Page 3 of Love and Lattes at Pumpkin Hollow
Summer had definitely faded away now with autumn drifting in. The leaves were all starting to change, a few conkers were falling in my path, and the air was crisp as I strolled towards our quaint hometown.
Birchbrook was small, with most of the locals knowing each other, but it was popular with tourists as it was so pretty and had a lot of independent businesses, which was becoming rarer with each passing year. I always felt a warm flood of pride whenever I walked through it. Today, the pride was mixed with sadness that this might not be where I lived for much longer. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, though.
When the town came into sight, I turned off the main road and into the High Street, my boots making noise on the cobbles. Birch trees ran in a line on each side of the road and, like our ones at the farm, were starting to turn. At Christmas, fairy lights were hung in them, and in summer, they were lush and green, but soon they would be a burst of autumn colour, something people loved to come and take photos of. Each shop had something outside to mark the seasons – once September moved into October, the businesses put pumpkins or autumn flowers outside their doors, and I smiled to see them already starting to appear.
Halfway down the High Street was the Birchbrook Café, which had been here for my whole life, run by a husband and wife, both called Pat (yes, it was confusing), along with their son now. It was a cosy haven and declared by all to make the best coffee and cakes for miles around. They had already decorated for autumn, I was happy to see. I slowed down to walk inside and passed a hay bale by the door that had a pile of orange and white pumpkins on top with two pots of dark-orange chrysanthemums in front of it. On the door the open/closed sign had changed to one that was pumpkin-shaped, and when I walked through, a delicious cinnamon smell hit me.
Inside the café, there was more autumnal-themed décor. The small, round tables now had beige and cream gingham tablecloths on them with three Munchkin pumpkins in the centre of each. I went up to the long counter, which displayed the cakes, and my eyes widened to see the delicious offerings. Behind the counter worked the three family members, and hanging across the back wall was a burlap banner with a square for each letter spelling out Hello Autumn.
‘It’s very, um, festive in here,’ a deep voice rang out.
I looked at the man ahead of me in the queue and instantly pegged him to be an outsider. He wore a suit and ordered an espresso, ignoring all the autumnal-themed drinks and treats on the menu.
‘We like to celebrate the seasons around here,’ Pat, short for Patricia, said in her usual kindly way.
‘Overkill.’ Her son, Paul, glowered as he made the man’s espresso using the fancy coffee machine behind the counter. ‘It’s the same every year – like we don’t know what month it is unless we decorate the café within an inch of its life.’
Pat, short for Patrick, his father, met my eyes and rolled his. I bit back a smile. The two Pats were always friendly, smiley and happy, but their son was the complete opposite. He acted like he hated every minute of working with his parents but if anyone dared to suggest he did something else, he’d bite your head off so we assumed secretly, he enjoyed it but liked to wind us all up with his ‘I hate this town’ attitude. It meant that you not only got a tasty drink and cake in the café but entertaining conversation too.
‘Haven’t seen you here before,’ female Pat continued as she took the man’s money.
I eyed the new drinks and treats in for the autumn season and wished I could afford to try them all but I knew I had to be as careful as possible right now.
‘I’m in town for a meeting,’ he replied in a posh accent. ‘Actually, do you know where this place is? I need to be there in a couple of hours – it’s called…’ He pulled out his phone to study it. ‘Birch Tree Farm.’
4
I looked up as female Pat met my gaze. Paul stopped making the drink to stare, and male Pat looked over his shoulder at us. I also felt the gaze of several customers linger on me as this man asked about my farm. I knew instantly who this was then, and I was pleased I had got him completely right. Mr Suit Man, who ordered boring coffee, and couldn’t remember the name of the farm he wanted to buy, was the Henderson brother I was being forced to meet soon.
‘I know it,’ I found myself blurting out before anyone else could speak. Again, I felt all eyes on me.
Mr Suit Man turned around, and I watched him take me in. He gave me a quick head-to-toe sweep and lingered on my scruffy boots, my baggy jeans and my cardigan that used to belong to my mum, which was so soft and cosy but definitely not high-fashion, and then up to my make-up-free face and messy bun. ‘You do?’ he asked, as if surprised that I would know anything. He looked about my age and was tall. I had to slightly look up to meet his rather startling blue eyes. He had broad shoulders and was conventionally handsome with a clean-shaven face and almost-black hair that slightly swept over his forehead. But the haughty expression on his face made sure that even if he was attractive, he most definitely would never be my type.
Instantly on edge at his disbelieving tone, I nodded. ‘Sure. We all know the farm.’
The man glanced at the family behind the counter, who all quickly nodded then looked back at me, wondering where I was going with this. As I was too.
‘Google Maps directed me to the town, not the farm, which is crazy,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief that a place could exist which Google couldn’t find.
‘Yeah, it does that, but we are all used to directing people who are lost,’ I said, knowing the town was super helpful in summer when people were trying to find our farm, but I knew this guy didn’t deserve any help. The way he said ‘farm’ just dripped with disdain. My back was definitely up.
I heard the bell on the café door jingle then and someone came in, stopping behind me. I could tell by the waft of a familiar floral perfume that it was Sabrina, probably wondering why everyone in here was looking at me and listening to my conversation with the stranger in a suit. I ploughed on quickly before she could say anything.
‘You need to go through the High Street then take a right and go down the hill and the farm will be there; it’s about a twenty-minute drive,’ I said pointing to the opposite way the farm was. I knew it was childish but I just couldn’t help it. This was all happening so fast and I felt like I had to do whatever I could to slow things down while I thought of a way to stop it altogether. I could tell everyone was confused why I had given the wrong directions but they had known me for all of my twenty-five years and they trusted me so no one said anything to disagree.
Mr Suit Man sighed. ‘Great, another twenty-minute drive. Glad I went for the double shot then.’ He gave a business-like nod. ‘Thanks,’ he said curtly to me, picked up his coffee in a takeaway cup and then strode out of the café, making the bell ring out shrilly by how hard he yanked the door open.
‘Willow!’ Sabrina chastised me. ‘What did you do?’
Everyone in the café was quiet, waiting for me to explain myself. I turned to face the room. ‘I know it looks bad but he’s here because he wants to buy our farm…’ I had to swallow down the lump in my throat. ‘And build houses on our land. Dad is considering it as the farm isn’t doing that well. I just need more time to come up with an idea to stop us from having to take his offer,’ I added in a nervous rush.
‘Oh, Willow,’ female Pat said. ‘I know what you need,’ she said, immediately bustling around to get me something to eat and drink.
‘Are things on the farm that bad?’ Sabrina asked, reaching out to touch my arm. I looked at my best friend’s anxious face. We had been close since primary school, growing up here together. She was even shorter than me, but curvy to my slim frame with blonde hair to my brown, and her eyes were a gorgeous blue. We always joked we were opposite in every way. She had married her school sweetheart and they had a baby last year. They lived in a cottage on the edge of town. She was a teacher at the school we had met at, and her husband worked for a big company in the next town to ours, and honestly, they were my favourite people. Her concern made the tears welling up in my eyes threaten to overspill, and I knew she could tell. ‘Sit down at our table; I’ll get this – no arguments,’ she added when I opened my mouth to protest.
I nodded, knowing that firm tone of hers well, so I went over to the corner where our favourite table sat empty as if it had been waiting for us. As I passed people I had known for years, I received sympathetic smiles and nods, murmurs of, ‘Anything we can do, let us know’, and I sank into a chair feeling grateful for them all, slightly bad for sending the Henderson man in the wrong direction but mostly terrified for what the next few hours were going to bring. Because he would end up at our farm at some point, and it felt like a bulldozer was already heading towards us, threatening all I held dear.
‘Okay, tell me everything while you enjoy these,’ Sabrina interrupted my doom-like thoughts as she sat down opposite me, sliding a tray onto the table. ‘We have a pumpkin spiced latte each, of course, and then I got us two sweet treats to share – an apple and toffee muffin and a slice of pumpkin spiced loaf cake.’
