Page 32 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘I’m your only sister, smartass,’ Molly replied automatically, a small smile breaking through her foul mood. ‘Gimme a second.’ She spotted a weathered wooden bench facing the lake and sat down, adjusting her position until she found the perfect angle that showed her face without catching the afternoon glare. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now I can properly see your smug mug.’

Cole’s laugh was as warm and familiar as a childhood blanket. ‘Uh oh. Not having the idyllic Irish vacation you imagined?’

Molly sighed, her shoulders slumping. ‘It’s beautiful here, don’t get me wrong. The village is exactly like Nan described it. But I’m hitting a wall with accessing the oak tree.’ She lowered her voice, though there was no one within earshot. ‘It’s on private land – an apple orchard called Goldenridge – and the owner is … difficult.’

‘Difficult how?’ Cole leaned closer to the screen.

‘He thinks I’m a corporate spy trying to buy his orchard,’ she grumbled. ‘He practically called me a Yank and ordered me off his property just now.’ Molly ran a hand through her hair, disheveling it further. ‘It was like something out of that movie Nan used to make us watch – The Field. I half-expected him to start ranting about his father’s father’s land.’

Cole burst out laughing. ‘Only you, Molls. Only you could travel to the land of a thousand welcomes and immediately make an enemy.’

‘It’s not funny,’ she protested, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. ‘I need to get to that tree, Cole. I promised Nan.’

‘And when has Molly Harris ever failed to keep a promise?’ His voice softened. ‘Remember when you were eleven and promised Mrs Abramowitz you’d shovel her walk all winter? Pop said it was too much, but you did it anyway – even during that massive storm when the snow was up to your waist.’

‘I had to stand on a bucket to reach her doorbell,’ Molly remembered, the image clear as yesterday.

‘Or what about the time you were determined to get Nan’s recipe for soda bread exactly right? Fourteen batches, Molls. The apartment smelled like flour for a month.’

‘Fifteen,’ she corrected. ‘And I still didn’t manage it.’

Cole’s expression grew more serious, his voice dropping. ‘My point is, you don’t give up. Ever. It’s your superpower and your curse. If anyone can break down this farmer’s defenses, it’s you.’

The reminder of her own tenacity straightened Molly’s spine a little. ‘Thanks for the pep talk, Coach.’

‘Anytime.’ His grin returned. ‘So tell me more about this difficult farmer. Is he all rugged and handsome too?’

Heat rushed to Molly’s cheeks. ‘Irrelevant.’

Cole’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh-ho, he is! This just got interesting.’

‘Shut up,’ she chided, but she was smiling. ‘How’s Pop doing?’

The abrupt subject change didn’t fool Cole for a second, but he allowed it. ‘He’s great. Still refusing to use the pill organizer I bought him, insisting he can remember which medications to take when. But I check the bottles every few days, and he’s keeping up with them.’ Cole shifted, and the camera angle wobbled. ‘Speaking of, he told me to check that you’re eating OK.’

The familiar worry in their grandfather’s question made Molly smile. ‘Tell him I’m being force-fed Irish fry-ups and apple tarts. The food here is amazing, actually.’

A voice called Cole’s name from off-camera. Her brother turned and nodded before facing her again. ‘Gotta go – team huddle. But hey, you’re supposed to be relaxing too, remember? Not just mission-focused. Enjoy the downtime.’

‘I am,’ Molly assured him. ‘The village is beautiful. The people are friendly. Well, most of them.’

‘Except your Hot Farmer Nemesis,’ he teased.

‘He’s not hot,’ Molly lied. ‘And he’s not mine.’

‘Yet.’ Cole’s grin widened.

‘Goodbye, brother! Go break a leg or whatever.’

The screen went dark, and Molly stared at her own reflection for a moment before pocketing the phone. Cole’s confidence in her was heartening, but he didn’t understand the full complexity of the situation. This wasn’t a matter of pure determination. Jack Flynn was proving a helluva tough nut to crack.

The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of nearby trees and sending ripples across the lake’s surface. Molly shivered slightly, realizing the evening had advanced and the air had cooled. Her stomach growled, reminding her that anger and frustration burned calories.

She stood, stretching muscles stiff from sitting, and headed back toward the village, her feet carrying her almost automatically back to The Cherry Blossom Café. The blue door stood invitingly ajar, and the rich aroma of Eva’s baked goods wafted onto the street. Her mouth watered in Pavlovian response.

Inside, the café embraced her once again with warmth; both physical from the ovens and emotional from the cozy atmosphere. Late afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor.

Eva stood behind the counter, her curly auburn hair escaping from beneath yet another colorful bandana. Flour dusted her forearms and speckled her apron as she poured tea into mismatched mugs; a blue willow pattern for one customer, a hand-painted ceramic for another. She looked up, her face brightening with recognition as she spotted Molly.