Page 10 of Falling for Cocky Cole
The intensity of these feelings should scare me. This isn't how Cole Carter operates. I'm the fun brother, the one who keeps things light, who enjoys women's company without the complication of commitment. At least, that's who I've been until now.
But something about Ivy makes me want more. Maybe it's the way she doesn't fall for my usual lines. Maybe it's how she challenges me, keeps me on my toes. Or maybe it's just that when I kissed her, both Wednesday night and today, it felt like coming home to a place I didn't know I was missing.
Grant's off duty today, and I'm technically supposed to be too. But I've got more fruit than my brothers and I could eat in a week, and I can't wait to share my plans with Caleb. Plans that involve doing business with the Walkers' farm—and, if I'm lucky, winning over Ivy in the process.
I wonder why no one thought of this sooner. It's the perfect excuse to keep seeing her, to prove I can be more than just a good time. I can be good for her family, good for her.
If she'll just give me the chance.
Caleb is hunchedover the desk in the office we three brothers share when I push through the door, grocery bags swinging from my hands. He looks up, eyebrows rising at the sight of my haul.
"What's all that?" he asks, leaning back in his chair. "Thought you were taking the morning off."
I set the bags on the edge of the desk with a grin. "I was. Went to the farmers' market."
Caleb's eyebrows climb higher. "Since when do you go to farmers' markets? I thought your idea of grocery shopping was the gas station candy aisle."
"Expanding my horizons," I say, pulling out a jar of apple butter and setting it in front of him with a flourish. I arrange a few more items on the desk—cider, jam, a small apple pie in a cardboard box—like I'm setting up a display.
Caleb picks up the apple butter, examining the hand-written label. "Walkers Orchard," he reads, glancing up at me with narrowed eyes. "You went to the Walkers' stall?"
"Yep." I pull a shiny Honeycrisp from one of the bags and toss it to him. "Try that. Apparently, it's the best eating apple."
He catches it one-handed, still looking suspicious, but takes a bite. His eyebrows lift in appreciation.
"Good, right?" I grab a chair and spin it around, straddling it backwards. "So, I had an idea while I was there."
"I'm listening." Caleb sets down the half-eaten apple.
"We should do business with the Walkers," I say, leaning forward. "Use their products here at Carter Ridge. Their cider at breakfast, apple butter on the tables, fresh apples in the welcomebaskets." My enthusiasm builds as I talk. "Their stuff is amazing, Cal. All homemade, local. The kind of authentic touch guests are always asking for."
Caleb nods slowly, considering. "It's not a bad idea."
"Not bad? It's brilliant." I gesture to the items spread across the desk. "Think how this would look in the cabins, on the breakfast table. Way better than those mass-produced jams in little plastic containers."
"Dad had the same idea, actually," Caleb says.
That stops me short. "He did?"
Caleb nods. "Years ago. I was still in high school, used to hang out with Ben Walker a lot." He picks up the cider, examining it. "Tom Walker had just bought their first cider press, started making this stuff. I brought a jar home one day, and Dad loved it. Said we should serve it at the lodge."
"Why didn't we?"
Caleb shrugs. "Mom didn't like the idea. She preferred dealing with the big supplier we had—said it was more reliable, more professional. Dad worried the Walkers wouldn't be able to provide steady quantities, especially during peak season."
I digest this information, turning it over in my mind. It makes sense, especially knowing how my mother operated. She was all about efficiency and reliability—not the type to gamble on a small family farm.
"Well, Mom's not running things anymore," I say. "And they’re trying really hard to expand their operations. They had tons of products at the market today."
"Maybe." Caleb studies me for a moment. "So what made you suddenly think of this? Why'd you go to their stall in the first place?"
I hesitate, debating how much to reveal. Caleb's always been the easiest brother to talk to, but I'm not ready to admit the depth of what I'm feeling for Ivy. Not when I'm still figuring it out myself.
"I saw Ivy there Wednesday night," I say finally. "At the Antler."
Recognition dawns on Caleb's face. "Ah. Now it makes sense. Cheryl mentioned seeing you two together."
Of course. Small town. Nothing stays secret in Silvercreek for long, especially not when Cheryl's tending bar.
