Page 11 of All This Time (Blossom Peak #1)

Laney

Popcorn, Lies, and Thank-Yous

“Did you get the popcorn machine to work, Dad?” Holding the stack of red and white striped cardboard buckets, I head across the grass in his direction.

People are already starting to arrive, claiming spaces on the lawn and laying down blankets, trying to get the best spot to view the projector screen in the courtyard.

My father straightens from behind the old red steel popcorn cart, adjusting his pants and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I think so.” A beat later, the sound of popping kernels fills the air, and his mouth spreads into a proud grin. “See? She’s still got it.”

I set the buckets on the table beside the cart. “But what happens when it doesn’t work the next time?”

“Then I fix it again.”

Titling my head, I make sure my tone is soft when I say, “You know we should think about buying a new one, Dad. Those things aren’t meant to last forever.”

His thick, gray eyebrows pull together. “I know, Laney. But as long as I can fix it, I’m gonna. There’s no sense in buying something new for no reason.”

My father’s excuse sounds reasonable, but we both know the real reason why he doesn’t want to replace this popcorn machine—it’s the one my mother picked out when we started Hart Winery seasonal events.

It’s the first weekend in June, which means it’s the start of our summer event series, and as the seasons change, so do the experiences we offer.

Normally, we host events during the week or Sunday afternoons, but since we didn’t have a wedding on the calendar this Saturday night, my father decided to host an outdoor family movie night to fill the winery with people and take advantage of the warmer weather.

As the winery has expanded over the years, so has the property. We now have two main buildings—one has the tasting room and barrel room we use for private parties, while the other houses our farm-to-table restaurant and event spaces for wedding receptions, business conferences, and so much more.

Between those two buildings is our open and spacious courtyard, perfect for hosting events like tonight’s.

Trees, shrubs, and flowers are planted around the space, a playground is off to the left for kids to enjoy while parents relax with a glass of wine, and to the right are several cornhole sets, bocce ball courts, horseshoe pits, and fire pits for the cooler nights.

“Auntie Laney!” Ellis shrieks as she runs across the grass, her little feet carrying her as fast as they can, and leaps into my arms.

“Hey, Ellis.” I tug on her shirt. “I like your pajamas.”

She looks down at her shorts and matching shirt. “Princess Elsa is my favorite.” Rhonan always brings Ellis to movie nights in her pajamas to make life easier when she inevitably passes out early.

“Oh really? I thought Moana was.”

Rhonan whispers in my ear as he comes up behind me. “That was last week. You’ve gotta keep up, Auntie.” He circles back to my niece. “And Elsa is a queen, honey. We talked about this.”

“Ah, I see,” I say, setting Ellis gently back on the ground.

“Are you still excited to watch the movie, though? Papa chose Moana because you asked for it.” My dad loves letting Ellis help pick the film for family movie nights.

It’s his way of including her in the legacy of our family business, and I know if Mom were still alive, she’d do the same.

“Yes, I still love Moana. But she’s my second favorite now.”

“Got it. Well, movie night means you get to stay up past your bedtime. Are you excited?”

Nodding, her brown hair sways as she dances in place. “Yes! I can’t wait to eat popcorn and snuggle with Uncle Fletcher.”

As if she summoned him, Fletcher appears out of nowhere, looking freshly showered in black shorts and a plain gray T-shirt. His signature backwards hat is missing, allowing him to push a hand through his thick curly brown hair, which looks in dire need of a cut.

Ellis can sing his praises all she wants, but I know the emotional turmoil this man is capable of inflicting.

“Wh—what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at Elliot’s later?” I ask while trying to keep my composure. My plan was to finish helping my dad set up, drive to Elliot’s for our wedding talk, then head home and bury my feelings in a pint of ice cream later.

Ellis tugs on his hand, pulling his attention to her before he can answer. “Uncle Fletcher, where are your pajamas?”

“I don’t wear pajamas to bed, sweetie.”

Her nose scrunches up. “That’s weird. Then what do you wear?”

His eyes lift to mine, as if he sensed me anticipating his answer as well.

When Fletcher slept in my bed all those years ago, he was always fully clothed, minus maybe a T-shirt depending on his injury.

But adult Fletcher?

Does he sleep in just shorts? Briefs? Nothing at all?

You shouldn’t even want to know the answer to that question, Laney.

Smiling back down at my niece, he dodges her question, and I don’t know who’s more grateful for that, me or my brother. “Why don’t you and your dad find us a spot to put our blanket? Then once I’m done talking to Auntie Laney, I’ll be over to share your popcorn and the candy I brought.”

Her eyes light up and then she’s pulling Rhonan toward the grass. “Let’s go, Daddy! We need to pick a spot.”

Rhonan sighs as he follows his daughter, but not before saying over his shoulder, “Thanks for not telling my daughter that you sleep naked.”

“Wouldn’t want another stripper incident.” Fletcher retorts.

Rhonan shakes his head and continues to walk away, leaving me and Fletcher alone. When his eyes find mine again, my pulse races even faster.

He’s just a guy, Laney. Just a guy you used to have a crush on when you were a teenager. He’s not even that good-looking, so just calm the fuck down.

Fletcher grins, and that dimple of his pops in his cheek.

I’m screwed.

“Excuse me? Are you Fletcher Adams?” a small voice asks.

A young girl a little older than Ellis approaches us before Fletcher can explain why he’s here.

“I am,” Fletcher answers, kneeling down to her level so they can see eye-to-eye. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella.”

“What a beautiful name. Do you watch football, Isabella?”

She shakes her head. “No, but my Daddy does.”

A gentleman who can’t be much older than Fletcher walks up behind her. “Sorry about that. My daughter swore she saw you, and she took off before I could stop her.”

Fletcher stands, smiling. “Well, she was right.” He extends his hand to the man. “Fletcher Adams. Nice to meet you.”

The guy shakes Fletcher’s hand with a grin. “Man, this is wild. I’ve watched you play for years. Big fan.”

Fletcher’s smile softens. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you mind signing my hat?” the man asks, taking it off and handing it to Fletcher.

“Absolutely.” Prepared for occasions such as this, Fletcher extracts a black marker from his pocket, uncaps it with his teeth, and scribbles his name across the bill. “There you go.”

I’m so transfixed watching him interacting with his fans, that I am oblivious to the line of people that has formed behind the young girl and her dad.

Fletcher directs his gaze to mine. “Sorry about this.”

“Why are you apologizing? This is what you wanted, right?” I ask without one ounce of sarcasm in my voice. I remember listening to Fletcher talk about how one day people were going to ask him for his autograph—and now I get to witness it.

While Fletcher takes pictures, talks, and signs autographs for his fans, I walk over to the refreshment table, needing something to do besides gape. I grab two water bottles and linger for a bit, pretending to organize popcorn buckets while mostly just watching him work the small crowd.

It takes nearly thirty minutes before the last fan finally walks away.

When he turns back toward me, I hand him a water.

“Thank you,” he says, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink.

“Does that happen a lot?” I ask.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before now. If I’m not keeping a low profile, it’s pretty standard. I’m used to it by now.”

“Comes with the territory, huh?”

It’s in that moment that I realize just how much I don’t know about the man standing in front of me, when once upon a time, I was the person who knew more about him than anyone else.

Maybe that’s still true.

He takes a step closer to me. “Yes, and to answer your question from earlier, Rhonan texted me this afternoon, asking if I wanted to join him and Ellis for movie night. So I called Elliot to ask if we could reschedule, and he suggested we just meet here at the winery. Now I can spend time with Ellis and fulfill my duty as the best man.”

“Oh.” He spent thirty minutes talking to his fans instead of brushing them off and he didn’t want to let down my niece, so he made other arrangements for our meeting?

Knowing that makes it harder to hate him, doesn’t it, Laney?

His eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”

I plant a hand on my hip and shrug. “I mean, who knew you could consider other people’s feelings?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Come on, Laney. You know I’ve always been a nice guy…”

I tilt my head. “That’s weird…because I didn’t think nice guys told lies?” The words slip out before I have a second to process them. But if he was truly worried about how I felt, he wouldn’t have acted the way he did all those years ago.

Regret fills my chest, but there’s no taking it back now.

Fletcher’s head rears back. “What?”

My heart hammers in my chest as I turn my back to him. “Never mind.”

He steps up behind me, his chest brushing my back. And for one split second, I forget how to breathe.