Page 38 of Love and Lattes at Pumpkin Hollow
I knew I’d done the sensible thing in not going, but I also knew I’d think about Dylan all evening.
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I stood in the driveway to watch the Birchbrook Café van come in through the farm gate. Friday had started bright with a cool breeze that was causing our birch trees to sway in harmony, as if they were doing a dance. I could hardly see any green left on them now, their golden hue as bright as the sunshine. I remembered my mum telling me that autumn was a chance for nature, and for people, to let go of anything that was holding them back.
My eyes drifted to Dylan’s cottage. After he had gone to the pub last night, I had tried to relax but found myself peeping through my curtains to see when he came home. If I was honest, I was dreading the idea of him coming back with another girl. He returned alone though, at 11 p.m., and I sank into my bed with relief. It was disconcerting.
Now, the cottage door opened as if I had manifested him, and Dylan emerged and made his way towards me on the driveway.
‘Looks like it’s Paul; he was at the pub last night,’ Dylan said as he approached me, nodding over at the van. Dylan was wearing warm clothes too, his hands in his coat pockets, his hair blowing like the leaves around us. ‘He was complaining about his mum making him work in the van, saying it would be cold and there might not even be customers to make it worthwhile for them.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Paul loves to complain,’ I said, watching him park up and climb out of the van. It was painted cream with Birchbrook Café written on it in green letters, a chalkboard by the hatch that would open to list the menu they would be offering. ‘Ever since we were teenagers, he’s said he wants to leave Birchbrook but he’s still here.’ I lifted my voice. ‘Morning!’ I called out as Dylan chuckled under his breath. We exchanged an amused smile. And I wondered if Dylan ever thought about how he’d feel when it was time for him to leave Birchbrook. I wondered what it would be like to let him go, like the birch trees were letting go of their leaves. My traitorous mind whispered that I didn’t want to have to do that.
‘So, where do you want me to park next week?’ Paul said, without bothering to greet us. He looked around and saw the set-up in the field behind me. ‘Is that where everything will be?’ he asked, nodding his head.
‘That’s right. We’re setting up Portaloos here,’ I said, pointing to the side of the farmhouse. ‘And Steve is coming to offer tractor rides that will go from here so I was thinking?—’
‘The van should go here,’ Paul interrupted, stomping over to the edge of the field. ‘Right in the middle of everything. Where are you having people park – over there?’ He gestured to the field the other side of the farmhouse close to the chickens, directing his questions at Dylan.
‘Why don’t you ask Willow where she would like the van to go?’ Dylan suddenly said, frowning at Paul’s attitude. I was used to it after knowing him all my life and didn’t need anyone to defend me. I threw him a glare but inside, I did secretly enjoy the fact he was trying to stand up for me.
‘Actually, I think…’ I walked over to the field, forcing the two men to follow me. ‘We could put it to the side of the polytunnels so everyone has to walk past the van; you might get more trade that way and Steve will finish the rides nearby as well. You can drive this way and stop here.’ I stood in the spot. To me, it was the best place to pick up custom.
Paul narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. Then, he nodded. ‘Okay. We’ll see how next week goes as to how often we come for the rest of the month.’
‘Half-term is the penultimate week, and that is bound to be busy,’ Dylan said, earning himself another glare from me but he merely shrugged like my annoyance didn’t bother him.
‘Shame there is nowhere for people to sit,’ Paul said, ignoring us both.
‘Any ideas?’ Dylan asked him pointedly.
‘Benches? I wonder if the school might let you borrow the ones they use for sports day… I’ll find out. See you Monday.’ Paul strode off.
‘God’s sake, Dylan, why are you always sticking your nose in?’ I demanded once we were alone again.
‘Why won’t you accept my help?’ Dylan threw back. ‘You had ten tickets booked overnight, by the way, so people are starting to notice the publicity in town.’
That dissipated my anger. ‘Really?’
‘It’s a start,’ Dylan said with a smile.
‘I could do with going over the budget spreadsheet later; I want to see if there’s anything else I can add to the patch before we open. I might have hit my limit, though.’
‘I’ll leave my laptop in the farmhouse so you can look over dinner.’
‘You’re not having dinner with us again?’ I found myself asking, wishing I didn’t care. ‘Dad said he missed you,’ I added quickly when Dylan turned to look at me.
‘Did he? I can’t tonight; someone asked me for dinner last night.’
‘Who?’ I blurted out. Then we heard another noise on the drive and I looked over to see a large van coming down the driveway from the pumpkin farm. ‘Pumpkins!’ I cried, moving away from Dylan in excitement. I waved to the driver and went to greet him.
We spent the next hour helping the two guys unload all the orange pumpkins that we were going to sell on the pumpkin farmer’s behalf. We piled pumpkins into the wooden crates by the side of the polytunnels. I also made a free-standing stack of pumpkins outside each of the tunnels as welcoming posts for people walking into the autumn trail inside.
‘Maybe I should build another table for them as well,’ I said as we looked at the sheer number of pumpkins left over. ‘For now, stack them behind the tunnels and we can replenish once they start selling.’
‘You got covers for them? In case it rains, they might go mushy or mouldy, love,’ the driver said to me.
‘I’m not your love,’ I replied.
