Page 5 of Pumpkins for Parker
“He’s been very helpful,” I say, catching the way Parker’s mouth quirks up at that.
“Well, you make sure he takes you to see the old, covered bridge. It’s especially beautiful this time of year with all the leaves changing.” Martha sets the basket down on our table. “On the house. Welcome to Maple Ridge, honey.”
She starts to walk away, then stops in her tracks and turns around. “Did Parker tell you what they say about Maple Ridge?”
“Martha, stop,” Parker says, a desperate look in his eyes.
Martha smiles and ignores him. “They say that when the leaves fall in Maple Ridge, the mountain men fall too.”
She winks at me and hurries off to somewhere else before I can ask for details.
“What was that all about?” I ask Parker.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Well, nothing but a stupid legend.” He runs his hand through his hair and won’t quite meet my eyes. “The locals have this ridiculous idea that autumn does something to the menaround here. Makes them… I don’t know, fall in love faster or something.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “It’s just nonsense the older women like to spread around to mess with us.”
“Fall in love faster?” I can’t help but smile at how flustered he’s getting.
“It’s stupid,” he says quickly. “Just because a few guys happened to meet their wives during the fall doesn’t mean there’s some magical curse or whatever.”
“Curse?” I tease. “That sounds more like a blessing to me.”
Parker’s cheeks turn a little pink. “Well, whatever it is, it’s a coincidence. Small town stories always get blown out of proportion.”
But even as he dismisses it, I notice he keeps glancing at me. Is there something to Martha’s legend after all? Not that I’m falling for Parker. God, no. I’m only in town for a week and have only spent a morning with him.
“It sounds like a fun legend. I’ll tell American Lens about it. Maybe they’ll assign a piece about Maple Ridge to one of their writers.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how that sounds. Like I’m already thinking about other people coming here, and about me leaving. As for Parker, he looks like he’s not fond of the idea of more outsiders coming to his small town and making a spectacle of it.
“Please don’t,” he says with a grunt.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell them,” I promise.
“Thanks.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching everyone. Kids shriek with delight on the hayride, couples wander hand-in-hand, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear live music starting up.
This place feels like something out of a movie. It’s exactly the kind of fall atmosphere American Lens wants me to capture, but I’m starting to realize that my article is going to need more than pretty pictures of pumpkins and apple cider. I need some variation if I want to impress them.
“I should probably go,” I say reluctantly. “I need to capture the essence of fall in Maple Ridge, and I’m betting there’s more to see than just this orchard.”
Parker nods. “There’s plenty. Most tourists stick to Main Street and the orchard, but some spots really show what makes this place special.”
“Such as?”
He leans forward, and I catch a hint of pine soap and sweat. Shit, I could inhale his scent all day long.
“There’s Lookout Rock,” he starts. “It’s a cliff with the best view in the county. You can see the whole town, the forest, and Osprey Lake.”
“That sounds perfect. And what about the lake?”
“It’s something else; I’ll tell you that. It’s quiet and peaceful. Locals go there to fish or to think. There’s wildlife everywhere. I’m talking ospreys, eagles, sometimes even black bears if you’re lucky.”
