Page 17 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
What the hell was that about?
Alex and I aren’t friends. Not even close. But I don’t tolerate that kind of thing. Not toward any woman.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw flexing as I keep the truck crawling forward. What would’ve happened if there hadn’t been a crowd? If no one had been there to see?
The thought makes my stomach twist.
I keep an eye on her while finishing the hayride. From a distance, Alex looks fine—smiling, laughing with families, posing kids next to pumpkins like nothing happened. But I can tell. The smile’s forced. Her shoulders are tight. She’s upset.
When the truck comes to a stop, I hop out and help the kids down. They tumble off, running toward their parents with wide grins.
I glance back at Alex. She’s still working, hands on her camera, smile on her face. I don’t want to make things worse by bringing it up. Whatever that man said—it rattled her.
Instead, I head to the cider truck, buy a steaming cup, and walk over to her.
“You should take a break. I can handle the camera for a bit,” I say nodding toward the tripod.
She blinks, surprised. Hesitant. “You take photos?”
“It can’t be that hard.” I say, holding out the cider.
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Thank you, Finley,” she says before walking off toward the bench.
I watch her sit, her shoulders easing as she cradles the cup in both hands, staring down into the steaming cider. She’s still upset. And it’s because of whatever that piece of scum said to her.
I’m still watching her when a familiar voice calls out behind me.
“Finley.”
I turn to see Sheriff Brooks walking up, hands in his jacket pockets, an easy grin in place. He’s been around for as long as I can remember—best friend to my dad, and the closest thing I’ve had to a father since his passing.
“Sheriff,” I say with a smile, reaching out to shake his hand.
He meets my hand with a firm grip, then looks out over the crowd. “Looks like a good turnout this year. Your mom would be proud of you, Finley.”
I nod, the lump in my throat instant.
He rocks back on his heels. “So… what’s your plan for the Thanksgiving festival? Word going around says Krueger’s is entering the contest this year.”
That catches me off guard. “Krueger’s? The corporate grocery store?”
He nods. “They’re sniffing around town again. Figured they’d use the festival to get their foot in the door. Whatever you’re cookin’ up, it’s gotta be damn good. Something to remind folks we don’t need a Krueger’s in Oakridge.”
He pauses, rubbing his jaw. “The Rhodes girl better fill her parents’ shoes, or this town’s gonna start beggin’ for a Krueger’s.”
My jaw tightens. “She’s doing fine,” I say before I can stop myself.
Brooks raises a brow, like he’s surprised to hear me defend her. And I can’t blame him—I’m surprised too. “Well, good. Between her and you, we can keep the big corporations out of our town.”
He claps my shoulder and strolls off, but I’m still watching Alex. She gets up and starts walking back toward me, and I immediately jerk my gaze to the side, pretending to check the wagon.
Before she even reaches me, a couple steps up to the photo area, asking if they can grab a few pictures.
Instantly, Alex’s whole demeanor changes—the bright smile spreads across her face, and her voice lifts, warm and inviting.
“Of course!” She says, brushing a bit of her red hair behind her ear.
I turn away from her and make my way toward Annalise’s tables. She’s already packing up.
