Part 6 (2/2)
They filled the rest of the car ride and the following half hour of unloading and setup with back and forth about Daisy's new business and Emerson's knowledge of alternative medicine. Finally, after the last bar of orange blossom and shea b.u.t.ter soap had been set carefully beneath the shade of the cheery yellow canopy tent Daisy had brought from home, Emerson took a step back to survey their display.
”Wow. Everything looks great, Daisy,” she said, taking a big inhale as she brushed her fingers over the slightly rough texture of the sea salt soap. ”And it smells even better. I bet you'll do a ton of business today.”
”I really hope so.” Daisy sent a dubious glance at the milling, pre-festival crowd and the brightly colored tents now covering Town Street like confetti on New Year's Eve. ”My husband”-she paused, pressing her lips together as she reset her words-”ex-husband, didn't really think starting my own business was a good idea, so thanks for helping me out today.”
Emerson's gut squeezed, but she hung on tight to her smile. She hadn't recognized the last name Daisy had offered up earlier, so she knew the guy almost certainly wasn't local. Judging by the look on her friend's face right now, she wanted to drop the rest of the topic like a red-hot potato, so Emerson said, ”Well, I think Fresh As A Daisy is a fantastic idea. In fact, if we can round up a few willing partic.i.p.ants later, I don't mind offering five-minute therapeutic hand ma.s.sages to go with your soothing lavender-chamomile lotion.”
Daisy let out a soft laugh, and bingo, mission accomplished. ”Okay, but only as long as I get the first one.”
”Deal.” Ignoring the snap, crackle, and pop in her knees, Emerson bent to grab two water bottles from the cooler they'd tucked under one of the card tables beneath their tent. If the sheen of moisture on her brow was any indicator, Mother Nature was h.e.l.l-bent on following through with the weather report's promise of a scorcher today. The symptoms of her MS didn't tend to play nicely with the heat. She'd have to be really careful to hydrate and stay off her feet so her legs didn't give out.
Don't think about it. Not even a little bit.
”So.” Emerson handed over one water bottle, toasting Daisy with the other. ”Now that we've got a few minutes to relax before the festival kicks off, why don't you catch me up on what's been happening in town?”
”I can,” her friend said, although her expression remained clouded in doubt. ”But you just spent the last few years jet-setting all over the US with a crazy-famous football team. Do you really want to talk about what everyone in Millhaven has been up to since high school?”
”I know Vegas is pretty far from here.” Although Emerson wasn't about to say so, the lifestyle, both in Las Vegas and with the Lightning, was light-years away from Millhaven's sleepy, small-town vibe. ”But, I promise, I was really just doing my job. Anyway,” she continued with a shrug, ”everyone in town knows all about me. It seems only fair that I get the dish on them in return.”
Daisy gave her a look that read good point. ”Okay, let's see. The Bar is still the best place to hang out around here”-at Emerson's brow lift, Daisy corrected herself-”okay, the only place to hang out, unless you're at a bonfire or you head into Camden Valley. Amber's working with Mollie Mae over at the Hair Lair now, and they're like two apples on a branch. Kelsey Whittaker rounds out the bunch, although she's Kelsey Lambert now.”
Not surprising. Kelsey had staked her claim on Brad Lambert on the playground in the fifth grade, at about the same time she and Amber had become BFFs.
”What about the Baker's Dozen? Do they still come to the festival?” Emerson asked, trying to squelch the memory of her run-in with Amber. The group of thirteen ladies had been baking up a category-5 hurricane since Emerson had been in elementary school. G.o.d, she hoped they were still at it.
As if to second her chocolate-covered thoughts, Daisy gave her belly an appreciative rub over the gray cotton of her tank top. ”A few of the members pa.s.sed the torch to their daughters, and the group decided to embrace gender equality when Edith Lewis's son turned out to have mad pastry skills, but they're going strong as ever. Still make oatmeal cookies as thick and soft as a pillow.”
”Oh yum.” Emerson grinned and made a mental note to find their tent and stuff herself silly before the day was over. ”Those are my favorite.”
”Girl. That's not even the half of it for killer food,” Daisy said, casually waving a hand through the humid air. ”Every Sat.u.r.day, Harley Martin still sets up shop over by the firehouse and serves the best barbecue in the Valley from that ancient old drum smoker of his.”
Okay, someone needed to call Pavlov because now her mouth was just plain watering. ”The one he welded together out of sc.r.a.p metal in the nineteen seventies?”
The thing could be part Studebaker for all Emerson cared. Harley's pulled-pork sandwiches were the stuff of legends.
”The very same,” Daisy said. ”And speaking of the same, even though old man Whittaker will argue otherwise, the hands-down best place to get fresh produce around here is still Cross Creek Farm.”
Emerson's heart did an involuntary two-step against her breastbone, and whew, the weather was getting downright ridiculous already. ”Good to know,” she said, taking a long swig from her bottle of water.
Daisy continued, her tennis shoes scuffing softly against the curb as she leaned in closer and dropped her voice to a near whisper. ”Yeah, that rivalry between the two farms is still alive and kicking harder than the Rockettes. It's mostly a lot of smack talk between Eli Cross and Greyson Whittaker. They like to duke it out for the t.i.tle of Baddest Boy in Millhaven, but to tell the truth, I'm pretty sure it's a dead heat. Owen's still serious enough to keep Eli in check and out of trouble, although every once in a blue moon Owen and Sheriff Atlee get a mind to throw back a few beers and close down The Bar.”
Daisy's cheeks pinked at the mention of the sheriff, but Emerson had to slap a mental ”File for Later” sign over her curiosity as she rewound. Processed. Dropped her jaw in shock.
”Wait. Lane Atlee is Millhaven's sheriff? Tall guy, body like a prizefighter, att.i.tude to match, Lane Atlee?” He and Owen had been the same year in high school, two ahead of her and Daisy, although admittedly, Lane's attendance was spa.r.s.e at best. She'd have been less surprised to hear he'd become a ballerina than Millhaven's top boy in blue.
”Mmhmm.” Daisy cleared her throat, her flush downgrading to nearly normal. ”Carl Barker retired six years ago, and Deputy Hutchinson was only two years behind him. Lane surprised everyone by deciding to go to the police academy in Camden Valley so he could run for sheriff.”
”Huh,” Emerson finally managed. ”Can't say I saw that one coming.”
Something she couldn't quite pin down s.h.i.+fted in Daisy's expression, her friend's smile growing too forced, too fast. ”Funny you should say that. You have seen Hunter Cross since you've been back, right?”
”Yeeeeeah,” Emerson said, half acknowledgment, half question. Talk about a weird segue. Plus, Daisy had to already know the answer since Amber had likely told everyone in the county by now. ”Why?”
Daisy's smile didn't move a millimeter as she whispered through her teeth, ”Because he's about eight feet to your left and coming in hot.”
CHAPTER EIGHT.
Hunter was less than a dozen steps away from Emerson before he realized this was a bad idea. He was at the Watermelon Festival to relax a little and work a lot, and the flash-bang going on in his rib cage right now wasn't going to help turn either of those into reality. But best he could tell, Emerson had slept, eaten, and breathed work all week, without so much as a baby toe off the caution path. To unexpectedly see her standing there, talking with Daisy Halstead in the middle of the Watermelon Festival and looking as casual and gorgeous as ever? Yeah, that lit him up like a Fourth of July firecracker.
Hopefully his knee-jerk curiosity wasn't about to blow up in his face.
”Hey,” Eli said, confusion creasing his forehead into a V at Hunter's rapid swerve in direction. ”What are you . . . oh s.h.i.+t. Is that-?”
”Yup.”
Eli whistled under his breath, but G.o.d bless him, he kept up stride for stride. ”Gotta hand it to you. You sure can pick 'em. Hey, ladies!” His brother's smile increased by about forty watts as the last of the asphalt between the two of them and Daisy's tent became history. ”Great day for a Watermelon Festival, don't you think?”
”Oh, hey, Eli! Hey, Hunter. I sure do,” Daisy said, fixing them both with a genuine smile that reminded Hunter why he'd always liked her. ”It's my first time as a vendor, and Emerson was nice enough to say she'd be my a.s.sistant today.”
”Really?” Hunter's surprise slipped out before he could trap it, the emotion going for broke as Emerson laughed in reply.
”Yes, really. I do leave work on occasion.” She paused, clearly catching the doubt that had to be plastered to his face, then added, ”Okay. I do now. But I ran into Daisy a little while ago in front of my apartment and helping her out seemed like a great chance for us to catch up.”
”Well, it sure is good to see you back in town, Emerson,” Eli said, and oh no. What the h.e.l.l was he doing, giving her that aw-shucks smile? ”I didn't know you were renting a place at the Twin Pines.”
At Emerson's puzzled expression, Daisy chimed in. ”Eli lives on the other side of the building, over in 16B.”
”Ah,” she said with a nod. ”4A.”
Hunter borrowed the puzzled expression that Emerson had just gotten rid of. ”You're not staying with your parents until something else opens up?” While the place wasn't a complete rattrap, the Twin Pines could hardly be what she was used to, and her parents had a private carriage house right on their property.
”Yeah, no.” She shook her head hard for emphasis. ”That definitely wouldn't work out.”
The swift delivery combined with her adamant tone to create a whole lot of ooookay then, and Eli swooped in to smooth it over with another charming grin.
”Well, I for one don't mind having you as a neighbor, and I think it's right nice of you to help Daisy out with her business like that.”
Emerson's smile in return was so pretty, Hunter's trademark calm threatened a complete labor strike. ”It's been fun so far, and the products look amazing,” she said. ”I'm happy to do whatever I can.”
”Actually”-Daisy brightened, splitting an excited gaze between him and Eli-”Emerson was just saying she'd offer up a therapeutic hand ma.s.sage to anyone willing to try my lavender-chamomile lotion. Either of you boys willing to find your softer side? This stuff isn't just for women, and it works great on smoothing out calluses.”
She lifted a bottle emblazoned with the letters ”LC” off the table beside her, and Emerson's ocean-blue eyes went as round as her mouth.
”Oh, I'm sure Eli and Hunter don't want to-”
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