Page 142 of Always Meant for You
“Nice meeting you, ma’am,” Kayla calls and jogs toward the bleachers.
Relief courses through me. This girl didn’t recognize me—or at least, she didn’t connect me to Bella Mae.
“Best of luck with the market,” Shaun says, breaking into my thoughts. “We’ll head over after the game.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll keep an eye out for your family.”
As he walks away, I breathe deeply, but the shame of being exposed as a fraud leaves me lightheaded.
I scan the field. No one is staring at me. Not a soul is calling out, “Bella Mae is a fraud.” I find Cal in the crowd and exhale a shaky breath. I want to come clean. I want to tell him what I did and why I’m home. But I can’t let my mind go there. Not today. Not when so much is on the line for Elverna.
Kayla takes a photo of Cal and the Cougars. He carefully extricates himself from their roving hands, picks up the box, and heads my way. With his hat on lopsided and his shirt untucked, he looks like he walked through a tornado. But the smile stretched across his face says everything.
He stops at my side and presents the box. “Mission accomplished.”
I take off his hat, smooth an errant lock of hair, then slide the cap back in place. “You did good.”
“And the Cougar moms said they’d post about the farmers’ market on their personal social media accounts. We might need all of these,” Cal adds.
I glance at my watch, and a fresh jolt of adrenaline kicks through me. We’ve got less than fifteen minutes until the farmers’ market opens.
“We’ve got to get going,” I say. “Walking will be faster, and we still need to figure out what we’re saying to the farmers.”
Cal falls into step beside me. “You mean a pep talk?”
“That’s right. We need everyone to be aligned on how they talk to customers. First impressions matter.”
He nods toward the booths and stalls as we cross the street. “You should be the one to speak.”
My breath catches. “Why me?”
“Because what you’ve managed to pull together in less than two weeks is nothing short of a miracle.”
We arrive at the square, and I scan the space. Every table has been arranged with care. Produce spills across linen-topped stands, the colors vivid and varied. Tomatoes gleam beside bunches of chard and fresh herbs. Pies sit under domes of glass. Honey glows inside mason jars stacked in neat rows. The farmers and vendors stuck to my aesthetic and followed my plan exactly.
Cal and I cross under a broad banner withEat Elvernawritten in bold green letters.
This is it.
If today is a success, my bank account won’t be hovering in the double digits. And while that’s what I want, it’s not the only thing that matters. Not anymore.
Cal sets the passports on a table at the entrance, and I step toward the center of the square. Conversations quiet, and people turn toward me. But not everyone looks confident. I see the worry on their faces, then spot my father at the Muldowney Farms stall beside Kenny and Abe. His expression remains stony, but imperceptible to anyone else, he gives me the hint of a nod, then he glances down at my boots.
My mother’s boots.
My father never sat me down and recounted stories about my mom. He never shared her favorite color or how she took hercoffee. But he kept these boots. And when he gave them to me, he gave me more than something she wore. He gave me a thread. A way to stand where she once stood.
And now, with that barely there nod and a quiet glance, he’s telling me what he can’t say with words. That I’m hers. That I’m his. And that he sees me.
I take a step forward, the worn leather creasing around my ankles, the soles catching faintly against the pavement. And with each step, I grow steadier.
“Before we open the market, I’d like to say a few words.”
The quiet deepens, and a calm wraps around me.
“I’m sorry it took so many years for me to see what you’re all doing here in Elverna,” I begin, speaking from the heart. “But I do see it. I see you. When I visited your farms, you welcomed me. You shared your stories, your process, your pride. You treated me like family.”
A few people nod.
