Page 11 of Love and Lattes at Pumpkin Hollow
‘Honestly? My brother hating this idea only made me want to do it more. And I’m not scared of anything.’ Dylan returned to me by the door. ‘Why, you want to back out?’
‘Nope,’ I said, shaking my head firmly. ‘It’s the same for me and my dad. Him doubting me makes me just want to work even harder. So, first thing tomorrow then, Dylan Henderson?’
Dylan put the keys to the cottage in his pocket. ‘First thing tomorrow, Willow Connor.’
I nodded and left the cottage, looking up at the sky darkening above me. The grey clouds started drizzling and I hurried back to the farmhouse, hoping the weather wasn’t giving me an ominous sign.
10
That evening, I walked into the Birchbrook Arms, the local pub, in desperate need of a drink. After Dylan left the farm to pick up whatever he’d need for his stay, I completed my chores and then Dad and I had leftovers for dinner. Dad settled down with a puzzle, Maple lying down nearby to enjoy the log fire we had lit as the night drew in chilly, but I couldn’t relax – I kept looking out of the window and listening for the sounds of the car on the driveway. I was torn between wanting to know exactly when Dylan came back to the farm to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind about our pact, and not wanting to be sitting around waiting for him. So, in the end, I said I’d nip out for a drink and then hopefully, I’d be back just to see Dylan’s car and him safely in the cottage.
Birchbrook Arms was on the edge of town and was incredibly old with low ceilings and wooden beams, and roaring fires in autumn and winter. I opened the door and recognised all the people inside. I liked that. It was comforting, and right now, when things were in such turmoil, I clung to the familiarity of my hometown more than ever. I waved at the landlord, Johnny, who had run the pub for as long as I was old enough to drink, and he walked over to my end of the bar.
‘You got all the town talking today, Willow,’ he said as he grabbed a wine glass, not needing to ask me what I wanted – my drink of choice had been long fixed. ‘Sending some city boy away from your farm or something.’
I sighed. Of course, everyone had talked about what happened in the café earlier. Had that really been the same day? It felt like a week ago. I leaned against the bar, glad it could take my weight. I felt weary to my bones. I noticed a few other people listening in on us as well. ‘Yeah, he wants to make an offer to buy our farm and bulldoze it all into new-build homes,’ I said as Johnny slid a glass of wine across the shiny wood to me. I tapped my card on the machine and took a sip. ‘I really don’t want to have to sell. I was putting off the meeting but, of course, he turned up in the end anyway.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘It wouldn’t be the same without your fruit and veg in summer,’ a woman sitting said behind me. I glanced over at her and smiled. She ran the florist’s in the High Street.
‘That’s what the problem is – we’re okay in summer, but less so the rest of the year. So, when I was in the High Street today, I thought maybe I could do what the town does and create something autumnally themed on the farm.’
‘Like what?’
I looked over and saw the question had come from Paul from the café who was sitting with a couple of his friends, beers lined up in front of them. My conversation with Johnny had drawn the attention of everyone within earshot but I wasn’t surprised – Birchbrook was a nosy town, although I knew they all meant well.
‘Well, we all love pumpkins and as our pick-your-own does so well in summer, I thought I’d make a pumpkin patch,’ I said, beaming at everyone listening. There was silence and a few people looked at one another then back at me.
‘You want to sell pumpkins? How will that save the farm?’ Paul asked, confused.
‘We wouldn’t just sell pumpkins; it would be like a whole autumnal experience: a day out for families like when you come to the farm in summer. It will be… fun,’ I said, finishing a little bit lamely as no one seemed to be into this idea. I gulped down more of my wine. ‘The High Street is always decorated for autumn. You have an autumnal menu,’ I pointed out to Paul. ‘Maybe you could sell some food and drink at the patch; I’ll come in and speak to your parents.’
‘We’d need to be sure there would be enough customers to make it worthwhile leaving the café, though,’ Paul said, looking less than thrilled but then he was often moody.
‘Hang on,’ Johnny said. ‘You don’t grow pumpkins, do you?’
‘Not yet. I’d have to buy them in for this year,’ I admitted.
‘How will you make a profit by doing that?’ Paul called over.
My heart sank. I supposed I hadn’t actually run any figures. I could just picture the patch in my mind and I knew I could make it a place people would want to come and visit. That had made me think I could make money out of it. But now everyone seemed to be pouring cold water on the idea, just like my dad and Sabrina earlier in the café. Why couldn’t anyone see my vision?
Before I could respond, the pub door swung open and everyone turned from me to the door. I looked as well and my evening got a little bit worse. Dylan strode in, seemingly oblivious to everyone staring at his entrance, and walked up to the bar. He had at least ditched the suit and was now wearing dark jeans and a dark shirt, although he still had shiny shoes on.
‘Isn’t that the guy from the café?’ Paul asked, his voice carrying over to the bar.
Dylan turned then he saw me. ‘Your dad suggested I come for a drink and some food,’ he said, looking surprised to see me. I assumed Dad had failed to mention I’d be here.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Anyway…’ I raised my glass to everyone then slid off to a free table in the corner near to the crackling log fire. I was going to drink my wine away from annoying questions. My head was starting to pound with things to think about and I was fed up with everyone making me feel like I was crazy to even try to make this pumpkin patch happen. I sat down and stared at my wine glass on the table dully. I was now regretting coming out. I should have stayed home and not told anyone about my idea.
‘Do you mind?’
I looked up to see Dylan hovering by my table with a beer and a glass of wine.
‘I hate drinking alone,’ he added. ‘I got you another glass…’
Staring at it, I was torn. This didn’t feel like a good idea at all. Our conversation earlier hadn’t exactly been polite and calm. We might have to work together for the next few weeks but I was at as loss about what we would find to talk about in the pub.
