A Forever of Orange Blossoms (The Merriams Book 5)

by Ava Miles

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You see everything. Ever thought about being a reporter?” She laughed as Carrot bussed his mouth at Arthur’s neck. “Stop that, you crazy pony.”

  “What’s a reporter?”

  He leaned his elbows on the top of the fence next to her, enjoying the view now that Carrot was back to nosing the ground instead of his neck.

  “It’s a person who pays extra attention to what’s going on around them and then writes a story about it so others can learn about it too.”

  She rocked on the fence. “I love stories. I want to be a reporter!”

  As he told her more about what made a good story, his gaze tracked back toward the barn. Tom was leading out a cow. Even from this distance, Arthur could feel his watchful regard.

  Yeah, there was a story here.

  He continued to tell Amelia about the five main questions a reporter asked, and she soaked in the knowledge like a sponge, delighting him. Black ink in these veins?

  Maybe he’d make a new recruit for the profession he loved.

  And maybe, just maybe, he’d learn more about what made this family tick.

  Because it was when you figured out what made a family tick that real connections became possible.

  Chapter 12

  Teaching was a breeze when you had the right assistants.

  As Annie watched Hargreaves and Clara work on the products she’d assigned them, she wondered why she’d been so afraid of hiring someone to help her with the production side of the business.

  Maybe it was partly because lab time was her private time. She loved being with the girls, but it was also nice to have something for herself. What mother didn’t love or need that to stay balanced and happy?

  Hargreaves, unsurprisingly, was the most efficient of her three helpers. He was used to cooking, after all, and being British, he knew the metric system better. Professional skincare formulas were usually in grams, after all. Still, he took the time to reassure Clara and help her with her measurements.

  Flynn had overnighted the bottles and containers they’d chosen for the products, but the materials wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. Her plan was to put their finished products for today in five-gallon buckets and parcel them out later. They were going to have to work in big batches for each product anyway, given the size of the order.

  She had a working schedule of the quotas they needed to meet daily for each product, along with the time needed for assembly and shipping. With a little luck and a lot of hard work, this triage of a plan might be successful.

  “You’ll have to try some of the aftershave serum you’re making, Hargreaves, and tell me what you think.” She stepped up beside him as he measured the aloe vera juice. “Arthur too, if he’d like.”

  “Oh, he’ll bay like an old hound,” Clara said, “but I’ll slap some on his weathery cheeks. They’re so dry in the winter.”

  “I have the perfect lotion for that with allantoin, a miracle ingredient. I’ll give you some when we finish here.”

  “I’ll reimburse you, of course,” Clara said, scooping more Himalayan sea salt into the measuring cup for the bath salt recipe Annie had given her.

  “No need, Clara,” Annie said, walking around the counter to where Clara was standing across from Hargreaves. “After all, you’re helping me.”

  “And you’re running a business to support your family,” Clara said. “I’m paying. Don’t argue with me on this. I want to support you.”

  Clara had a heart of gold, and she was elegant enough to pull off wearing diamonds under her lab outfit. Her timeless beauty was the type that made Annie’s hands itch for a makeup palette, especially since the foundation she wore was a touch too yellow for her skin tone.

  “You daydreaming over there?” Flynn called out.

  His voice was warm, and she shivered, coming out of her reverie. She hadn’t let herself think about other people’s makeup in a long time. Even Emily had stopped asking for her opinion—understandably, since the one time she’d asked for advice Annie had burst into tears.

  “Caught me,” Annie said, sliding around the counter to his station next to Hargreaves.

  She’d positioned herself across from him so she could gaze at him whenever she wanted, but she’d been too busy training to start on her body lotion, a formula she was calling body milk. Men seemed more comfortable with that label than lotion, and this way, she could make one formula for both men and women, keeping the scent unisex.

  After their quasi-date last night, she felt bold enough to put her hand on Flynn’s lower back, just above the rise of his fabulous butt. Goodness, she was feeling so hot and bothered, and it was so rare, she supposed it was the equivalent of wearing diamonds to work today. But she loved knowing her body wanted something. Someone. Flynn Merriam had awoken something in her.

  “You’ve got body butter down,” she commented, noting how his strong hands confidently measured the mango butter he’d dished out.

  “I had a great teacher.” He winked and then leaned down to whisper, “In fact, this student was wondering if said teacher would be up for a real date tonight. I thought we could go for a beer tasting at the Homestead Brewery and then to a restaurant you love.”

  She found herself wanting to kiss him on his bicep, which seemed crazy, but she’d decided to roll with the crazy when it came to Flynn Merriam. Other people might think him impulsive, but she loved it, needed more of it in her life. “Let me see how things go with the girls. Hargreaves will be cooking tonight, and I feel a little guilty about keeping everyone here late after a long day in the lab. In a couple of days, I’ll know if we can make my schedule for the baskets. We have quotas to meet every day.”

  “You sound so hot when you go all drill sergeant,” he teased, bumping her playfully with his hip. Which sent a shock of desire straight to her core.

  “How about you stay for a movie after your family leaves and the girls go to sleep?”

  “Terrific,” he said, reaching for his mixer. “Let me get back to my quota, oh, beautiful drill sergeant.”

  “You look kinda cute in your hairnet with your mixer,” she said, laughing when he gave a model-like pose.

  She stepped to her station, scanning Clara’s and Hargreaves’ progress. They were getting the hang of it. “Anyone against me playing some classical music? I find it’s soothing and helps with focus.”

  Everyone agreed so she plugged in her phone and Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” filled the room, sounding like a magical trickle of rainfall to her ears. There was a text from one of the people she’d followed up with about renting extra space for them to store and assemble the baskets. Both had turned her down, saying they were reserving the extra space for the holidays.

  Her diaphragm clenched. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. “Flynn, I heard the same line as you did about one of the spaces I called about.”

  “I’d be happy to help find a space,” Hargreaves said, measuring with steady hands.

  “Leave it to Hargreaves,” Clara said, sending the butler a smile. “He’s a marvel.”

  “No one could argue with that,” Flynn said.

  They settled into a quiet rhythm for the next couple of hours. Annie made batch after batch of her goat milk lotion. Every once in a while, she’d catch Clara watching her as if interested in the process. The last time it happened, she stopped and dished out a small sample of lotion, giving everyone the opportunity to try it. Clara rubbed it into her youthful-looking hands, marveling at its softness, which pleased Annie. But it was Flynn who made her laugh by saying he couldn’t wait to give a sample to his soon-to-be brother-in-law Beau since he had a pet goat named Chou-Chou.

  At noon, everyone broke for lunch, and she watched with something like awe as Hargreaves took over her kitchen and made open-faced ham and swiss grilled sandwiches. She attempted to help, but Clara steered her to the table and told her this was Hargreaves’ version of a lab and that he loved cooki
ng. Annie confessed she didn’t really, and Clara laughed and said neither did she. The moment had a warmth to it, even more so because Flynn stood watching them next to his uncle, who’d come in from the cold with Amelia.

  Goodness, Arthur was a trooper, and she adored him for the way he treated Amelia. She’d checked on them periodically through the window, watching as they traipsed about the farm with Carrot. The pony clearly adored him and had taken to leaning his head against Arthur’s arm.

  Soon they were sitting together at the dining room table, enjoying the beautiful lunch Hargreaves had made. Flynn wasn’t the only one expanding her horizons. His whole family was making her world feel bigger, as if anything were possible.

  “Mommy, I love this sandwich,” Amelia said, her cheeks still rosy from the cold.

  “They’re called croque monsieur,” she told her daughter. “They’re from France.”

  “Where Aunt Emily goes sometimes for her modeling, right? With the Eiffel Tower?”

  “Yes,” she said, rubbing her daughter’s rosy little cheek. “You want to play inside a little this afternoon so Mr. Hale won’t have to follow you in the cold?”

  “He’s as fit as a fiddle,” Clara said, forking some of the greens Hargreaves had dressed with a delicious lemon vinaigrette. He’d brought groceries this morning, and the Hales had refused her offer to reimburse them. She was going to make something special for all of them for their kindness.

  Arthur harrumphed. “Fresh air is good for you, but we’ve had enough of it for one day. Amelia and I are going to work on her story this afternoon. Right, sweetie?”

  Amelia giggled as she touched the melted cheese on her sandwich. “I’m a budding reporter, aren’t I, Mr. Hale?”

  “You bet you are,” Arthur said, giving her an empathic wink.

  Amelia blinked dramatically. “Mom, I still can’t wink.”

  “We’ll keep working on it,” she said, taking her napkin and wiping the crumbs off her daughter’s chin.

  “I’m an expert winker,” Flynn said, his green eyes dancing. “I have one for every occasion. Watch. This one is for when you want to charm a pretty lady.”

  He looked straight at Annie as he gave a playful, half-lidded wink that charmed her and then some. She put her hand on her heart in a dramatic swoon.

  Arthur sent Clara a sly wink too, and she took his hand. Seeing a couple so happy at their age was wonderful. In fact, she was starting to think everything about the Merriams was wonderful. To her mind, Hargreaves was one of them, yet he had refused to join them at the table.

  “Hargreaves, please sit and have your lunch,” she said, eyeing the butler standing in the doorway to the dining room.

  “Yes, Mr. Hargreaves,” Amelia said, swiveling in her chair. “I’ll share some of my sandwich with you. I’m getting full.”

  “That is kind of you, Ms. Amelia,” Hargreaves said, giving her daughter a smile.

  “He called me Ms. Amelia!” She threw her hands in the air and giggled. “I want everyone to call me that.”

  Annie smoothed the blond hair on the back of Amelia’s head. “We’ll have to see about that. Eat some of your salad.”

  Her daughter made a face, but it lifted as soon as she took a bite. “Hey, this is the bestest salad I’ve ever had. It tastes a little like a really sour lemon candy, but I love it! Thank you, Mr. Hargreaves. Mom, can he cook for us forever?”

  “Mrs. Hale needs him, so no, sweetheart,” Annie said, looking at the butler. “We’ll have to appreciate every moment he’s here. Thank you, Hargreaves.”

  He bowed formally. “It’s my pleasure. I thought I would take my sandwich in the kitchen, make a few inquiries about a space for the assembly of the baskets, and then do a little prep work for tonight’s meal. I hope you can spare me for an hour in the lab, Ms. Loudermilk.”

  “We’re doing great, so take your time, Hargreaves. Again, thank you.”

  He gave another of his warm yet inscrutable smiles and left.

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” Clara wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I’d have been lost without him all these years. I expect he’s ahead of me, though, in our respective productions in the lab. I plan to catch up while he’s gone.”

  “She’s competitive,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve stopped playing cards with her. She has a killer instinct when it comes to winning. I prefer to have marital accord when it’s time to go to bed.”

  “You hate to lose as much as I do,” Clara said, patting him playfully on the cheek. “You bray like a mule when bingo doesn’t end well. But I expect I have that Merriam instinct about winning. Do you have it, Flynn?”

  He shrugged. “Not as much as some of my siblings, but I suppose none of us are completely immune. I like it when one of the start-ups I back does well. What about you, Annie? Are you competitive?”

  She tapped her fork on her plate. “I’ve never really thought about it. But when I have my back against the wall, I’ll fight my way out.”

  “Being a fighter is different from being competitive,” Arthur said, handing Amelia a red hot. “For dessert. Come on, kiddo. Let’s go write a Pulitzer prize-winning story.”

  She hopped off the chair. “Mom, can I be excused?”

  “You bet. Have fun.”

  Taking Arthur’s hand, Amelia looked up at him. “What’s a Pul-litz-a, Mr. Hale?”

  “It’s like the gold medal in the Olympics,” he said, leading her out of the dining room.

  “I want to win one!” she said, her reply so loud it could be heard at the table.

  “I believe she’s made another friend,” Annie said, lifting her gaze to Flynn’s. “We’ve made so many in such a short while. It’s so wonderful to have you guys here.”

  Clara took her hand. “And we’re happy to be here. Now let’s get back to work. I have some ground to make up.”

  They headed to the lab again, and Annie let herself brush up against Flynn as she walked back to her station. He took a few steps closer and slid his arm around her. His fingers brushed the curve of her waist, and a ping shot through her pelvis. He kissed her on the cheek and let her go. She looked up to see Clara smiling at them. If it had been someone else, she might have been embarrassed, but she knew what it meant—she and Flynn had his aunt’s stamp of approval.

  Annie soon got into the rhythm of the work, and Flynn’s presence next to her only added to her sense of peace. They were working together to achieve her goal, and there was something beautiful in that. Hargreaves returned at one point, saying he was still working on finding a space, and then they quieted again, making batch after batch of product.

  When the twins arrived home, Annie left the lab to meet them. The cold air was as invigorating as a shot of espresso. “Hey! How was school?”

  At one time, they would have run to her and hugged her. These days, they seemed to be playing it cool, acting as if such exuberance was childish. More often than not, she was the one who reached for them, but she’d keep reaching as long as it took to get through to them. Still, their rebuffs hurt.

  “Did you have a good day?” she asked after pulling back from the hug.

  “Holly and I had the same sweater on, and it was awful,” Iris said, a gusty sigh audible. “Everyone laughed.”

  “We thought about calling you, Mom,” Eloise said, “so you could bring Iris another top, but we knew you were working. So I used my scarf like Aunt Emily showed me, and it changed Iris’s whole look. People were like, ‘Wow, how did you do that?’”

  “Otherwise, the whole day would have been ruined,” Iris said, sighing again. “I’m never wearing that sweater again, though. Mom, you can give it to Goodwill.”

  Had she sighed so loudly and frequently when she was in middle school? She couldn’t remember. Sometimes, she had to dig deep to be understanding in moments like this. She wanted to remind her daughter the sweater was relatively new and this wasn’t the end of the world. But maybe it was a moment to build on.

  “I’m so glad yo
u remembered what Aunt Emily showed you. You know… People in fashion know dozens of different ways to arrange a scarf as an accessory. You might want to ask Flynn if he can share any tricks. The way he wears his cashmere scarf with his coat is pretty eye-catching.”

  The girls shared a look, and Iris mumbled, “It’s okay, I guess.”

  Well, at least they hadn’t totally shot her down. “How about I introduce you to our guests? Then you can do your homework.”

  The girls made eye contact again before Eloise answered with, “We thought we’d go over to Grandpa and Grandma’s house.”

  The chill was starting to seep into her bones, chasing out that invigorating feeling, although it likely had as much to do with her girls’ attitude as it did the temperature. “Please come meet them. We want them to feel welcome. In fact, I bet Mrs. Hale has some extra tricks for arranging a scarf. She’s one of the most elegant women I’ve ever met.”

  Both of their eyes widened, and she couldn’t help but smile. She had them on the hook.

  “She is?” Eloise asked. “As much as Aunt Emily?”

  “More so,” she replied confidently. “Aunt Emily still loves to walk around with pigtails and old jeans and a T-shirt. Mrs. Hale… She’s wearing her diamonds while she makes bath salts.”

  “Whoa!” Iris breathed out. “That’s so cool. Right, Eloise?”

  “Okay, we’ll meet them,” Eloise said with a quick nod. “But that Mr. Hale guy… Mom, we’re ten. We don’t need some old guy watching us like we’re babies.”

  “He’s almost as famous as Aunt Emily,” she said, reaching down to the bottom of the barrel to bridge a connection with her girls. “Although it’s in a different way. He’s interviewed many U.S. presidents and famous world leaders. Isn’t that cool?”

  Iris shrugged. “They’re all old people, Mom. Not really.”

  Again, she wondered if she’d been like this at their age. “Well, I like him. And Hargreaves is a wonderful cook. He made us a fabulous French lunch today like we were in Paris, and tonight we’re having Indian food. It’s one of my favorites.”