Page 78 of Miss Humbug
“They grow cherry trees, but the price they can sell cherries is the lowest it’s been in decades. Overseas imports are taking the bulk of business at a fraction of the cost. They’re interested in growing a new crop. Could be, they might want to grow Christmas trees.”
She scooched closer. “What does that mean?”
“We’re in early talks, nothing decided. But we could merge. Their land offers the space we need to grow more trees. Their experience farming means my folks can retire and leave the farm in good hands. Rob could move on too—he’s been restless. I’d have support. And more time and focus for the gift shop barn.”
“I can’t believe you’re excited about a gift shop.” Her grin gave her away.
“You think it’s sweet.”
“I love that you have a vision. A clear one.” She kissed me on the cheek. “I’m proud of you for making your own way.”
“Look at us. Adults getting things done.” I had so many questions. “What will you do about work?”
“Grans suggested I take time to figure out the right fit. While I look for jobs, she provided thegenerousvolunteer opportunity of helping her sort through the house. I’ve already made four spreadsheets for tracking donations and items marked for antiques dealers. We’re considering leaving the dining hall table and chairs and some bed frames for the respite facility, if that all ends up working out. Then I have tracking spreadsheets for job hunting.”
“Sounds like you’ll be busy.”
“It’ll pass the time. No one’s hiring right now anyway. Brianne is well connected and my family knows everybody else. I’m sure something will shake out.”
“In Crystal Cove? Or beyond?” Only so much job opportunity existed in the area and surrounding small towns.
“Remote positions are options. Maybe a forty-minute commute to Rockford.” She shrugged. “Weirdly, I’m not worried about it. It’s like I have this sense of peace about my future now that I’m not fighting so hard about being seen as a successful, independent woman. I can justbea successful, independent woman.”
She practically glowed. A beautiful, confident glow.
“Oh—speaking of nostalgia and other sentimental things, come on.” She hopped up and stretched her hand out. “I have a present for you. Follow me.”
I took her hand and stood. I swept her in another kiss. Her cascade of giggles sounded like music to my heart. Music to rival the holiday station.
We left the office for the family room, stepping over toy train tracks and a row of stuffed animal bystanders. Marlowe hefted a wrapped box from beneath the tree and handed it to me. “For you.”
The box had some weight to it. I sat in a nearby chair and tore into the wrapping. Opening it revealed a sturdy leather utility apron. On the front pocket, a clip held a patch reading: Sawyer Woodworking Inc.
“For your potential second career.” Marlowe tucked her hair behind her ear. “I had the patch made separately as a rush order. You don’t have to use it.”
“Not use it?” I stood and swung the top loop of the apron over my head. “I’m wearing this to dinner including the patch. I mean, look at all these pockets!”
She smiled a shy smile that nearly struck me speechless. She looked so beautiful right now. Yes, in the sweater. I would have been happy just seeing her on Christmas, but this gift? This was special.
And useful. “How did you know I needed a new work apron?”
“I noticed a pretty threadbare apron in the barn. More likethreadsnowhere.”She snort-laughed.
Yup, still beautiful.
She sprung toward the tree. “Okay, I have another gift for you because I wasn’t sure on the apron.”
She handed me a book with a ribbon tied around it. I tugged the ribbon free. A photo book. Inside, the pages began with a single photo of us as young kids. Probably three or four years old. We were at the farm posed by a tractor.
How it started, the page read in frilly cursive.
The next pages progressed through the years, from kids to teenagers, to high school graduation. We’d found time to take a photo together in our commencement robes.
Blank pages followed.
“Those are for the rest of the story,” she spoke over my shoulder. “TheHow it’s goingphase of…us.”
My throat tightened. “And you call yourself a humbug.”
