Page 33 of The Way I Hate Him
God, this will be hard. Memories are already flooding me.
“Not sure how to take this pickle delivery, but I’m going to think on it because . . . how weird.”
“Yup,” I sigh into the phone. “Okay, I’m here. I should go.”
“Have fun and if you need someone to talk to after, I’m here for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, knowing damn well I have the best friend ever. I hang up the phone and pull down the dirt road leading to Cassidy’s farmhouse. It’s quaint with two bedrooms and one bath and has everything she needs for her and Mac.Needed. It’s everything Cassidy and Mac needed.
The potato fields are scattered all around it, giving the whole place a very earthy scent.
And yes, I said potato, not almond.
I know what you’re probably thinking—why would she have a potato farm when she has an almond store?
It was a question we all asked too, until she unveiled her master plan.
You see, she harvests the potatoes and makes vodka with them. A special vodka she sells around the town, as well as in her store, even almond flavored.She did. She made...
It’s still so hard to believe she’s gone.And that everything about her is now past tense.
This was also where she excelled. At business. She sold the leftover potatoes to the local restaurants to use for fresh-cut fries. Provisions, the burger place in town, is best known for their fries and has even started a fry bar so people can load up on whatever toppings they want.
With the vodka, she bottled it and sold it but also made almond extract with it.
Famous almond extract.
The best almond extract in the state. California is known for producing the most almonds in the country, and Cassidy took advantage of that. Homemade vodka turned into almond extract that she then sold to some of the top pastry chefs in the state. It’s what Aubree continues to do now.
And the reason Aubree was probably freaking out about the bottles was because the extract is in high demand.
It’s an odd, eccentric business model, but boy, did it work. Now, The Almond Store is a main stop for anyone traveling up the Pacific Coast Highway or in Northern California in general. They come for the almond vodka, the almond extract, and the toasted, roasted almonds. They come for the almond butter, the creamer, the milk. They come for the pastries, the candles, the illustrated almond cards. It’s easily the sweetest store I’ve ever walked into, perfectly executed, and it kills me knowing that she’s no longer here to see her hard work pay off.
I park the car in front of the white farmhouse and unbuckle my seat belt just as Mac flies out of the screen door and down the porch.
A head of bouncy brown curls and freckles just like mine, but blue eyes like her father, she is the spitting image of Cassidy. And with a horse stuffy named Chewy Charles tucked under her arm, she bounds over to my car door and knocks on the window, a bright smile on her face.
Jesus, seeing the joy on her face nearly breaks me in half because this girl has been through more than any person should go through, and she’s only four. Yet look at that smile. Look at her excitement. If I were her, I’m not sure I’d exude such joy.
I open the door, and she leaps into my arms. “Aunt Hattie,” she squeals while giving me a large hug. “You’re here. You’re here. You’re here.”
“Hey, baby girl,” I say as I return the hug just in time to see Ryland walk out the door as well and lean against one of the poles on the porch, arms crossed.
Just from one look, I can tell he’s been run ragged.
And he probably has.
I don’t think it was ever in his plans to have kids, yet here he is, a single dad to a little girl who just lost her mother a few months ago. Not to mention living in his dead sister’s house while being a full-time math teacher and varsity baseball coach for one of the most prestigious high schools in the state, specifically known for its athletics program despite the town’s size.
Friday night lights mean something completely different here. Instead of hitting up the gridiron, the town rallies around the fences of the baseball diamond.
“Chewy Charles is so excited to see you,” she says as she makes a licking sound and mimics her horse licking my face.
“Hi, Chewy Charles,” I say. “I’ve missed you too.”
“He says you taste like broccoli.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”
