At the front of the room, Dane Porter wrapped up his keynote speech. With a projector screen on the wall behind him, Dane stood at the oak podium. He’d dazzled the group for the last forty minutes with anecdotes of running his lavender farm, making it sound way more captivating than Hilary imagined growing flowers could be. He was a livelier speaker than he let on yesterday during the car ride. Funny, actually. She liked how he gripped the podium after he told a joke like he expected the thing to topple from the force of his own laughter. He had one of those infectious laughs too. Not quite a giggle, but it rolled in his chest like he was full of bubbles.
So his farm was in Clove, Oregon. She’d never heard of the town, though she knew the area. It was east of Bend, which she’d passed through a few times. It was stunning in the fall. Clove was within a half day’s drive from Redville. She and Will drove through that part of the state during their honeymoon six years ago.
“Can you imagine working on a flower farm? That’s my dream,” whispered the woman named Lucy Riggins sitting beside her. Hilary’s short conversation with her before the welcome address revealed Lucy worked as a floral designer at the nursery in town.
“That’s why we’re here, right? To dream?” Hilary said.
“To turn dreams into reality actually,” said the woman across the table who had been twisting her beaded cuff bracelets around her wrist since Hilary sat down. The constant rustling of beads was driving Hilary a little crazy. Lucy arched her brows at the woman’s curt tone, then turned back to Hilary.
“I have a small plot south of town,” Lucy continued. “My plan is to grow flowers for wholesale. I’ve already met with the bank.”
It was hard not to respond to Lucy’s excitement. Hilary loved her style too. The white sweater vest Lucy wore positively overwhelmed her, but she made it work with the mustard-colored velvet tunic underneath. That and the black Moto boots. Hilary could never pull it off. Besides, Jorie would laugh her off the farm.
Lucy noticed her coveting the vest. “Like it? It’s alpaca. Letta Arbuckle is a master fiber artist in town.” She craned her neck. “We’ll probably see her this afternoon. I can introduce you.”
“That’s all right. I don’t really dress up much. Basically, I live in flannel shirts and Wranglers.”
Lucy twisted her hair and tossed the knot over one shoulder. She leaned toward Hilary, speaking under her breath. “It’s not what you wear, but how you wear it.”
Hilary laughed. Yes, she liked Lucy very much. Hilary guessed they were about the same age.
“What are you here for?” Lucy asked.
She’d been asked that question at least a dozen times since yesterday. Hilary practiced rehearsing an answer, even writing it down on the blank pad of paper with the Blueberry Point logo at the top she’d found on her nightstand. The words sounded clunky coming out of her mouth so she’d spent ten minutes working on a smoother response until she was happy.
“My sister-in-law and I hope to open a bed-and-breakfast and an apple orchard adjacent to our farm. We’re exploring the working visitor concept.” She cringed inwardly.Waytoo formal.
“I stayed at one of those once,” Lucy said. “My parents thought we should do this working vacation thing one year. Too bad it was the rainiest year on record in Ohio.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “It was awful. We didn’t come prepared with enough clothes. Luckily, the couple had a son who was a year younger than me. My older sister and I borrowed some of his clothes while we mucked horse stalls and weeded the mother’s flower garden in the rain.”
Hilary chuckled. “That sounds memorable.”
“We laugh about it now.”
Hilary mimicked writing something down. “Note to self: Have used clothing on hand for unprepared guests.”
“Yes!” Lucy opened her folder. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Looks like an organic vegetable farm.”
“We won’t be mucking stalls at least,” Hilary joked, reading over her own agenda. DLA Northwoods Organix. Hoop houses. It sounded tame enough.
She’d huddled under the Egyptian cotton sheets earlier, reluctant to get up, and wondered again about her purpose here at the conference. Without Jorie, it felt like she wore someone else’s shoes, a not-quite-right style in the wrong size. Jorie’s enthusiasm for this dream of theirs carried Hilary. Sure, she was excited to take Larkin Farms in a new direction, but without Jorie, she lacked the drive to carry it.
“Anyway, the Arbuckles are nice people. They keep a really clean operation.”
Lucy rattled on about the Arbuckles, but her voice faded as Dane walked away from the podium. Three people swarmed him immediately. He had a really nice smile. She liked how he hunched forward, always turning his ear to listen. So engaged.
“I’m going to head up to my room to change. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Lucy’s words didn’t register until she pushed away from the table. Hilary nodded and mumbled, “Okay,” glancing at her when Lucy gathered her folder and coffee mug. Across the room, Dane dismissed himself from the group and walked toward her table. Hilary stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her top. She swept her notes and agenda into her folder. “Maybe I’ll come too.”
The afternoon stopwas forty-five minutes from Hendricks, up a winding, fir-lined highway. With Lake Superior behind them, Hilary had the chance to enjoy the different landscape through Finland State Forest. Tamaracks and spruce sheltered the forest floor, dropping shadows on a dark green canvas. Since vegetation had yet to reach its midsummer heights, granite outcrops popped out along the roadside. Farther in the woods, snow from a late-spring storm still stood in pillowy mounds where the sun hadn’t reached to melt it.
Darcy’s husband, Sean, drove while talking into the headset, sharing some local history about Hendricks and the area. Hilary listened as she stared out the window. Lucy was next to her, sketching in a journal. Two seats ahead, Dane sat by himself. The back of his head was a strange distraction. His hair had a subtle wave to it. Thick too. She bet it was almost long enough to gather into a hair tie. It took a certain kind of guy to pull off the look. Dane Porter would definitely fall into that category. Hilary mentally shook herself. What was she doing daydreaming about Dane’s hair?
The bus pulled into the gravel drive. A wooden sign greeted them—DLA Northwoods Organix. Del Arbuckle, the owner and also an auctioneer in town, was a third-generation farmer, Sean explained before he parked the bus next to one of the tunnel-like hoop houses.
“He’s quite the character, too, as you’ll soon find out,” Sean said as he opened the bus door.
Del Arbuckle had one hand on a fence post and his other wrapped around a pitchfork “to keep theAmerican Gothicstereotype alive,” he announced right away. A communal chuckle rose from his already captive audience. He squinted as they gathered around him, a coffee stirrer bobbing between his teeth. Sean introduced him while Del hung his head, nodding and huffing.
