Page 3 of The Apple Cider Orchard

And all of a sudden her grandmother’s voice appeared in her head.

‘Nature never rushes,’ Aoife had told her in the small backyard behind their Brooklyn house, hands buried in the soil. ‘Yet everything still gets done.’

Molly closed her eyes. She could see it as clearly as if she were there again: her beloved nan planting a rosebush in their backyard, apron smudged with dirt, hair escaping its pins.

Molly had been so young then, impatient, tapping her foot while waiting to be driven somewhere, a practice or lesson, she couldn’t recall. ‘But it’s so tiny,’ she’d commented. ‘How long will it take to grow?’

Her grandmother had smiled at her then, that knowing, sideways smile. ‘Anything that matters always takes time.’

Chapter 2

Molly’s apartment sat fourteen floors above the street, all gleaming surfaces and sharp angles. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the glittering cityscape like expensive wallpaper, the kind of view that featured in luxury real-estate brochures.

She’d been proud of it once, this sleek Soho rental she’d secured after a promotion five years ago. Tonight, as she paced the hardwood floors in bare feet, it felt like an overpriced hotel room; somewhere she stayed, as opposed to lived.

Molly changed into yoga pants and an oversized NYU sweatshirt, her work clothes hanging with precise spacing in a closet full of similar pieces.

Sabbatical. The word still sent a flutter of anxiety through her chest. Projects would advance without her input. The marketing world would continue spinning without Molly Harris at its center.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Below, the city moved in its ceaseless rhythm, headlights and taillights flowing like blood cells through concrete arteries. A whole month stretched before her, empty and unstructured. The thought made her palms sweat.

But today, at least, there was still one more thing on the agenda.

Her grandfather answered on the second ring, his voice warm and slightly gruff. ‘There’s my girl. I was just thinking about you.’ Eddie always said that and Molly never had any idea if it was true.

‘Hey, Pop,’ she said, tension automatically releasing from her shoulders at the familiar sound of his voice. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Old,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘But I finished that bookshelf for Mrs Wilson, so I can’t be too decrepit yet.’

‘You should be taking it easy, not building furniture for the neighbors,’ Molly chided, settling onto her couch.

‘Pot, kettle, black,’ he said, the smile evident in his voice. ‘Your brother called earlier. Says you’re working yourself into the ground as usual.’

Molly rolled her eyes. ‘You know Cole’s flair for drama.’

‘Maybe so, but he’s not stupid either.’ Eddie’s tone shifted, losing its teasing edge.

The concern in his voice loosened something in her chest. She curled her feet beneath her and leaned into the phone as if her grandfather was sitting beside her instead of in the Brooklyn home in which Molly was raised. ‘Pop, really, I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘Just been pushing a bit too hard lately. The boss wants me to take some time off.’

‘Well, I’ll be. And are you going to listen to the guy, or is he just another person you’re going to steamroll?’

Molly couldn’t help smiling. For all his gentle manner, Eddie Harris had never pulled punches. ‘I’m taking the time,’ she said.

His surprise was audible in his sharp intake of breath. ‘Damn, there might be hope for you yet.’

‘Don’t sound so shocked.’

‘Sweetheart, you’ve been running full tilt since you were ten years old. Even as a kid, you had to be the best at everything – best grades, best at piano, best at helping Nan in the kitchen. Taking it easy isn’t exactly in your DNA.’

The mention of her grandmother – the real reason for her call – sent a familiar pang through Molly’s chest. ‘She would be giving me the eyebrow right now, wouldn’t she?’

Eddie laughed softly. ‘Your nan could say more with one raised eyebrow than most people manage in a full conversation. And yes, she’d be telling you to slow down, breathe deep, and remember that life is for living, not just achieving.’

Molly closed her eyes, still able to picture her grandmother’s face so clearly – the fine lines around bright eyes that matched her own, the silver-streaked dark hair always neatly pinned, the hands that moved with grace whether kneading dough or mending clothes. Impossible to believe a whole year without her had passed already.

‘I miss her,’ she said quietly. ‘Today especially.’

‘Every day,’ Eddie mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. ‘She’d want you to take care of yourself, you know. I always said you were too much like her – all fire and not enough chill.’