Page 8 of Pumpkins for Parker
She’s in her element now, and it’s mesmerizing to watch. The way she moves with purpose, how she seems to see compositions I would never notice. She crouches low, then climbs up on a boulder for a higher angle.
“The light is incredible right now,” she says, more to herself than to me. “And the way the mist is lifting off the lake in the distance… Can you see how it’s creating these layers?”
I can see it, but mostly I’m seeing her. The pure happiness radiating from her as she works fills my entire body with heat.
She spends the next hour taking shots from every conceivable angle. I sit on a fallen log and watch. When she finally seems satisfied, she comes and sits next to me, slightly breathless.
“Thank you,” she says. “This is exactly what I needed for the article. These shots are going to be incredible.”
“Good.” I stand and open my backpack. “Now for the second part of this morning.”
“Second part?”
I unpack the breakfast I threw together before leaving. Fresh cinnamon rolls, coffee in a thermos, and some fruit. It’s nothing fancy, but Vesper’s eyes widen like I’ve laid out a feast.
“You brought breakfast?”
“Figured you’d be hungry after all that work.”
She takes a bite of the cinnamon roll and closes her eyes, letting out a moan of pleasure. “Oh, my god, this is amazing.”
The sound goes straight through me, and I’m suddenly thinking about all the other ways I could make her moan like that. The thought hits me so hard that I nearly choke on my coffee.
“Martha’s secret recipe,” I manage to say.
We eat in silence, looking out over the valley.
“So,” she says eventually, “how did you end up in Maple Ridge? You mentioned the Jacksons helped you out, but you never said why.”
I take a long sip of coffee, buying time. I don’t usually talk about this, but something about sitting here with her makes it easier.
“I was sixteen when I came here,” I start. “My parents weren’t exactly the nurturing type. They left when I was fifteen. Packed up and disappeared one day. Left me with nothing.”
Vesper’s hand finds mine. “Parker, I’m so sorry.”
“I was in the system for a while, bouncing between foster homes. None of them worked out.” I clench my jaw, remembering those dark months. “I was angry, getting into fights, causing trouble. Then I got placed with the Jacksons.”
“They were foster parents?”
“Yes. They still take in kids when they can.” I turn to look at her. “They saved my life, Vesper. Gave me a home, taught me what family means. When I aged out of the system, they offered me a job at the orchard. Been working there ever since.”
Her thumb strokes across my knuckles, and heat shoots up my arm. “They sound like incredible people.”
“They are. This whole town is full of people like that. It’s why I’m so protective of it.”
“I understand now. Why you didn’t want more attention from magazines.”
I nod. “Places like this are rare. I don’t want our town ruined by becoming some tourist hotspot.” I give her a smile. “What about you? When we met, you said something about a bad engagement ring?”
She goes quiet for a second. Then she pulls her knees up and releases my hand.
“I was engaged,” she says, not looking at me. “To a guy I met through work. He was charming, ambitious, always saying the right things. Too perfect, really. Should’ve been a red flag. A few weeks later, my best friend became my business partner. We were building a photography brand together and were starting to get noticed. Then one day I wake up, and they’re both gone. My fiancé and my best friend. Together.”
I clench my jaw.
“She took my work. My files. Passed off my portfolio as hers and pitched it to a publisher I’d been chasing for months. Landed a book deal with my photos. It’s not fair, but I don’t have the money to start a lawsuit against them. Or the energy. Then the two of them posted a selfie from Paris, engagement ring and all.”
Fucking hell. I want names. Faces. Addresses. I want to drag that smug piece of shit back from Paris by the collar and make him apologize with broken teeth. And as for the so-called best friend? She’s lucky I wasn’t in the room when it happened.
