Page 33 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘There she is! I was beginning to think you’d abandoned us already.’ The proprietor’s smile was wide and genuine. ‘Perfect timing too, I just pulled a batch of gingerbread from the oven. Crisp edges, soft center, like the best men. If we could only find them,’ she added wistfully.

Molly perched onto a stool by the counter, her frustrations settling heavily on her shoulders. ‘I’ll take all the gingerbread, thanks. And the strongest tea you can legally serve.’

Eva laughed, already reaching for an oversized mug painted with tiny rabbits. ‘That bad, eh? What happened? Did you get lost on the lake path? Told you some of those trails can be tricky.’

‘I didn’t get lost,’ Molly said, unwinding her scarf. ‘I’ve just been up to the Goldenridge farm shop.’

‘Ah.’ Eva’s expression became knowing as she set the steaming mug before Molly. ‘Jack charming as ever, I take it?’

‘If by “charming” you mean “accused me of being a corporate landgrabber and ordered me off the property”, then yes, absolutely.’ Molly wrapped her hands around the warm mug, inhaling the fragrant steam. ‘He seems utterly convinced I’m there to … what was it? Make an “insulting offer” for his precious orchard. Why the heck would I do that?’

Eva winced sympathetically as she slid a plate with a generous square of dark gingerbread across the counter.

Molly bit off a corner. The gingerbread was still warm, the spices releasing their aroma as she brought it to her lips. The first bite was a perfect balance of sweetness – ginger, cinnamon and something else she couldn’t quite identify, all wrapped in molasses depth.

‘Oh man,’ she murmured, momentarily distracted from her frustration. ‘This is incredible.’

‘The secret is fresh ginger and a splash of stout. Guinness to you,’ Eva added, winking.

‘OK, I finally get the attraction.’ Molly swallowed and took a fortifying sip of tea. ‘So who or what is Crest? Jack Flynn keeps throwing the name around.’

Eva lowered her voice and look around, even though the café was practically empty. ‘A big multinational drinks company that’s been buying up smaller operators all over the country. Once they get a place, they gut it – rip out old trees and crops on the land, replace them with more commercial varieties, let go most of the staff.’ Her expression darkened. ‘They’ve had their eye on Goldenridge for a while now. Aggressively pressuring Jack to sell up.’

Understanding dawned on Molly’s face. ‘And he thinks I’m their latest tactic?’

‘Sounds like it.’ Eva straightened. ‘One of their executives was sniffing around town in the summer and Jack sent yer man packing with the kind of language you’d only hear in The Orchard Pub. So you showing up now asking questions straight off the bus about the orchard? I can see why his suspicions were raised.’

‘But that doesn’t explain why he’s so … hostile,’ Molly protested. ‘I have no interest in his stupid land.’

Eva’s expression softened with something like sympathy. ‘It’s not just about the land for Jack though. Goldenridge is his identity, his purpose. The Flynn family has worked that soil for generations. When his parents died, the orchard became even more significant to Jack – his last connection to family, I suppose.’ She refilled Molly’s mug. ‘For Jack, selling would be like cutting off a limb.’

Molly absorbed this, feeling a twinge of guilt for her anger. She understood legacy and promises all too well. Wasn’t her own mission here driven by largely similar forces?

‘His uncle seemed more personable at least,’ she offered. ‘He actually gave me a bottle of cider as an apology for Jack’s behavior.’

‘Ah, Patrick’s a gem,’ Eva agreed fondly. ‘If anyone can make Jack see reason, it’s him.’ She paused, studying Molly with newfound curiosity. ‘Though I’m surprised he took to you so quickly all the same. Usually just as wary of outsiders, just a bit more polite about it.’

Molly shrugged, focusing intently on her gingerbread. ‘Maybe he recognized that I’m not a threat.’

‘Or maybe he saw something else entirely …’ Eva suggested, a hint of mischief in her tone.

Molly looked up, caught off guard. ‘What do you mean?’

The other woman wiped her hands on her apron, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. ‘Just that amongst other things, Patrick Flynn has always had a great eye for matchmaking. Claims he can spot a good match the way he spots the right weather for harvest.’

Heat rushed to Molly’s cheeks. ‘That’s ridiculous. Jack Flynn can barely stand to be in the same room with me.’

‘Mmm,’ Eva hummed noncommittally. ‘Strong reactions often mask even stronger emotions.’

Molly rolled her eyes, though the thought sent a traitorous flutter through her stomach. Despite herself, she found she wanted to know more. She tried for casual interest, keeping her tone light. ‘Has Jack always been so …’ she searched for a diplomatic term, ‘… intense?’

‘Since I’ve known him, yeah,’ Eva said, her voice warm with obvious fondness. ‘Even as a boy, he took everything so seriously. While the rest of us were passing notes in school, he was off studying grafting techniques and soil compositions.’

‘I’m surprised someone hasn’t managed to … soften him up by now. Young farmer with his own land? Must be quite the catch in these parts.’

Eva’s eyes twinkled knowingly. ‘Oh, there have been attempts. Maura Delaney chased him all through secondary school, and more recently a blow-in from one of the new houses tried her luck.’ She leaned in, voice dropping confidentially. ‘There was a summer romance with a Dublin girl who was here on holiday one time – serious enough by all accounts, until he made it clear he wasn’t interested in a move to the city, so that was the end of—’

The bell above the door jingled, and Molly glanced over her shoulder, then froze, a piece of gingerbread halfway to her mouth.