Brimming with excitement, Lucy gazed in awe at the bustling festivities of the Apple Jubilee.
Olivia had really outdone herself this time.
Brightly colored banners and bunting stretched above the sprawling lawn at the Sterling Rose Estate. Townspeople mingled around booths selling everything from jars of applesauce in every flavor imaginable—including jalapeño and spicy sriracha—and canned apple pie filling with gift tags proclaiming Crust Optional. Off to the side, a gaggle of giggling children swarmed around a cornucopia of carnival games, filling the crisp fall air with the sounds of youthful merriment.
The only thing spoiling the magical ambiance was Vick’s lackluster attitude. He’d barely said two words since they arrived, and his stiff body language indicated he couldn’t wait to be done with the assignment.
But Lucy wouldn’t let his bad mood ruin her good time.
“Let’s start with Sadie’s booth.” She maneuvered around a group of laughing teens bobbing for apples, heading toward a cluster of tables beneath a shady maple tree.
Sadie Hamilton, the owner of Poppy Creek’s quintessential candy store, stood behind an adorably decorated booth serving hot apple cider topped with whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce.
To the right of her booth, event goers gathered around a long farm table dipping their own candied apples.
“You made it!” Sadie paused in the middle of refilling her tray of complimentary apple cider doughnuts.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Plus, Jack asked us to film a few promotional videos of the festival. I’d love to feature your booth, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. But if you want to make candied apples, you have to pick your own.”
“Really?” Vick frowned, clearly not grasping the charm of the experience.
“Yep. Those are the rules.” Sadie grinned brightly, either missing his grumpy tone or choosing to ignore it.
Knowing Sadie, Lucy guessed it was the latter. “Point us in the right direction.”
Sadie handed her a wicker basket and gestured toward a narrow path leading to the orchard. “Right through there.”
Lucy led the way, suppressing a laugh when Sadie called out to their retreating backs, “Have fun!” and Vick mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
Someone must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed—or continent. Fortunately, she had enough enthusiasm for both of them.
“Don’t you love the smell of fall? It has this slightly sweet and musky scent.”
“That’s the decaying leaves,” Vick explained, once again missing the point. “As the organic matter breaks down, it releases a distinct odor.”
“How lovely.” Lucy rolled her eyes, stopping at a tall wooden ladder. “Why don’t I climb up and toss the apples down to you? We can make a game of it.” She was determined to get at least one smile out of him.
Skeptical, he raised an eyebrow. “No offense, but if we have to eat these apples, I’d rather not.”
“Are you doubting my aim?”
He lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.
She suppressed a smirk. Growing up with five older brothers meant she had to hone her athletic skills quickly if she wanted to be included in their shenanigans.
Unraveling her Burberry scarf, she arranged it in the bottom of the basket.
“What’s that for?” Vick asked.
“To cushion the impact. I’m going to toss you a perfect apple, then challenge you to find a single bruise on it. If you can’t, I get to make your caramel apple, which you have to eat without a single complaint.”
“Challenge accepted.” His dark eyes glinted. “Should we record it for posterity?”
“Good idea. That way, you can’t deny my victory.”
The corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. Not quite a smile, but she was getting close to cracking him.
She mounted the ladder, climbing all the way to the top rung.
“Feeling cocky, are we?” Vick shouted from below.
“Not cocky, confident.” She reached for a plump apple that gleamed a stunning shade of red and plucked it from the branch. Not a single nick or worm hole to be seen.
“Ready?” Vick pointed the camera through the branches.
Lucy glanced down, eyeing the basket by his feet. It looked much farther away at second glance.
For a brief moment, she wavered.
What if she missed?
Through the camera lens, Vick zoomed in on Lucy’s expression, catching a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
His stomach swirled at the increased intimacy of observing her so closely, catching him off guard.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and quickly zoomed out.
“I’m ready,” she called down, sounding more self-assured than she looked.
Adjusting her stance on the ladder, she chose an underhand approach.
She pursed her lips, cocking them to the side in concentration as she lobbed the apple in his direction with one smooth motion.
He held his breath, following its trajectory.
The second it made contact with the bottom of the basket, Lucy whooped in triumph.
Angling the camera back on her face, he captured the way her eyes sparkled and the subtle crinkle of her nose.
Momentarily transfixed, he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.
She exuded a palpable joy, a radiance unlike anything he’d ever seen before. And she made it look effortless.
He chalked it up to the privilege of someone who’d never seen the ugliness of the world before. She embodied innocence, unscathed by tragedy or hardship.
“I hope you like your caramel apples dipped in red hots and sour gummies,” she teased, hopping off the last rung of the ladder.
Snapping out of his trance, he shut off the camera, replacing the lens cap. “If you’re making mine, does that mean I get to make yours?”
“Sure,” she relented after a moment’s consideration. “But because I won, I get to pick the toppings. And I want a lot of pink sprinkles.”
He groaned, regretting his suggestion.
Lucy laughed, and the sound wrapped around him like a thick flannel blanket—warm and comforting. Why did she have that effect on him?
On paper, she wasn’t his type. Young, naive, too flighty for her own good. She seemed to wander through life on a whim with zero drive or ambition. Plus, they had absolutely nothing in common.
And yet, she had an intangible, luminous quality he couldn’t explain. Although, it certainly wasn’t unappealing.
He shook his head, dismissing the uncomfortable thought as he followed her up the path to rejoin the festivities.
“Do you smell that?” She sniffed the air like a military canine detecting explosives.
“You mean moldy leaves again?” He couldn’t help a grin.
“More like cinnamon and sugar, smart guy.” She flashed an infectious smile, then wove through the crowd on a mission to uncover the source, momentarily putting their candy apple making on pause.
Along the way, they stopped to record a short video of an impressive apple juggler, followed by a surprisingly suspenseful apple-pressing contest to see who could fill a gallon jug the quickest.
The whole event couldn’t have been quirkier, and he kept thinking about how much his mother would’ve loved it, in all its bizarre glory.
“Aha! We found it!” Lucy tugged on his sleeve, drawing his attention to a hand-painted sign for Old-Fashioned Fried Apple Pies.
Eliza Carter, the head baker at The Calendar Café, stood at a makeshift cooking station, tending to a sizzling iron skillet. The mouthwatering aroma of caramelized sugar and fragrant spices wafted toward them.
Eliza’s young son, Ben, managed the cash box with the help of a scruffy gray terrier on guard by his feet. “We have classic apple and apple cranberry,” Ben recited the flavors in a grown-up, professional tone as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “All donations are for new art supplies at school.” Breaking character, he beamed proudly, adding in a hushed voice, “Mom let me pick where the money went.”
“Excellent choice.” Lucy nodded her approval. “We’ll take two classics, please.”
Vick reached into his back pocket for his wallet, but Lucy beat him to it.
She handed Ben a fifty-dollar bill, telling him to keep the change without batting an eyelash.
While he admired her generosity, Vick doubted she’d ever had to worry about money a day in her life, and added it to their long list of irreconcilable differences.
Pies in hand, they meandered through the throng, taking in the celebratory sights and sounds.
Somewhere in the distance, someone called all contestants competing in the apple-tasting contest to meet at the yellow tent, where they’d be blindfolded and asked to guess the apple variety based on a single slice.
Vick shook his head in amusement before taking his first bite of pie. The buttery crust melted in his mouth, revealing a syrupy filling with just the right combination of sweetness and hint of tart.
“What do you think?” Lucy asked.
“One of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” he answered honestly.
“Jack and I used to make these to sell on the street corner, only we called them hand pies and sold blackberry and cherry, too.” Her features softened into a faraway smile as though reliving the nostalgic memory. “It was our version of a lemonade stand. Jack did all the baking, and I handled the sales.”
Vick imagined she could sell Red Sox memorabilia to a Yankees fan. “Why’d you sell them? As a pastime?”
It wasn’t like she needed the money. Her family owned half of Primrose Valley, and parts of Poppy Creek, too.
“Mostly to raise money for the book fair. I had my eye on an Anne of Green Gables box set.”
“Your parents didn’t give you money for the book fair?” he asked without thinking.
Too late, he realized the rudeness of his surprised tone, not to mention the general impropriety of his question.
But she didn’t seem fazed by it.
“Oh, they would’ve if they could. But for some misguided reason, they thought putting food on the table was more important than new books.” She laughed, and Vick gaped, beyond dumbfounded.
His disbelief quickly evolved into disappointment at his biased assumptions. It had never occurred to him that Lucy’s family didn’t always have money.
And he couldn’t help wondering how else he’d misjudged her.