Page 13 of Reclaimed Roots

Nana's weathered hands gripped her armchair, knuckles white. "You're a damned fool, Jasper Everton."

I looked up, meeting her steely gaze. "What is it that you'd like me to say to her?"

Before she could respond, Papa's heavy footsteps creaked down the hall. He appeared in the doorway, wiping engine grease from his hands with a rag. "What were you two carryin' on 'bout in here?"

I opened my mouth to reply but Nana was quicker off the mark. "Your grandson hasn't spoken with Miss Natalie yet."

Papa's bushy eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. "Damned fool," he grunted. My insides shriveled at the disappointment in his voice.

"See?" Nana pointed a wrinkly finger in my direction as I pushed myself up from the couch.

"I really need to get back to the barn," I said, desperate for an escape. But Nana wasn't done with me yet.

She jerked her chin towards the kitchen. "There's a pie on the counter for Marie. Drop it off, will ya?"

"AmI everyone's errand boy today?"

"Maybe when you drop off the pie, you can pull your head out of your ass and talk to that girl."

I sighed and shook my head. "You swear like a sailor, Nana."

I leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek, but quick as a whip, her hand came up and swatted me over the head. I winced, more out of surprise than pain, and straightened up with a rueful chuckle. She might have been old, but there was nothing wrong with her reflexes.

I retreated to the kitchen and snagged the pie off the counter. As I headed for the door, I called over my shoulder, "Bye Nana. Bye Papa. I love you!"

Papa's gruff voice followed me out. "Love you, bud!"

I was almost home free when Nana's parting shot hit me square in the back. "Love you! Talk to her!"

I stepped out into the crisp early summer air and let the screen door slam behind me with a satisfying bang. I was wrong. The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on that woman.

Thankfully, when I dropped the pie off to Marie, Natalie was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Seven

NATALIE

I staredout the office window, my eyes roaming over the quaint stores lining Main Street. The scene was so achingly familiar—the corner bakery where Dad used to buy me cinnamon rolls on Saturday mornings, the bookshop where Jasper and I would hide away for hours, lost in stories and each other.

It was our third day in a row visiting Dad's office, and it still felt surreal.

"Natalie? You okay, honey?"

Mom's voice snapped me out of my reverie. I realized I'd been clutching the Ever Eden Orchard brochure in my hand—the one Dad had stashed away in the Everton file—and heat rose in my cheeks.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

"About Jasper?"

I gaped at her. "What? No. Why would you think that?"

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Give me a little credit, Nat. I'm your mother."

I sighed, tossing the brochure aside. "Ancient history. It doesn't matter now."

"Doesn't it? The way you two used to look at each other... that kind of love doesn't just go away."

I shrugged and tried to look absorbed in thumbing through a random box of files. "I'm with Liam now. And Jasper made it pretty clear at the funeral that he wants nothing to do with me."

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