Page 26 of Sweet Trouble
“Of course,” Tripp agreed.
They talked farm-talk for a few minutes more, with Tripp catching Mom up on the morning milking, and all of them reading over Charlotte’s weekly report on the ice cream shop.
Somehow, Tag’s new wife and her mom had turned the little shop from a money pit into a profitable and beloved town fixture. Not only did they sell scoops and cones of Lawrence ice cream, along with Vermont’s famous creemees of course, but they had also made the family farm semi-famous itself in the surrounding area, and their shipped orders of dairy products were up as a result.
Though the Lawrence family would never be wildly wealthy, it was good to see the farm was solidly in the black these days.
By the time they were finished catching up, it was time for Tripp to head out.
Though the sun was up, he took his truck instead of walking over, figuring that if the Johnsons agreed, he might be going straight from their place to the hardware store in town for supplies.
He set off down Fox Hollow and in no time, he was turning into the Johnsons’ driveway, just before the covered bridge.
Pulling around back, he felt grateful once again thatCoach had at least agreed to let him put down some gravel and take care of the back porch. Hopefully by the time the rhododendrons out front were popping in May, he’d have the rest of the house back in shape.
He parked his truck, grabbed the reusable shopping bag with a couple of pints of blueberries in it, and headed up the steps, tapping lightly on the back door when he arrived.
“Come on in,” Coach yelled out, as usual.
Tripp smiled, took a moment to wipe off his shoes, and headed in.
“Hey there,” Mrs. Johnson said brightly as he stepped into the warmth of the kitchen and hung his jacket on one of the hooks by the door. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Always,” he told her, meaning it.
Working outside gave him a terrific appetite. He’d eaten when he got up, but that was hours ago, and he would never say no to a second breakfast, especially when it was bacon and eggs.
She smiled at that and turned back to the eggs she was scrambling while her husband laid bacon out on a paper towel-lined plate.
Jillian was busy setting the big kitchen table, while Posey and her sister industriously smeared butter and jam on toast, the two of them smiling like they really enjoyed their task.
Jillian’s golden hair was down loose around her shoulders today, and it was all he could do not to stare.
“Mr. Lawrence,” Posey yelled out when she glanced up andsaw it was him.
“Hey, Posey,” Tripp said, grinning. “Who’s your friend?”
“That’s mysister,” Posey said, laughing.
“I’m Marigold,” the slightly older girl said, her expression serious. “But everyone calls me Mari.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mari,” he replied. “And when we’re not at school, you guys can call me Tripp.”
Posey giggled at that.
“It’s a family name,” he told her. “With two p’s. It’s not because I fall down all the time.”
She kept right on giggling.
“We’re named after flowers,” Mari reminded her sister, as if she didn’t believe him about his name either, but didn’t want to make him feel bad.
That made Tripp want to start laughing himself, but he restrained himself, knowing instinctively that Jillian might not like him encouraging her girls to be overly silly.
“What can I help with?” he asked Mrs. Johnson.
“Oh, we’re doing just fine,” she told him. “It’s almost ready, but you can help yourself to coffee.”
“Great,” he said. “And my mom sent over some blueberries. She got more than she knows what to do with.”
