Page 12 of Love in Mission City
The biscuits were still warm, and the butter melted in them.
Henry opted for a dollop of honey-apple jam while I stuck to blackberry. I might’ve loved my apples, but even I grew fatigued of them sometimes.
Another comfortable silence enveloped us. The sun peeked over my trees, and the dappled light shone against the morning dew. Everything was preparing for winter hibernation.
Zeus whimpered.
I was about to reprimand my chaotic rescue when I caught sight of what had him so…interested.
Henry held one last little corner of biscuit. He glanced at me.
After a moment, I nodded.
Zeus sat patiently and gently took the piece of biscuit off Henry’s hand.
Henry used the paper towel I’d added at the last minute to wipe his hand.
My traitorous dog grinned.
Despite myself, I grinned as well. Then I organized the tray.
Henry held it for me while I rose.
I took it from him.
Our fingers brushed.
His gaze shot to mine.
I smiled.
He managed to return it, but the strain was obvious in his eyes. He rose and held the door for me.
“Do you want a tour? Of the orchard?”
“Sure.”
I dropped the tray onto the counter and headed right back out. After donning my sunglasses and nabbing my half-full mug of coffee, I guided Henry toward the barn. The distilling equipment had been the reason I’d bought the place. Although I liked the idea of being a farmer, the idea of creating beverages appealed as much, if not more.
Indicating the storeroom, I guided Henry over. “I have an excise license to make hard apple cider, but I haven’t yet. That’s the plan for next year. Sticking to fresh for now makes sense.” I was still sorting out the alcohol license and figuring out how to comply. As it happened, the previous owner had been a little fast and loose with the rules and regulations. Like, he hadn’t followed them at all. He’d never been caught, but I’d never risk everything like that. No, for all my picking up and moving provinces craziness, I was actually a rule follower.
Henry grunted.
I locked the storage room and encouraged him to follow me out to the orchard. “I only have a few acres now, but the farm next to me is likely to come up for sale next spring. It’ll be a stretch, but I think I can make a go of it. My friend Wyatt is a farmer, and he’s been giving me expert advice.” I swept my arm along the rows of trees. “Part of me worries about expanding too soon, and part of me worries if I don’t now, I might not get another chance.”
A grunt was all I got in response.
“I’m working with the local prison. They helped me find inmates who’ve recently been released and who were looking for work. Felt good, you know, to help someone reintegrate into society. Hard workers, too. Also had a couple of students up from the university who were looking for part-time work. They did a great job as well. Now, though, it’s just me.”
Henry grunted.
“Nah, I’m not lonely. I go into town a couple of times a week. I’m making contacts around the valley to see who might sell the jam. You should see my kitchen—the thing is huge. Which is good, because I hired two cooks who made jam for two weeks straight. I sold most of that in the local market. I’m planning to do more next year.”
I wanted to give him a tour of the house, but given the way he’d reacted to the mere invitation to come inside, I decided to stick to the orchard. I reached up to swipe a low-hanging branch. “I’ve got so many plans, Henry.”
“Yep.”
I wanted to ask him questions. About what Beverly and Mary had told me. About his figurines. About his life. Yet even as I had that thought, it sort of flitted away.
