Page 104 of Always Meant for You
“No. Sherri’s married to Larry. Harry’s wife is Lois Mary.”
Mabel covers her mouth and shakes her head. “Stop making me laugh, Callan Horner. I don’t want to embarrass myself and use the wrong names.”
“Here’s a refresher course. Harry with Lois Mary. Larry with Sherri. And I think Carrie ended up with Gary. Or Barry. Possibly Terry.”
“Cal . . .” she says, shoulders shaking as she fights off laughter.
The sound of it curls in my chest and settles in my heart. I want to hold on to it. Store it away for the hard days.
She catches her breath. “Are we coming to see their milking operation?”
“No, this is a cheese stop and a soil check. We’ve planned for them to start planting alfalfa. It’s good for the cows. After that, we’ve got more farms to visit.”
“Did you say cheese?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“Yeah. They started making it last year. Expanded beyond milk.”
Before she can ask another question, Harry Sperry appears, grinning. He swings her door open.
“Hey, Mabel! I didn’t know Cal was bringing you around.”
I step out of the truck and circle around to meet them.
“Mabel’s tagging along today,” I say. “She’s working on a marketing push for the co-op.”
“I heard,” Harry says, still beaming. “Your homecoming stirred up plenty of buzz. Come on. You’re in for a treat.”
Harry moves with the same unhurried rhythm as every Sperry I’ve known. Tall frame, easy stride, a gentleness that comes from years of quiet labor and careful hands.
The Sperrys were one of the first families to settle in Elverna. You can feel it in the way they hold space, a kind of rootedness.
“Cal said you’re making cheese now,” Mabel says, falling into step beside him.
“We are. We’ve got a dedicated room for it.”
“A whole room?” Her stomach lets out a low protest.
She blushes. “Pardon me.”
“Mabel’s always had a thing for cheese,” I add.
“I wouldn’t call it a thing,” she counters. “I simply happen to value it . . . deeply.”
I glance at her, trying not to grin. “That quiche you demolished this morning didn’t stand a chance.”
“You were watching me eat?” Mischief glints in her eyes.
I don’t answer. Because I had been watching. I’d stood in the greenhouse doorway, still damp from the shower, unable to ignore how she hummed and swayed while she ate.
Thankfully, Harry pushes open the cheese room door, and we’re greeted with a blast of cool air. The smell is tangy, salty, and dense with cream and fermentation. It wraps around us.
Mabel’s attention shifts, sparing me from answering.
The room is meticulously kept. Concrete floors, white tile walls, rows of pine shelves stacked with aging wheels. Some are pale and waxy, others darkened with time. A clean steel table anchors the center.
Mabel pauses inside the doorway. “This is incredible.”
Harry heads for the back wall, checking cheese tags until he lands on one he likes. He taps the rind, presses gently to test its give, then carries it to the table.
