Emma nearly spat her tea out. She had never once heard her grandmother admit fault. Even the time she drove that Cadillac into the shed Daddy built. Said it was his fault for putting it so close to the driveway.
Emma tried to compose herself so her shock wouldn’t show. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry. I know you want to stay in the house.”
Grandma Dorothea stilled. “Is that what you think this is about?”
Well, wasn’t it?
Her grandmother reached across the little table to take Emma’s hands in her own. “Do you remember that time your mother put you in soccer and you ran the ball straight down the wrong side of the field? You never were one for sports.”
Emma laughed. “How could anyone forget that?”
“I wanted to cheer you on for running so fast. But what good is that if you don’t pay attention where you’re going?” Grandma Dorothea squeezed Emma’s hands hard and looked her straight in the eyes. “Emmaline, if you’re running the wrong way, why would you keep going?”
Emma looked down into her teacup. The sugar had created sweet little swirls on the top. As usual, her grandmother had a way of cutting straight to the heart of the problem, no fussing about.
The wisdom of those words stirred Emma to sudden clarity. For so long, she had been striving—thinking if she could only move here or work there or fill up her schedule with enough stuff, she could quiet the inner voice that had been whispering the answer all along.
She looked back at her grandmother. “Why didn’t you say something before now?”
Grandma Dorothea released Emma’s hands then took another steady sip of her tea. She smiled, her lipstick just as pristine as when they’d walked into the teashop. And wasn’t that just her way? “Sugar, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
Emma chuckled. Her stomach rumbled, and she reached for her own scone. “No, I don’t suppose I would have.”
“But now?” Hope lifted the little wrinkles around Grandma Dorothea’s eyes.
“Now it’s time for me to come home.” Emma took another sip of her tea and let the sweetness of the words linger on her tongue.
“I know somebody who will be glad to hear that.” Grandma Dorothea folded her hands and leaned forward on the table as if she had a secret to tell.
“You do?” Emma smiled. A wave of anticipation rolled.
“One of my girlfriends saw Sawyer in the bank yesterday, asking who to see about a loan. Now, you didn’t hear it from me, Emmaline, but I think he wants to buy that property to keep you around.”
Emma’s heart sunk quicker than an anchor tossed overboard. He wanted to buy that property, all right. It was the her-sticking-around part she wasn’t so sure about.
How could he be so confident she would give him the land at a discount?
Had she misread his intentions? Had he spent all that time with her just to get on her good side, so she would sell him the farmhouse for a cheap price and ignore the other buyer?
Were her worst fears coming to pass all over again?
The tea turned Emma’s stomach. She wanted to burst into tears, but Grandma Dorothea had very strict rules about crying in public, and she didn’t make exceptions unless broken bones were involved.
Though in this case Emma was broken. Maybe not a bone, but something stronger, perhaps. Her heart.
It all seemed so clear now. She’d been cautious when she first arrived. Why had she let her guard down? Blast his red hair and stupid, sparkling smile, and the shiplap. Emma sighed. Maybe she should give herself a little more grace. After all, what woman could resist shiplap?
The important thing was that she found out before she made a fool of herself.
She had one more day to avoid him and finalize the sale. How hard could that be?
12
Sawyer had less than twenty-four hours to turn Emma’s heart around before admitting he was the buyer and had already looked into a loan for the property. He had twenty-four hours to pitch his idea they convert the farmhouse into a bed-and-breakfast, and twenty-four hours to keep her from putting any more of those awful gold handles on anything. Antiques, she called them. Artifacts was more like it.
More than anything, he had twenty-four hours to prove himself once and for all.
If he couldn’t do it, Emma would go back to Boston forever. In retrospect, maybe he should’ve considered that a viable possibility. Because now, if she decided she still wanted Boston more than the farmhouse—more than him—well, he had no other alternative but to live here by himself, surrounded by all that could’ve been.
Surrounded by Grandma Dorothea. Lord help him.
And speaking of Grandma Dorothea, it was probably time to leave the new porch furniture and the company of stars and crickets to go back inside and face her.
She was insisting they all spend their last night together dancing to records in the living room. Said that’s how she’d spent her first night here too. He had expected her to feel the same feverish energy as he did. After all, Emma might leave at any moment.
But instead, she’d insisted on Frank Sinatra and taught them all to swing dance, carefree as a bird. Sawyer had excused himself to get some fresh air and found the darkness to be deeper, save a sliver of the moon.
Emma had been distant all evening, and he was growing more confused. She’d seemed so happy about the new job offer earlier. But now, if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was avoiding him. Ever since that breakfast with her grandmother.
He’d kept busy cleaning up the place—new screens for the windows and polished baseboards. He needed the farmhouse to look the part if he had any hope of convincing her.
Who was he kidding? He didn’t have much hope left, did he?
Still, there was that fraction of a chance she was waiting for him to make a move. And a fraction of a chance was all he needed where Emma was concerned.
Sawyer reached for the screen door as the song ended, and Grandma Dorothea called after him. “Sawyer, get back here this instant before I’m forced to dance with Emmaline again! She’s got two left feet.”
He chuckled under his breath as he stepped inside, toward the living room. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
The old record player started “I Get a Kick Out of You,” and Sawyer spun Grandma Dorothea until her laughter came so hard, she looked like the pretty young girl from the pictures with her husband.
“I’m afraid to admit I’ll need some water after that one.” Dorothea started off toward the kitchen where Emma’s mother and father were drinking coffee, but she stopped short and tapped her watch. “Would you look at that.” She held up her wrist toward Sawyer and Emma. “My wristwatch just up-and-started ticking. Almost like magic.” With a wink, she left the two of them alone.
Sawyer’s nerves knotted in his stomach, but he recognized his cue when it came. He reached toward Emma, knowing full well this may be his last chance. She watched him for a long moment as if considering whether or not to accept his hand.
“Let me just set my drink down,” she said.
“Wait a second. Is that sweet tea you’re drinking?”
Emma smiled, shrugging. “As it turns out, you can take a girl out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of a girl.”
Sawyer grinned. His words came in a whisper. “Take a walk with me.”
Emma put her hand in Sawyer’s, even though every rational thought said she shouldn’t. She was planning to turn down a dance offer, but a walk was something else entirely. A walk would give her the chance to mention her knowledge of the loan inquiry and clarify her intentions going forward. Namely that she would not, under any circumstances, sell him the farmland at a discounted rate.
How dare he inquire about a loan when he knew she had a bigger offer on the table and was planning on accepting? And to think she’d actually believed in the woods earlier that Sawyer still loved her, and that his love alone willed her to stay. In reality, he was still trying to earn
her good graces to get a cheap rate on the property. And apparently, he’d been so confident of his success that he’d looked into loans at a friends-and-family discount. The hopeless romantic inside her never learned, did it? She’d been watching way too much BBC.
The fact this evening’s walk was about to happen under starlight was an unfortunate coincidence.
At his touch, everything within her floated with the gravity of the moon. She didn’t need Sinatra or old records because Sawyer’s eyes did all the dancing as he opened the screen door and a gentle breeze drifted through.
She would have followed him anywhere. She would have given up the job offer and her apartment in Boston and the whole kit and caboodle.
One step behind him with her hand still resting in his, Emma took the porch steps behind Sawyer until they reached the bottom and stayed there. He let go of her hand as he sat, and she cozied into a spot a good two feet away from him—what she hoped would make a safe distance.
Sawyer dusted off a trail of soil that had spilt. “Forgive me for being blunt, but you’ve seemed somewhere else all evening.”
“I thought we were going for a walk.”
The new lantern-style porch light illuminated Sawyer’s smirk. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I was unaware you asked one.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She would stay strong. Not give in to his charm. Or the way his hair curled slightly upward just above his ears.
Sawyer studied her a long moment, then shook his head. “I swear, Em, just when I think I’ve figured you out—”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I didn’t mean to…” He ran one hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
Was he? Emma watched him, waiting.
He took a deep breath and reached to straighten the wooden locket she was still wearing. He had to scoot closer to get to her, and he stayed put there. So much for two feet away.
Sawyer looked up to the glittering night sky.
Had the stars always been so numerous? Emma had forgotten the way they multiplied away from the traffic and artificial lights of the city. A canopy of them hung overhead—always there and yet not always visible… until now.
The pull of his nearness charged the air between them, and it was everything she could do to hold him at arm’s distance, to keep her wits about her.
She looked up at the stars, too, and wondered what he saw there.
“Emma Jane?” His words pulled her gaze to his own and nearly took her breath away. To think that after tomorrow, she may never see him again.
She couldn’t even consider the idea. And yet it was the only alternative.
She loved him. She always had. But to him, she’d never been more than casual girlfriend, had she?
“Sawyer?”
“I was just wondering.” He didn’t so much as blink. “If this buyer hadn’t come along with such a great offer on the property…”
She moved her hand to her wrist to cover her thumping pulse.
“Do you think you ever would’ve come back here? Ever seen a future…” He cleared his throat. “With me?”
This was too much to process. Too much to believe. With all the fields before them and the evening fog rolling, was this one last-ditch attempt to get her family’s orchard? Or did Sawyer actually mean the words he spoke?
“It doesn’t matter now.” Emma forced herself to swallow. “Like Mama always says, you can’t bring a tide back upstream.”
The following morning, Emma washed her empty bowl of grits in the kitchen sink. The bowl was one of the few personal possessions still remaining from her parents’ move, and though it was small, she found comfort in using the dish.
She would miss this place, from sunrises on the porch to sunsets in the orchard. There’s a comfort that comes from a familiar harvest of seeds that are planted, prayed over, long before a person is born. The person simply has to gather, store, and care for it well. But Emma had done none of the above. She ran her wooden locket back and forth on its chain. What she would do to go back and change things.
Sawyer’s words from last night still echoed against the walls of her resolve. “Do you think you would’ve seen a future with me?”
What had he wanted her to say in reply? Wasn’t it obvious already? She’d seen a future with him for as long as she could remember. If he had only followed through with his promises, they would be married already.
She wanted nothing more in all the word—not the new job or even Boston—than a future here, with Sawyer Hammonds.
Emma dried the bowl, put it away, and folded up her dishtowel. The posts on her earrings rubbed as she turned the backings and took a deep breath to settle her nerves.
She was strong. She could do this.
Her gaze swept the back windows as the sunlight streamed through the covered porch, but she but didn’t see any sign of Sawyer. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him all morning. Maybe after last night’s conversation, he was keeping his distance. Couldn’t say she blamed him.
Emma tugged at the hem of her oatmeal-colored sweater and brushed her damp hands against her jeans. She glanced at the large clock above the fireplace. The buyer would be here any minute. She’d better get out to the orchard to meet him.
She started toward the front door, but on the table at the entry, an old family photo situated next to Finding Ever After caught her attention. The picture captured everyone laughing and had been taken two days after her engagement. She hadn’t the heart to take it down until the last possible minute. Perhaps because she longed for a future that never happened.
Emma gripped the door handle. Here goes nothing.
She stepped through the doorway and wiggled the antique lock to make sure the door had shut correctly. The porch steps remained quiet under her weight, and her quick steps left no time to meander through memories. It was easier that way.
The buyer had said he would meet her in the orchard.
She could scarcely swallow. When she looked up, he would be standing in front of her, and there was no going back.
She thought of her own words to Sawyer, how a river keeps moving, and forced herself to look up at the reality standing before her.
Sure enough, a tall figure stood in the space between the trees. The morning light reflected brightly from him back into the orchard, but she would recognize that silhouette anywhere.
Sawyer?
Emma blinked.
Her mind tried to make sense of it all as realization rushed in like an open dam.
No wonder he was in the loan office. He wasn’t expecting a discount! Her parents were moving, and he knew she wouldn’t return to this property again unless…
Unless he had a plan to win her back.
He wore a flannel button-down and a backwards baseball cap, and a grin so wide it could charm a thief. And then—be still her heart—he did it. He lowered down on one knee as he held his mother’s ring. For the second time in his life.
Emma’s heart took on wings. She ran to him, and the perfectly-lined orchard grew perfectly blurry. Empty shells crunched at her feet. Last year’s harvest was over, but this year’s was just beginning.
He stood to slide his arms around her waist and kiss her as if it were the first time. His kiss awakened hope she hadn’t known was asleep as he twirled her among the trees. Emma draped her head back, and her hair swooshed with the magic of early-morning fairies.
“All along, it was you.” Emma’s laughter had never felt so sweet, so free. “You wanted a loan because you planned to buy the property.” She hesitated, holding onto his arms. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why the whole charade? Why not just make a deal with my parents?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sawyer pulled her closer. He paused to look into her eyes, then brushed the hair away from her face. Her heart became weightless, and she thought she might float away. “Because I wanted something far more than the farmhouse, Em. I wanted your heart.”
&n
bsp; The words were all she had ever dreamed.
He slid the ring onto her finger, and Emma held up her hand to watch the diamond sparkle in the sun. Warmth tickled her head down to her toes as Sawyer wove his hands together behind her back and drew her closer still.
“Still a perfect fit,” she said.
Sawyer kissed the tip of her nose. “Practically beaming.”
Just past Sawyer, an orange tabby rounded the corner of the trees. Emma grinned. Beastly titled his head to see about the commotion and then approached with a loud meow. Could it be the stray had finally chosen a home?
“Is the cat behind me?” Sawyer asked. Emma nodded. They stilled in each other’s arms, careful not to spook him.
But for the first time, Beastly began rubbing his orange fur against Emma’s jeans as he arched his back and purred.
“I think he likes you.” A half-grin slipped up Sawyer’s lips, and she caught the double meaning.
Emma bit down on her bottom lip and met his gaze, which glimmered with the same intensity as her ring. “As it turns out, he’s not so beastly after all.”
Epilogue
Ten Months Later
Sawyer took Emma’s sparkling left hand in his own and led her down the streets of Gatlinburg. “Come here and take my picture by the giant, plastic bear.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Forgive me, but I thought my honeymoon was going to be more about stealing kisses on scenic vistas than traipsing through tourist central. Especially considering we could only sneak away from harvest season for two days.”
“You are such a romance writer.” Sawyer handed her his phone and kissed her hand.
Emma glared at him.
“I mean… you’re such a romance writer, my beautiful wife?” His half-grin rose like a crescent moon. “Speaking of which, have I mentioned how happy I am that your novel releases next week?”
Emma returned his grin. She couldn’t resist him, and her heart still skipped a beat every time she thought of a book with her own name on the cover. A book inspired in no small part by Sawyer. Maybe a little Ross Poldark too. She tapped to open the camera. “Say trout.”
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