Page 25 of Apple of My Eye
Chapter Eighteen
Nick
WEEK FOUR
‘We didn’t bring too much,’ I tell Betsy for the thousandth time this morning.
We’re setting up the stand in the back corner of the town farmers’ market.
The last weekend of August has brought a chill to the air and slight haze of fog on the hills around the town, fall arriving in perfect timing for the Fall Festival.
I’m looking forward to a steaming cup of coffee as soon as we get everything squared away.
Buttercup squeals loudly from the pen we’ve put her in next to the tent. Bringing her was my idea. Joe was reluctant at first, but Betsy convinced him. And I convinced her when I showed her how many views the video of the pigs had.
‘Fifty thousand?’ she exclaimed. I thought she might faint right there in the kitchen.
It took a lot of convincing, but I finally got Betsy to agree to unpack all the apple butter, apple jam, and apple cider vinegar they had in storage.
‘We used to sell lots of these,’ she said, blowing the dust off the tops of the lids.
‘You’re sure they’re still good?’ I asked, surveying the damp underground storage hatch filled to the brim with jars.
‘You tell me.’ Betsy cracked open a jar of jam and stuck in her pinky.
I did the same. The flavor was incredible. It tasted just like a crisp fall afternoon. ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘you’ve been hiding this from me all this time? Why have I been eating blackberry jam at breakfast?’
Betsy laughed, a sound that has been more frequent lately. ‘Oh, stop.’ She swatted at my arm, blushing.
I glance at the table we’ve set up, jam jars arranged in neat lines behind little placards. Betsy squirms from her seat behind the table.
‘It looks like we expect to sell all of this stuff,’ she says.
‘We do.’
She squirms again. ‘It just seems .?.?.’ She trails off, looking at the other stalls in the vicinity.
‘It has nothing to do with being humble,’ I tell her firmly. ‘We are giving the people what they want.’ I cross my fingers behind my back. I really hope I’m right.
It’s still early in the day and other farms are just starting to set up their stands.
I’m looking around the Main Street when I spot Eloise hauling boxes with her mom.
They must have gotten here earlier than we did, because while we are sequestered away, left to the back corner of the market, Eloise and her mother are front and center, their booth in the best location.
Betsy catches my eye.
‘Go help them,’ she shoos me off. ‘I’ve got it here. We won’t open for another hour anyway.’
I nod and dash towards the truck.
‘Nick!’ Hazel says warmly, immediately depositing a pie in my hand. There’s a few slices taken out of it already. ‘Bring that to Betsy, will you?’
‘Sure.’ I place it on a nearby table to free up my hands to help Eloise with a box she’s lugging towards their tent.
‘Anderson Family Farm’ is emblazoned in red across the top of a banner.
‘Thank you.’ Eloise relaxes a bit. The box is heavy but easy to carry with both of us doing the lifting. She cranes her neck around from one side of the box and smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach the corner of her eyes. Something feels off.
‘Is Evan here?’ I ask.
She smiles for real this time, rolling her eyes. ‘He’s coming later. He’s terrible at alarms.’
I bite my tongue from saying something judgmental, like asking aloud how Eloise would ever think someone terrible at alarms would be a good match for her. We put the box down and repeat the process with three more crates, lugging them to the tent in silence.
‘Lou?’ Hazel asks, peeking her head around the front of the truck.
It’s amazing to me how much they look alike, even though Eloise doesn’t think so.
Hazel has the same tendrils of hair that curl up around her face.
She has the same dynamic smile, the one that completely betrays her if she isn’t actually happy.
‘Could you grab me a coffee? I think Carnation Cup just opened.’ She nods in the direction of the nearby intersection and sure enough there is already a line forming in front of the coffee stand.
Eloise jerks her head at me. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘You two just go together.’ Hazel waves us off.
If I’m not mistaken, she winks at Eloise as we walk away.
Eloise tugs at her shirtsleeves. She’s wearing a long-sleeve flannel over her jean overalls and Anderson Farm T-shirt. We’re halfway across the road when she whirls around to look at me.
‘Did you really ask my dad how to fix potholes?’
That’s what’s on her mind? ‘Yeah.’ I shrug. ‘Betsy hates them.’
Eloise murmurs an acknowledgment and keeps walking. She takes five steps before she turns around again. ‘And you’re really just trying to be successful to take care of your mom?’
‘Yes? Eloise, what’s this about?’ I’m reaching out to grab her arm and ask her to tell me what’s wrong, to tell her that I’ve wanted to be alone with her every second of every day since Tuesday night, when she turns around for the third time, coming to a full stop about ten feet from the coffee stand.
I shudder to a halt behind her, barely stopping from running into her.
We’re inches from each other. Her eyes are so blue up close it’s like looking into ice. She looks away and I glance down.
‘I have to tell you something,’ she says softly, glancing at the line to make sure no one else can hear. She fidgets awkwardly. My stomach flips.
‘OK,’ I say, ‘I don’t know what you’ll have to tell me that has to do with those questions, but .?.?.’
Eloise wrings out her hands. ‘You’re just so .?.?. perfect,’ she says in a small voice.
Gently, I nudge the bottom of her chin up with my fingers so she looks me in the eye. ‘No, I’m not.’
She groans. ‘It’s Amie,’ she sighs, ‘she’s going to ask you out.’ She crosses her arms in front of her chest. ‘I just thought you should know.’
I laugh. ‘That’s what you have to tell me?
What does that have to do with me being “perfect.” Amie’s nice but .
.?.’ I trail off, leaving what I’m thinking unsaid, that I like Eloise more , that when I’m around her I’m not thinking of anyone else.
Eloise is still standing still and looking somewhat pained.
‘I thought it was going to be bad,’ I say, realizing too late that maybe the fact that Amie is asking me out is bad.
That could mean Eloise doesn’t want to go out with me.
‘Wait. Are you wanting us to go on a double date with you and Evan?’
‘God no.’ Eloise barks out a laugh before her expression shifts. She bites her bottom lip, her eyebrows drawing together. ‘Um.’
‘Wait .?.?. is there something else that is bad?’ My stomach flips again. What if something’s wrong with Hazel or Cal .?.?. or Eloise. I reach for her hand instinctively. ‘You can tell me,’ I say softly.
‘OK, so here’s the thing.’ She can’t meet my gaze and I notice her hand is trembling in mine. ‘I kind of need the Parkers’ farm to—’
I’m listening as closely as I can but she’s talking so softly I can’t hear the end of her sentence over the ‘your order is ready’ announcements.
‘The Parkers’ farm to what?’
‘The Parkers’ farm to fail.’ Eloise says glumly.
‘To fail?’ I repeat, wondering what I heard incorrectly because that doesn’t make any sense.
But she nods, finally meeting my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.
But then I got to know you and you’re well .
.?. you’re you .?.?. doing things for the good of other people and .
.?. and the Parkers don’t even know this,’ she whispers, ‘but we need to buy their farm if ours is going to survive.’
I stumble back from Eloise. ‘Surely that can’t be right .?.?. but you’ve been helping me this whole time. I thought I was helping you too. You know .?.?. driving business to the farm and stuff.’
‘I mean.’ Eloise grimaces.
‘You’re saying that if the Parkers don’t fail your family’s farm will?’
‘Well, not exactly, but I think in the future, yes. My parents will sell.’
She sounds so broken-hearted at the idea that my own heart aches. ‘Do Betsy and Joe know?’
Eloise shakes her head. ‘My own parents didn’t know until, like, four weeks ago.’
‘OK.’ I take a deep breath. My brain is struggling to put together the pieces of the girl I really like rooting for my failure and the worry that, based on my TikTok numbers, I may have already succeeded. What does that mean for her .?.?. for us? ‘I think need a cup of coffee.’