Jorie pressed her palms together. “Thank goodness.”
As they drove through downtown Redville on the way home, relief almost spilled out in happy tears. Hilary swallowed the lump sitting at the back of her throat and slipped on her sunglasses so Jorie couldn’t see wetness brimming at the corners of her eyes. Finally she felt light, free from the burden of the lie she’d held on to for so long.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dane pulled next to the garage and shut off the truck’s engine. Three hours at Clove Autobody that afternoon and four hundred dollars later, Dane cursed himself for not selling the piece of junk earlier in the spring. He’d list it online as soon as he got around to writing an ad. It was one more task to add to his growing list, all because of this never-ending rain.
He sat there, watching rivulets of water run down the windshield, putting off the inevitable dash to get inside and away from the rain. There were only a few vehicles in the farm visitor lot now. Dane wasn’t surprised since the weather had been miserable since yesterday. June and July were the busiest months because the fields were in full color, summer vacations in high gear, and the farm store was fully stocked. Maria kept revolving orders with the local suppliers of handmade chocolates, beeswax products, and the braided wool rugs from Patsy Detmiller at Rag Bag Studios down the road. Maria’s oils sold out faster than she could stock them. But nothing was moving today.
He pulled the hat brim lower as he opened his door and trotted across the lot with rain stinging his face. His boots slopped through puddles on the way to the enclosed porch at the back of the house. Inside, he stopped, the screen door snapping behind him.
Maria, Jesse, and the others sat around the screened room in lawn chairs, digging into plates of pie. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air.
Dane shook off his cap. “How come no one told me there was a party this afternoon?”
Maria set her plate down on the table beside her. Next to it was an empty pie plate and two more full pies.
“It was a last-minute one. Want a slice? It’s amazing.”
Dessert didn’t usually grab his attention, but this looked like a decent apple pie. Add a cup of coffee to the equation and this impromptu gathering might lighten his sour mood. “Make it a good-sized one.” He unfolded another lawn chair and joined their circle.
“How’s the truck?” Jesse asked, a piece of crust clinging to his lower lip. Dane pointed to his own mouth before Jesse got the message and licked it away.
“It’s working for now. New air compressor. But the brake lines are showing wear. George says it’s only a matter of time before they need replacing. It’s been something new every month for a while now.”
Jesse rubbed his fingers together. “Ouch.”
“No kidding. Time to start shopping.” Dane took his first taste of the pie, closing his eyes as the pastry practically disintegrated in his mouth. “Man, this is good.”
Maria smiled. “Coffee?”
“I’d love some.”
Maria went into the kitchen and returned with a steaming mug. She set it on the table beside him.
Dane looked outside. “I’m hoping this rain lets up tonight like the reports say it will. Then we can finish the last field the day after tomorrow if it’s dry enough.”
One of the other guys, Ed Searle, a forty-something welder who helped around the farm between jobs, piped up. “If we get the high winds, maybe it’ll dry overnight.”
“Doubt it,” Jesse said.
While Ed and Jesse debated the probability of harvesting tomorrow, Dane studied the next forkful of pie. He was pretty sure this was the best pie he’d ever tasted. For his second bite, Dane savored it, letting it sit on his tongue while he tried to distinguish its uniqueness. Across the table, Maria’s grin grew wider when he caught her eye.
He scooped another piece onto his fork and pointed it at her.
“What’s up with you? I haven’t seen you smile this much since the last time you had the week off.”
Maria chuckled. “That’s so not true. I’m just getting a kick out of watching you romance that slice of pie.”
“What did you put in here? It has a little kick to it.”
“It’s lavender,” Maria said, arching a brow. “Lavender apple. And I didn’t make them.”
“Well, where did they—”
He froze, the fork hovering in front of his mouth.
“Did you say lavender apple?” It hit him like a lightning bolt.
