Page 81 of Almost Ravaged

I worried that transitioning back to the trenches of academia would be difficult or that I’d struggle being away from the orchard for days at a time after having spent nearly every moment of the last year there. I worried about my ability to focus and about how Noah would cope.

But so far, it’s all gone well. I slipped back into my role in the department with ease. My position as the faculty advisor for the Holt chapter of Inclusive United as well. Aside from the ongoing department drama between Harry and Sybil, nothing much changed in the year I was gone.

If anything, the semester is going better than expected. The part I dreaded the most—onboarding a new graduate assistant—is proving to be easier and more enjoyable than I could have imagined. Sure, we got off to a rocky start. Upon reflection, I may have been a bit too harsh that first day. But setting expectationsearly was imperative. If she wasn’t going to rise to the occasion, I would rather know immediately.

Risen, she has.

I drive the winding road to Evercrisp Orchard without conscious thought, my mental energy monopolized by a certain redhead with a smart mouth and quick wit. She never cowered, despite the harsh introduction I offered that first week. She has a tenacity that’s rare in people her age.

People much, much younger than me.

The fire behind her eyes intrigues me. It’s like she’s all pent up after holding back and biding her time for far too long.

She’s got moxie, I’ll give her that.

She’s also got a body made for sin. Something I shouldn’t dwell on, given our working relationship. But I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since the day we met. After the interactions we shared this week, I don’t want her out of my head.

And then there’s the report she put together for the orchard.

It was gold. Well-researched, thoughtful, actionable gold.

I brought my copy with me tonight. Even if the class fumbles this project completely, Ms. Davvies outlined several brilliant ideas, as well as a strategic approach for reaching an untapped market.

Noah’s old-fashioned. He doesn’t love change. He may have a healthy respect for my career, but he really doesn’t “get” marketing. He’d prefer to do the same things his parents did to promote the orchard, despite all the advancements in technology and shifts in consumer behavior. My hope is that if he reads the report himself, he’ll give it more consideration.

Meg saw the need to keep up with the times. She sided with Noah on a lot of things, but I could usually sway her to my side when it came to business. She even had him nearly convinced to hire someone to handle the orchard’s marketing before tragedy struck.

Then we were stuck, both Noah and I, in a thick quagmire of depression and grief.

That’s why I selected the orchard as this year’s business spotlight. It defies the ethical boundaries between my personal and professional life. But for months, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to do it. So when I brought it up to Sybil and she gave me the go-ahead, I ran with it.

A fresh start for Noah. A last chance to pull the orchard out of the past and into a more sustainable business model.

A heavy exhale escapes me as I ease my Audi Q8 e-tron into its usual spot in front of the barn.

I’m halfway to the house, my overnight bag in one hand, when a familiar voice calls my name.

I turn on my heel and find Edna standing on the porch outside the store, hands on her hips and a scowl etched into the creases of her face.

Dread gathers in my gut, a steady drip percolating as I course correct and head toward the older woman.

“Edna,” I greet warily as I climb the porch stairs.

If she’s here this late, standing in the doorway like she’s been waiting for me, I can’t imagine she has anything good to say.

She wipes her hands on her apron, trepidation radiating from her. “It’s been a horrific day.”

I like Edna’s bluntness. She doesn’t bullshit or sugarcoat anything. So I’m not surprised that before I can ask her to define “horrific,” she dives into an explanation.

With a sigh, she leans against the doorframe. “A young woman came in with two little girls. Bella wasn’t here yet. A new employee, Tracy, was working the register.”

The wariness in her eyes causes my muscles to lock up and my pulse to thud heavily.

“The customer was asking about the family photo sessions. Said she couldn’t find information on the website.”

My gut plummets to the porch below me. Shit.

“Tracy didn’t know anything about photos, but when Noah walked in, cutting through the store after helping Johnnie with the cider mill, she stopped him and told the woman to ask him.”