Page 34 of The Apple Cider Orchard

Jack Flynn himself stood in the doorway, a box of apples balanced against his hip, his tall frame blocking most of the evening light. His dark hair was windswept, his expression guarded as he spotted Molly again at the counter. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked – his narrowing slightly, hers widening in surprise.

Eva straightened, smile broadening with what looked suspiciously like delight. ‘Speak of the devil!’ she sang, and Molly glanced at her, horrified. ‘I was just talking to Molly here about the festival.’ The impressively smooth transition held not a hint of their actual conversation.

Jack’s gaze flicked between them, clearly not believing this for a second.

He stepped fully into the café, the floorboards creaking beneath his heavy boots. Molly turned resolutely back to her gingerbread, determined not to acknowledge him, though every nerve ending in her body seemed suddenly, traitorously aware of his presence.

Was there no escaping this man?

Chapter 17

Jack set the crate down on the counter with a deliberate thud, the box landing harder than he’d intended. He nodded curtly, hating the immediate jolt of awareness that shot through him again at the sight of the newcomer – Molly – perched on Eva’s barstool, those green eyes stubbornly fixed on her plate.

The woman was trouble – and yet he couldn’t seem to stop noticing things about her: the slight flush on her cheeks, the determined set of her jaw, the way her dark hair caught the evening light streaming through the windows.

‘Your delivery,’ he said to Eva, his voice gruffer than intended. ‘Twenty pounds, picked this morning.’

Eva circled the counter, inspecting the apples with a professional eye. She ran a gentle finger over the skin of one fruit, checking for bruising and smiled with satisfaction. Jack shifted his weight, acutely conscious of Molly’s deliberate non-acknowledgment. The woman was as stiff as new grafting tape, her attention fixed on a piece of gingerbread as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

He remained at the counter, standing uncomfortably as Eva disappeared into a small office out back, returning moments later with an envelope. ‘Here you go. Though I’ll need a bit more next week. The russets for a special I’m doing for the festival.’

Jack pocketed the payment. ‘Tuesday, OK? I’ve to check the east orchard irrigation system first thing, but I could pop over after.’

‘Perfect.’

The café hummed with energy – a couple sharing scones by the window, the soft clinking of teacups against saucers providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation. The warmth from the ovens had fogged the windows slightly, creating a cozy bubble that seemed separate from the world outside. Jack found himself reluctantly settling into the familiar comfort of the space, despite the prickling awareness of Molly’s presence.

‘Like I said,’ Eva continued, her innocent tone setting off warning bells in Jack’s mind, ‘I was just telling Molly about the festival and how your cider is always the first to sell out. People start lining up at your stall even before ye’ve finished setting up.’

Jack grunted noncommittally. He knew Eva too well to miss the mischief dancing behind her eyes. Whatever game she was playing, he wanted no part of it.

Her smile widened. ‘Even won gold at the nationals last year. Not that he bothered to attend the ceremony to receive it.’

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Had plenty of trees that needed attention.’

‘Sure, you always do,’ Eva said with a fond eyeroll. She turned to Molly, who was watching their exchange with cautious interest. ‘Jack’s talent is wasted on us locals who’ve known forever how great he is. What he really needs is someone to bring that talent to a wider audience.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Did you know Molly works in marketing? No better woman to help boost your sales – or anything else,’ she added suggestively.

Heat rushed to Jack’s face, his collar suddenly feeling too tight. Beside him, Molly’s eyes widened, a similar flush spreading across her cheeks.

‘Eva,’ she protested, ‘I’m sure Jack doesn’t need—’

‘I’ve managed perfectly fine without—’ he spluttered simultaneously.

‘Of course, of course,’ Eva interrupted blithely waving away their objections with flour-dusted hands. ‘Just thinking out loud, really. Though it would be a shame not to take advantage of such professional expertise when it drops right into our little village. Especially with the big boys still sniffing around?’

The reminder of Crest Beverage’s continued interest in his land tightened Jack’s jaw. ‘I’m not interested in “boosting” anything, thanks. I’m interested in preserving what my ancestors built.’

‘And wouldn’t the best preservation be ensuring its success?’ Eva challenged, her tone gentler now. ‘All I’m saying is that Molly might have a few insights worth considering. Outside perspective and all that.’

Molly appeared as uncomfortable with this conversation as Jack felt. Her fingers traced the rim of her mug, and she seemed to be studying its contents with unusual intensity.

‘I really wouldn’t want to—’ she began.

‘You wouldn’t be interfering if that’s what you’re going to say,’ Eva interjected. ‘Jack’s just too proud to ask for help. Always has been.’ She patted his arm with maternal affection. ‘Remember when you broke your ankle falling off that tree at sixteen? Crawled all the way back to Goldenridge rather than call for someone to give you a lift home.’

‘Eva,’ he growled, warning in his tone.

A group entered, momentarily distracting his friend from her efforts. With one last meaningful look at him, she moved to greet the newcomers, leaving Jack and Molly in awkward silence.