He pulled in a deep breath, his face ruddy and blushed. “I love the farm. I love being an EMT, but I feel…unsettled in that job. I want to see if farm life is more my style. I need time to get the house and farm operational. Then I thought maybe you’d like to get married and be a farm family with me.” A small smile touched his mouth. “So yes, I guess that was a really bad marriage proposal, which happened a bit prematurely.”
Gretchen couldn’t move—didn’t dare. She feared if she stepped, the ground would be too brittle to hold her weight.
“I’m really bad at this kind of stuff.” Drew started laughing, a low sound that lifted and swelled and filled the alley, the park across the street, the very sky itself.
The joy he brought with him filled her, and she found herself laughing with him. He swept her into his arms and placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Something to think about,” he whispered. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He kissed the opposite corner of her lips, and everything inside her melted. She folded herself into his embrace and pressed her cheek above his pulse.
Did she love him? She loved how he took care of Dixie. How easily he’d taken to her as if she were his own child. She loved how he looked after his parents. She loved his gentle spirit and kind eyes and warm hands. She loved how safe she felt with him, and the thought of not being with him brought pain like she’d experienced when Aaron had died.
She was so close to loving him, and she wouldn’t let a farm get between them. “I’ll help you get the farm up and running again,” she whispered, tilting her head back to receive a proper kiss from the man she almost loved.
The day before the festival, Gretchen sold through all her lavender sachets. She’d cleaned out all the bouquets and all the wreaths Donna had taught her to weave. Thankfully, she had another day’s worth of stock in the walk-in refrigerator, and more out at the farm where she’d been living.
She paused in sprucing up her displays, the time ticking toward noon, when Janey would arrive to take her to lunch. Though they saw each other every day and they helped one another out, sometimes it was nice for the two of them to just sit and relax. Eat a meal together. Talk about their own challenges.
Gretchen’s thoughts wandered down the Lavender Highway, and when her phone chimed a message from Janey saying she was at the corner, Gretchen turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, where she’d taped a handwritten note that said, “I’ll be back at 1 PM.”
After making sure the front door was locked and hurrying down the sidewalk, she slid into Janey’s Jeep. “Hey.” She didn’t mean to exhale like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
“Oh, hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t sound like nothing.” Janey eased onto the road. “And we’re going up to Mabel’s for lunch?” She cut Gretchen a glance out of the corner of her eye.
“She was kind to me when I got hurt,” Gretchen said, shrugging. “And she’s having her annual lavender luncheon for her special guests. You’re my plus-one.”
Janey laughed, and all traces of her prior loneliness seemed to be gone. “I think Drew’s your plus-one.”
Gretchen lifted her chin, unable to deny her relationship or her feelings for Drew. She didn’t want to either. “Not today. Just you and me, girl.”
Janey aimed her Jeep along the coastal highway, and Gretchen rolled down the window, the sound and scent of the ocean calming her enough to admit, “I’m going to miss Donna and Joel.”
“Why would you miss them?”
“I can’t live at the farm forever,” she said. “Honestly, no one but me seems to get that.”
“And what about you and Drew?”
Gretchen hadn’t told her about the botched marriage proposal. If what had happened in the bathroom at The Painted Daisy could even be considered a marriage proposal.
“Gretchen? You like him, right? He’s good to you?” Janey pulled into the guest parking lot at the Magleby Mansion, her words rolling around in Gretchen’s head.
“Why wouldn’t he be good to me?” Gretchen swung her attention to her best friend.
Janey squirmed before reaching to unbuckle her seatbelt. “I’m probably worrying too much.”
“Worrying about what?” Gretchen undid her seatbelt too, but as Janey hadn’t tried to get out of the Jeep, Gretchen stayed put too. “Dixie really loves Drew.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s not that.” She gazed out the windshield, her mind obviously churning around something.
“Janey?” Gretchen reached over and put her fingertips on her friend’s arm.
She startled. “It’s nothing. Me just thinking about what I would do if I were in your shoes.” She opened the door and got out of the Jeep.
Gretchen took a few more seconds than Janey did to find her balance in her walking boot and to come around the front of the vehicle. “And what would you do if you were me?”
Janey gazed at the ocean across the street and down the beach for an extra moment or two. Then she looked at Gretchen with all the love of a best friend. “I’d hang on to a good man like Drew.”
Gretchen smiled, tucked her arm in Janey’s, and said, “Let’s go eat this amazing lunch.”
Janey giggled as they went up the gravel drive. “I’ve always wanted to eat here again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah, Matt and I got married here. We had a full catered dinner.”
“Oh, wow.” Gretchen let Janey open the door for her, and the scent of roasted meat and potatoes met her nose. “Do you think you’ll come here when you get married again?”
Janey scoffed. “I’m not the one with the serious boyfriend.” She quirked an eyebrow at Gretchen. “But yeah, if I could afford it. I’d totally book the Mansion again.”
Gretchen glanced up to the high ceilings, seeing the brown and white stones in a whole new light—more like a customer and not a service provider.
“Gretchen.” Mabel spotted her and came over as fast as her elderly body could bring her. “You made it.” She held onto Gretchen’s upper arms and scanned her. “You’re looking well.”
“Healing up nicely.” Gretchen smiled and indicated Janey. “You remember Janey.”
“I remember all my brides.” Mabel stepped back from Gretchen and patted Janey’s hand between both of hers. “Come on, girls. I have seats for you over here with the policemen.”
The morning of the Lavender Festival dawned early and hot. “Come on, Dix,” she called. “Drew wanted us there at eight.” She picked up the jar of perfect lavender blooms she’d plucked the previous evening, and Donna handed her one final bottle of lavender scented vanilla extract.
“Take him this. It’s my special blend.” She grinned and Gretchen couldn’t help returning the smile.
Dixie came tearing down the stairs, her flaxen hair flying behind her, as she cradled the mint plant Drew had entrusted her with. “Ready!”
“What else is Drew garnishing his ice cream with?” she asked.
“It’s a secret.” Dixie looked at her with wide eyes that held the hint of deviousness.
“Like your wishes.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Gretchen giggled, though she still really wanted to know what Dixie had been wishing for all this time. “Well, come on. We’re already late.”
When they pulled up to Drew’s house, he paced from the bottom of the stairs to the top. He wore a pair of dark jeans with a white polo and the anxiety right on his face. He caught sight of them as he came back down the steps.
Gretchen got out of the car and handed him the bottle of lavender vanilla extract. “From your mother.”
“I’m so nervous.”
“Relax,” Dixe said, passing him the mint plant. “You’ve got this. You practiced the recipe again last night, right?”
“Yes.” He bent down to her height. “The ice cream was good, right?”
She put both hands on his shoulders. “So good. You’re going to win.”
Drew n
odded once and straightened. He kissed Gretchen quickly and said, “Well, I have to go check in by nine. Should we go?”
“You have everything loaded already, don’t you?”
“Since seven this morning.”
Gretchen threw her head back and laughed. “Why did we come early to help then?” She shook her head and put her arm around Drew. “You’re not going to have any fun today, are you?” The competition wasn’t until two o’clock that afternoon, and contestants had two hours to craft their creations and submit them for judging. The winners were announced at six, just before the annual lighting of the lavender plants that lined Main Street. After that, the big town dance started. Gretchen had never gone, because she was tired by the time they lit the lavender and Dixie had never asked to go to the dance.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Dixie piled into the middle of his truck and Gretchen caught sight of his premium cooler—one of the fanciest ones on the market, it claimed to keep ice frozen for seventy-two hours. He’d bought it specifically to keep his ingredients at the temperature he wanted until the competition started.
They arrived in the downtown area to swarms of cars. Luckily, she had parking at the back of the shop. Her hired help had already arrived, and she ran inside the building just to make sure the stock was holding out.
Drew held Dixie’s hand on the edge of the street when she came out, and her heart stuttered at the sight.
And she knew. Like she knew the sun would rise the following morning and she knew the sky was blue and she knew she’d have her indigo daisies at her wedding.
She knew she was in love with Drew Herrin.
Gretchen couldn’t stop smiling as she took Drew’s other hand, and they all walked over to the Lavender Festival. Vendors worked to set up their tents and tables. Food trucks pulled in and started getting their generators set up.
The line to enter the Lavender Creation Contest stretched a couple dozen feet, and Gretchen suppressed a groan. They soon discovered that one line was for products that took longer than two hours to produce. The people in that line simply needed to drop off their bottle of lotion or bar of oatmeal-lavender soap, fill out the entry form, and leave.
Those who could create and demonstrate their use of lavender in the two-hour time period waited in another line. Foot by foot, they moved forward until it was Drew’s turn to fill out the papers, pay his fee, and declare what he was making.
“Ice cream,” he said with confidence.
“Ooh,” Brenda squealed as she wrote the information on the single sheet she was keeping. “You know three-time champion Augustus Hammond has entered for ice cream too, right?” She looked up at him with such glee in her eyes.
Drew’s countenance fell. “Yeah, I know.” He handed over his twenty-dollar fee and Brenda recorded it, handed him a number and a receipt, and he stepped to the side.
“Don’t worry about Augustus,” Gretchen said as they faced the park. She aimed them in the direction of the petting zoo, where a small crowd of families had already gathered. The rest of the festival would be in full swing within the hour, and the scent of sunshine and lavender filled the air.
“Maybe this was a huge mistake.” Drew shook his head and muttered under his breath.
“He’s not going to beat you,” Gretchen assured him, though a slip of nervousness tunneled through her.
“All you can do is try,” Dixie said. “Mom, there’s Jess and Janey. Can I go pet the goats with them?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Dixie skipped ahead, but Gretchen tugged on Drew’s hand to get him to slow. “She’s right, you know. All you can do is try.”
He met her eyes, and the fear melted from his face. “You’re right.” Drew squared his shoulders. “I’m going to try.”
Gretchen stretched up on her toes and kissed him. “For luck.”
Chapter Twenty
By the time Drew had wandered the festival for a few hours, he needed a dark, quiet place to gather his thoughts. He’d refused to eat anything for fear of messing up his taste buds with too much lavender, an overdose of honey, or a mouth-puckering dose of orange.
His head hurt, and all he could think about was Augustus. Of course, he’d known the man would be at the festival and would enter the contest. The man himself had told him. Yvonne too. Drew’s confidence had been high at home, but now, surrounded by the dozens and dozens of contestants, he doubted every measurement, every flavor he’d prepared.
Stupid, stupid. Drew reprimanded himself for not giving Augustus as much credit as he deserved as he crossed the street, leaving Gretchen and Dixie in the park. He wouldn’t see them again until after the competition. The contestants worked on their creations in a large tent, only presenting their final product to the judges and the public at the conclusion of the two-hour period.
He slipped into the back of The Painted Daisy using the key Gretchen had given him. “It’s just me,” he called to the girl she’d hired to sell flowers for her so she could attend the festival. Then he locked himself in the bathroom.
He splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He barely recognized himself anymore. Sure, the beard was the same. The long nose like his father’s. But now he carried something more in his eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before he’d met Gretchen and Dixie on the side of the road.
“It’s all going to be okay,” he whispered to his reflection. Win or lose, it was just an ice cream competition. Because of the festival and the harvest and all the tourists out at the farm, he hadn’t had even a moment to slip next door and look at the old farmhouse he wanted to live in with Gretchen and Dixie.
Besides, he wanted to take Gretchen with him. Needed her to be with him when he walked through her granddad’s house and find out what she wanted in the home he hoped to make with her.
And losing this competition wouldn’t cost him Gretchen. “So it’s all going to be okay.” Strengthened by his revelation, he collected his cooler from the cab of his truck and slung the bag of equipment he needed over his shoulder.
He arrived in the tent fifteen minutes before the competition would begin and found the ten-by-ten-foot kitchen he’d been assigned. He set his equipment and cooler down and pinned the number—sixty-two—to his chest.
His fingers itched to get things set up. Test the outlet. Flip on the burners and see how hot they got. But he couldn’t. Nothing could be set up or used until the time began.
The mood in the tent thickened with every person who arrived. Tensions were high and Drew kept his back to the rest of the contestants on purpose, mentally running through his recipe one last time.
“Contestants!” A voice boomed through the tent, amplified by a megaphone, and Drew turned to find the mayor standing near the mouth of the tent, about fifty feet from him.
“We’ll begin in five minutes,” Mayor Lambert said, her voice warm and pleasant. “Time warnings will be given every thirty minutes, and again at fifteen minutes remaining, ten minutes, five minutes, three minutes, and one minute. All creations must be on the table, with your number, by the time the buzzer sounds to be considered. Six pieces or plates must be presented. Anything requiring to be served hot or cold will be placed in the proper place until showing.”
Mayor Lambert looked around gleefully. “Are you ready?”
A cheer rose up, but Drew’s voice remained silent. He hadn’t prepared his ice cream in front of anyone before, and now he wished Gretchen and Dixie were here to see him work.
“And…go!” A bullhorn filled the air and people sprang into action.
Drew set up his pots and pans and plugged in his ice cream maker. He tested the power, and it seemed good. He tried the burners, and they produced a good flame.
Forcing himself to think clearly, move deliberately, and focus on what was right in front of him, he took all the ingredients out of his cooler and lined them up on the table. Whole milk, sour cream, his mother’s lavender vanilla extract,
cranberries—whole and raw—cranberry syrup with extra red dye, cranberry puree, sugar, eggs, vanilla, salt, and black and white pepper. He’d refined the recipe to include both, enjoying the milder flavor of the white pepper and the way it reduced the number of black flecks in the ice cream without compromising on flavor.
He had an orange so he could candy the rind for the garnish. His idea. And he had Dixie’s mint plant so he could add one green leaf to the top of each bowl. Her idea. The other garnish would come from the raw cranberry itself.
He’d made the cranberry puree with water, salt, and orange juice. He’d made the cranberry syrup and reduced the amount of sugar by half. He’d taken so many steps, made so many tweaks, over the past month. He was ready for this.
He turned his attention to the base, as it would need to cool before going into the electric ice cream freezer. He worked methodically, the noise inside the tent becoming a dull roar. Drew imagined Blue barking in the backyard the way the dog so often did.
Measuring and tasting, the ice cream base came together seamlessly. He covered it, labeled it, and hurried it over to a refrigerator in the middle of the arena. Then he turned his attention to the garnishes and got sugar, lemon juice, and salt into a pan. He zested the orange right into the candy coating and cooked it for only another moment.
As he scooped the mixture onto a sheet pan, Augustus walked by. Pausing at the edge of the table, he asked, “What flavor?”
Drew lifted his chin, his first instinct to keep his flavors to himself. In the end, though, he didn’t need to be so stubborn. “Lavender cranberry with pepper.”
Augustus made a face and took a few steps away. “Good luck.” Somehow, when he said the words, they didn’t carry the same emotion as they had when Gretchen had said them.
Drew shook off the encounter and turned back to his station. He knew his flavors were spot-on. All he could do now was hope the judges agreed with him.
The two hours passed in a blink, but Drew got his six bowls of ice cream on the appointed table, with his number. Each held three perfectly sculpted spheres of that beautiful, black-flecked pink ice cream. The bright orange zest shone with its sugar candy coating, and the green mint leaf was a stark contrast to everything else.