Page 23 of Buried Roots

“That’s it.” Her voice goes up an octave with excitement. “With that view, I gotta say—if you finished his job, I’d get married there. Not that I have any prospects.”

“I feel the same. About both.” I scratch a dried milk spot on the counter.

“No man in your life?”

“My boyfriend of two years and I ended things six months ago.” I don’t tell her the humiliating reason why.

“I feel you. I was with Brody until a month ago. He broke up with me because he said I’d never gotten over my high school sweetheart. And he wasn’t wrong.”

“Eek. A month ago—that’s pretty fresh.”

“Yeah, but I’m ready for the next Mr. Right Now. Let’s make a pact.” She smiles conspiratorially as she wipes off her hands on her apron. “Before you leave Violet Moon, we go for beers and find ourselves some candidates. It wouldn’t hurt you to experience a nice country boy.”

“I don’t know.”

She laughs, light and warm. “Oh, come on, now. When are you gonna have another chance like this? A town filled with hot men whom you’re never gonna see again. You can sow those wild oats and then go back to New York with higher standards, if you know what I mean.”

I eye her. “I have a feeling you don’t stop until you get what you want.”

“Your feeling would be right. I’ll be man shopping for me, too, but I have to be more careful with the rumor mill around here. I need to find myself an out-of-town visitor. Dark-haired, mysterious. Keeps his pie hole shut.”

I laugh. I can’t believe it, but it feels like I’ve made a girlfriend already, and I’ve been here less than two days. I’ve lived in New York my whole life, and I can’t seem to meet anybody. Well, besides Natanya.

“Tomorrow evening, let’s go to the Brew ’n Chew Festival to celebrate the Fourth.” She shrugs. “I’ve been dying to go with another single woman. All my girlfriends are married now, most with a baby in their arms and one on the way. I rebelled against taking over my family’s beer company and spent my early twenties living in Paris to learn how to make cheese, then my mid-twenties scrambling to start a business. Now, at twenty-six, I’m the only old maid left on the shelf.”

Wow, things really are different in a small town. “So, you studied cheese-making in Paris? I’m so impressed.” I blow out an exaggerated sigh before I say, “But, you’ve convinced me on the Brew ’n Chew. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Yay!” She does a hip wiggle. “It’s Violet Moon’s event of the year. You get free samples of all the local beers. There’s dancing, and fried everything, even pickles.”

“Fried pickles.” I am really in the South.

When Dakota finishes with the batch of milk, she puts it in the refrigerator. Then she seats me on the outdoor patio of Cut the Cheese, bringing me another latte and a charcuterie board, which I can’t wait to dive into, but I’ll hold off for Sally.

“You must be Willow.” A woman with dark hair pulled into a ponytail and dressed in a sharp navy suit approaches me, her heels tapping on the patio. “I’m Sally Keller.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I stand and shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you, too, Willow.” She puts down her purse and takes a seat.

“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

“I was all dressed up with nowhere to go, and now I get free food and coffee.”

Sally and I chit-chat while eating cheese that’s smoother than butter. It’s bursting with distinct flavors that pair perfectly with the crackers, grapes, strawberries, and apricot jam that Dakota’s arranged on the board.

After I tell Sally that I’m planning to list Bo’s Château for sale, she says, “That place has the best views in town. I sure wish I could buy it for myself.”

“It is so nice.” I sigh, picking up a plump grape. “I shouldn’t have a problem selling it, then?”

Sally looks away, letting out a long sigh. She sets down her coffee cup and leans in. “I’d love to tell you that it’s gonna be easy, but I don’t wanna give you false hope. People love the place, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not in great shape. Most Violet Moon folks don’t have the resources to restore it, including me. You might have luck with out-of-town investors, but they’ll probably just pay you for the price of the land. They won’t want to fix it up or run the farm.”

My heart sinks like cement in water. “Oh. That makes sense.” I rub my forehead. “And I was hoping to add clauses in the agreement, to honor Dakota’s milk contract and the horses for the Brooks family.”

“I understand why you want to do that, Willow.” Her face goes stern. “But if you want it to sell, you’ll have to list it ‘as is.’”

I blink in thought. If I don’t sell the place, what am I going to do with it? I can’t manage the farmhands from New York, can I? And even if I could, I don’t have any money to pay them, or at least not until I get it back to peak production. Which, hello, I have zero idea how to do.

Sally’s voice is gentle when she says, “So, do you want to list it?”

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