Page 3 of Sweater Weather (Sapphire Falls Orchard #1)

THREE

Bells

I really hate funerals. I mean, I know nobody likes them, but I especially hate them.

It’s just a bunch of strangers gathering to say things they never said when the person was alive.

I haven’t been to one since I was a kid and lost the last of my grandparents—until today.

Now, my mother’s sister has died, and we’ve all been swept upstate for a funeral where I don’t know a soul.

My family is huge—cousins, aunts, and uncles I only see once a decade, at family reunions or funerals.

I’m barely close with my own parents, let alone everyone else.

But apparently it “wouldn’t look good” if I wasn’t here.

My parents insist on keeping up appearances.

They’re even pretending that they are still married, even though they’ve been living in separate houses for the last five years.

I remember meeting my aunt once or twice as a kid, but I couldn’t tell you much about her.

My mother never talks about her family, and truthfully, I never asked.

I’ve always been fine on my own. Which is why putting on a forced smile and hugging people who are basically strangers is not how I want to spend my day.

Of course I feel bad she died, but I barely knew her—I can’t even fake tears.

I know why my mother really wanted to come—especially with my father on her arm. My aunt had money. She had some farm business upstate that apparently did well, and my mother wants her hands on the inheritance money. It’s sad, and frustrating, to say the least.

When the funeral procession ends, my parents start making small talk with family members. I slip outside to check my phone. Too many work emails have piled up in the last few hours to ignore. As I’m about to reply, my mother brushes my shoulder with her manicured hand.

“It’s time for the will reading, dear,” she says softly. Her hand gently squeezes my shoulder, but there’s no emotion behind her actions.

“I’ll hang out here until you’re ready,” I say.

“The lawyers requested your presence. It’s possible she left you something too.”

“Oh.” My stomach twists. What could she have possibly left me?

I follow my parents into a back room in the funeral home, where a lawyer, a few extended relatives, my parents, and I gather around a large rectangular table like we’re in a business meeting.

The lawyer quickly names everyone listed in the will and is about to begin when someone barges in.

“I have a right to be in there!” The blonde woman jerks her arm out of the guard’s grasp.

“Matilda, we talked about this,” the lawyer says calmly.

My stomach drops. It’s the woman from last night—Mac. The woman who almost made me come. What the hell is she doing here? Did she know my aunt?

“I have a right to know who got it if it wasn’t me,” she snaps.

“Fine, but you must stay quiet.” The lawyer motions to a chair.

She sits in the back, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly I can see her knuckles whiten. I risk one glance her way, but she doesn’t seem to notice me.

“Firstly,” the lawyer reads, “Miss Blake asked that a donation be made in her name to the following local charities: Sapphire Falls Animal Shelter, Sapphire Falls Housing Authority, and the Sapphire Falls LGBTQ+ Youth Home. The amounts are to be determined by the family. Secondly, she requested that the remains of her trust fund, inheritance, and savings be split evenly among her living relatives.”

I keep sneaking glances at the blonde in the back. She doesn’t look upset—so what is she waiting for? It was stupid that we agreed not to exchange names last night. If we had, I’d know who she was with one quick Google search. Then again, maybe last night wouldn’t have happened.

A flash of heat coils low in my belly, and I’m too embarrassed to admit—even to myself—that I’m turned on just thinking about her.

“And lastly,” the lawyer continues, “I leave Sapphire Falls Apple Orchard to my niece, Arabella Kennedy. I hope she will take care of it in the ways I always thought she would.”

My jaw drops. My family all turns to stare at me. My aunt left me an orchard?

“Uh—” I’m about to speak when Mac—Matilda, whatever her name is—storms out. I guess that’s what she was waiting to hear. At least I know she’s not a long-lost relative. Aunt Blake didn’t have kids.

“We will need you to sign the following forms,” the lawyer says, sliding a stack of papers toward me. My name sits at the top, clear as day. “Once you do, the orchard will be in your name.”

“I don’t know the first thing about running an apple orchard.”

“Miss Blake was quite confident you’d figure it out. There are more details in this folder about what it entails, but you can decline the property if you’re not interested.”

“I guess… yeah.” My voice is faint.

“In the case of your declining, the orchard will be donated to the town and sold to the highest bidder.”

“What?!” my family cries in unison.

My head spins. I came here to support my mother and keep up appearances. I didn’t expect to inherit anything—let alone a whole orchard. Now I’m wondering if there’s more than just apples? Were there animals too?

“I’ll take responsibility for it—for now. I don’t want it going to the highest bidder.”

“Very well. I’ll just need to see your ID, and we can start the paperwork.”

I hand over my wallet. As the lawyer takes copies and the rest of my family signs their papers, I wonder what the hell I’m going to do with an orchard. My mother will kill me if I turn it down, but maybe she’ll buy me out. Then I can finally buy that summer house in the Hamptons.

When we finish, my mother agrees to meet me outside. Before I leave, the lawyer stops me. He’s older, with dark gray hair and a thin mustache—like a slim Santa Claus who shaved for the summer.

“There’s one more thing,” he says. “In taking this over, you’re also agreeing not to turn the orchard over to anyone else in the family. Miss Blake was very clear: if you don’t want it, it’s not to stay in the family.”

“What? Why?”

“To put it politely, Miss Blake said she grew this place from nothing and didn’t want it in the hands of those only looking to make a profit. She created something special here, Miss Kennedy, and she wants it cared for.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly.

“Here’s the key to the main house and all the information you might need. You’ll also meet the main farmhand, Matilda. She lives on the property along with several others. It’s up to you if they stay, but they must be given thirty days’ notice if you want them out.”

“Okay. And if I do decide to sell?”

“You’d need to contact me and a local realtor. I can give you some numbers.”

“Sure.”

“I know this is a lot to process,” he says. “Take the weekend, then visit the orchard. Things will look different when you see it in person.”

“Okay.”

I nod, but my mind is made up. It’s not like I’m keeping it. I live in New York City. I have a job, a life. I’m up for a promotion. There’s no way I’m uprooting myself to run an orchard.

But why me? Why did she pick me? She knew how greedy my family was. How did she know I wouldn’t be just like them?

I take a deep breath and brace myself to face my parents. I know they’ll have a million questions. All I want is a stiff drink.

As I step outside, my parents nearly pounce.

“You’re not really thinking of running that orchard, are you?” my mother snaps. Her tone makes it sound like an accusation.

“I’m… not sure,” I admit. “It either stays with me, or it’s sold. It’s complicated.”

“She kept my name off the deed, didn’t she?” my mother asks, her face falling when I don’t answer right away.

“She did. She wanted it kept in the family, but she thought I’d be the one to honor that.”

“Are you kidding me?! I’ve been telling her for years—we could’ve made a real profit. Why wouldn’t she want me to handle it?”

“I don’t know.” I nod anyway. It’s easier than arguing.

“You do know she has a bunch of people living on the property, right?”

“Yes. I told the lawyer I’d go up there and get a better sense of everything first.”

“And what, you’ll just forget about your family?”

“Aunt Blake was my family,” I shoot back. “And people relied on her. I’m not throwing them out. I don’t want them homeless and jobless.”

My mother exhales sharply. “Well, I can’t argue with that,” she says finally, turning toward my father.

The rest of my relatives, who were standing close enough to overhear, file out as well.

I watch them go, shaking my head. They already got their money.

It’s never enough for them. If they can’t have everything, they’re not happy.

Meanwhile, everything they have has been handed to them on a silver platter.