Page 7 of Big and Brawny
five
Bronte
TheHarvestFestivalisin full swing by the time I finish my shift at the bakery booth. The town square is decorated with pumpkins and gourds, hay bales creating cozy seating areas, and strings of lights overhead, ready to illuminate the evening festivities. The air smells like cinnamon and apple cider, and local musicians are playing folk tunes from a small stage.
I'm just hanging up my apron when I spot Orson weaving through the crowd toward me. He's wearing jeans and a dark blue Henley that shows off his broad shoulders, and several women turn to watch him pass. I feel a flutter of pride when he smiles directly at me.
"Right on time," I say as he reaches me.
"Wouldn't miss it." His eyes warm as they take me in. "You look beautiful."
I glance down at my outfit. It’s just a simple sweater dress in deep burgundy with leggings and boots. Nothing fancy but Ifeel heat rise to my cheeks. "Thanks. It's nothing special, just festival-appropriate."
"Disagree. Definitely special." His voice is low, meant just for me.
We wander through the festival together, stopping at various booths to sample local goods. Orson seems to know everyone, and I watch with amusement as person after person greets him warmly—then immediately gives me a curious once-over.
"Is it my imagination, or is the entire town staring at us?" I ask under my breath as we walk away from a honey vendor who had practically demanded to know my entire life story.
Orson chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Not your imagination. Small towns. And the Hartwell cousins have been the subject of a lot of gossip lately."
"Because two of you got engaged within months of each other?"
"That, and the fact that we've all been confirmed bachelors for years. Boone was the wild one, Holt was the grumpy one, and I was…"
"Let me guess—the quiet one?"
"Exactly. And now Boone's planning a wedding, Holt's smiling on a regular basis, and I'm..." He pauses, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I'm walking around the Harvest Festival with the most beautiful woman in town."
We spot Holt and Marigold at their furniture booth, but manage to exchange just quick greetings before continuing on our way. From Marigold's knowing smile and Holt's approving nod, I get the feeling they've been expecting this development between Orson and me.
"Your family seems nice," I say as we make our way toward May's pie booth.
"They are. Though they'll probably interrogate you properly when they get the chance," Orson says with a wry smile. "Fair warning."
We find a quiet spot on a hay bale slightly removed from the main festivities, each with a slice of pie. Apple for me, cherry for Orson. The evening air has a crisp edge to it, promising the winter to come, but I'm warm from the inside out, aware of Orson's knee brushing against mine as we sit side by side.
"This is nice," I say softly. "I've lived here two years and never really felt part of the town until now."
Orson studies me, his expression thoughtful. "Why did you move to Whitepine? If you don't mind me asking."
I hesitate, then decide on honesty. "Classic story. Bad breakup, needed a fresh start. I had a design client here who mentioned the bakery was looking for someone, and it seemed like fate." I shrug, aiming for casualness though the memory still stings. "Found my fiancé cheating three weeks before the wedding. With my maid of honor. Cliché, right?"
"Wow," Orson mutters, genuine anger flashing in his eyes. "What kind of idiot cheats on someone like you?"
The question catches me off guard, both for its vehemence and its implication. "Someone like me?"
He meets my eyes directly, no hesitation. "Beautiful, talented, strong. The kind of woman any man with half a brain would be lucky to have."
The simple certainty in his voice makes my brain fry out. "Huh? I mean, thank you."
"Just stating facts." He sets his empty plate aside, his gaze still on me. "For what it's worth, I think he did you a favor. Not that I'm glad you were hurt," he adds quickly, "but if he hadn't shown his true colors, you might not be here now."
"Here at the Harvest Festival?"
"Here in Whitepine." His voice drops lower. "Here with me."
The air between us suddenly feels charged with possibility. Orson is looking at me like I'm something precious, and the intensity of it makes my breath catch.
