Page 109 of Always Meant for You
Mabel turns to Harry. “Would it be all right if I took another bite of cheese before we head out?”
Harry grins, smitten with Mabel, and reaches for the knife. “Take the whole wheel, if it helps bring you back more often.” He pauses and looks her dead in the eyes. “This might be the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”
“Yes, sir, I believe you’re right about that. We never spoke all that much.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad you’re here now talking with me.” He nods, a quiet, steady farmer’s nod that says you’re worth your weight, and slices her a generous wedge.
She takes it, her eyes shining, as we move toward the field. She and Harry walk on ahead. He’s filling her in on all the updates she missed while she was away. I follow a step behind, studying the denim dress brushing past her knees, the sunlight catching the curve of her smile.
A warmth floods my chest.
Mabel’s seeing the beauty in this place I never stopped fighting for. And for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like I’m fighting alone.
Chapter Twenty
MABEL
The road stretches ahead of us in long, quiet lines. The kind that catch the last of the sun and carry it until it disappears. Wind filters through the open windows.
We’re leaving the Martinez farm. Our last stop of the day.
Cal and I sit side by side, sharing a comfortable silence.
Today, we found a rhythm.
Cal handled the farm talk, the soil checks, and the numbers. I moved in with my phone, snapping pictures, capturing not only food swoon but the people behind the produce. Their homes, their pride.
And Cal let me.
He stepped aside and gave me room to work, to talk, to learn. After everything—the tension, the distance, our history—he trusted me with this.
And that almost-kiss at the dairy hasn’t been forgotten. I feel it sitting in the quiet between us. But it’s not a wound or a regret. It’s a thread, and I don’t want it to snap.
It’s been a good day.
I’m seeing Elverna in a different way.
And it’s been fun.
Between farm visits, Cal listened as I explained the brand voice I’m building for Eat Elverna. When I wanted to include a behind-the-scenes clip of Mr. Stewart showing off his heirloom tomatoes, Cal held the phone steady. Later, at the Thackston place, he was filming when all the hens started flocking to me. I didn’t move. I didn’t say anything. Just glanced toward the camera. He was quiet for a second, then said, “You might be a chicken whisperer.” And I could hear it—that smile in his voice. The real one.
He showed up for me.
I glance at him. One hand rests on the wheel, the other draped across his thigh. He isn’t closed off. He’s here. Settled in. Not distracted. Not trying to solve or fix. Simply being. And all I can think is maybe this is what it could feel like if we were building something real.
Not small. Not stuck. A life that centered around this town but didn’t shun the rest of the world.
But would Cal ever want that?
Would he step beyond this place, even for a few weeks?
I don’t know.
But I’m not going to get ahead of myself.
Today was a win, and I’m going to let myself feel it.
We worked side by side. Farm by farm. Photo by photo. And somewhere between the pies and the pastures, Eat Elverna’s story took shape.
