was always a happy topic.
“Aphenomenalbaker. She’s the pastry manager at a restaurant in Napa. I think I even remember a recipe for lavender apple pie in her pie bible.”
“A pie bible? Sheisone serious baker.”
Hilary laughed. “It sounds intense, but trust me, if you tasted one of her pies, you’d understand. She replicated the book for my sister and me. We each have our own copy.”
