Love on Lavender Lane

by Karis Walsh

  She would, however, check out some local businesses. She was desperately lacking the community perspective she had after years of working in Portland. She understood corporate trends and conventions in the city even if the particular businesses she worked for were unfamiliar at first. She was out of her depth in this farming and non-chain-business culture.

  Besides, she needed something to do besides sit in her room or wander through the vineyard. She appreciated how beautiful it was, with rolling hills and arcing rows of leafy vines, but she could only take so much quiet time. She’d taken Dante for a long walk this morning and would get him out again before dinner, but she had to find something to occupy her mind before she went crazy.

  Once they got to her room, Dante got a drink from his water bowl and curled up in the dog bed that had been provided by the inn. Paige immediately started to take off her stained clothes. She had hoped her usual work uniform would help her remain distanced from her attraction to Kassidy and her all-too-personal embarrassment over messing up their meeting last night. The effect had been somewhat spoiled by the impromptu lavender replanting session and subsequent chase after Dante.

  She carefully folded the dirty outfit and opened the closet to find something more casual. She chose a pair of khakis and a thin navy sweater and dressed quickly before sitting on the bed where she had tossed a stack of brochures from the lobby. Luckily, there were plenty of options to keep her occupied when she was in town and not directly working with Kassidy. Being in Kassidy’s presence was far too distracting, and Paige decided she’d minimize their time together as much as she could. Once she had an idea of the systems in place at the farm—and once Kassidy allowed her access to the holy account books—Paige would be able to do most of her work on her own, either here or back in Portland.

  Paige leaned back against the pillows and gazed out the window. She could see the entire eastern slope of the vineyard and its thick border of fir trees through the massive panes. Even though the trees were tall, the house was set high enough for her to have a great view of the sunrise. She had expected the place to have a shabby, country feel to it, but it was surprisingly elegant and modern. Her room was filled with gray. Gray comforter over ivory sheets. Gray and tan travertine tile fireplace and floating shelf. Sitting area chairs upholstered in gray and white geometric patterns. Gray dog bed. The place reminded her of her own apartment, with its neutral color palette and clean lines.

  An image of Kassidy’s living room, with its bright colors and more eclectic style, superimposed itself over the scene in front of her, complete with streaks of mud on the rug, and Kassidy smiling as if she didn’t care what kind of mess Paige’s dog made of her beautiful home. Paige stood up abruptly. She had to get out of this room, with its lack of television and abundance of quiet. She had to get her mind off Kassidy, unless it was to focus on her in an impersonal, business-related way. She might try to find an apology gift for her while she was out, though, but that didn’t really count as thinking about her. Maybe a state-of-the-art carpet cleaner. She grabbed a few brochures at random, picked up her pile of muddy clothes, and called Dante to come with her.

  She came down to the lobby and was greeted by the cheerful man at the reservation desk.

  “Nice to see you, Ms. Leighton. I hope you slept well last night. Can I interest you in a wine sample? I don’t believe you’ve tried our Syrah yet.”

  “Not right now, but thank you,” Paige said. She was plied with wine samples every time she passed by the front desk, no matter who was on duty. It was an effective marketing tool. She hadn’t really enjoyed the taste of their wine, especially when compared to Drew’s selection last night, but she had already bought two bottles seemingly against her will, driven by the friendly force of the employees’ enthusiasm. They’d make nice gifts for clients, at least.

  “Shall I pack a picnic lunch for you? We have some tables set up along the path through the vineyard.”

  “No, but thank you,” Paige said again. She bit back a laugh, wondering how many snacks and libations he would offer if she just stood here and let him run through every amenity the winery and inn had in its arsenal. She hurried on to make her own requests, so he didn’t have to keep guessing what would make her happy.

  “Can you recommend a dry cleaner? And I was hoping I could use the dog yard for an hour or so while I do some sightseeing. I have brochures,” she hastened to add, before he started listing recommendations.

  He pulled a map across the counter and circled a spot in downtown McMinnville. “This dry cleaner will be open all weekend. And you’re the only guest with a dog right now, so feel free to use the yard anytime you want. Does your dog want a bone?”

  “I’m sure he would,” Paige said. If she gave the same no, but thank you answer to that offering, Dante would probably bite her in the leg.

  She took the map and bone and put Dante in the small fenced yard with a promise to take him on a long walk before she went out to dinner later. She left him crunching happily on his treat, sitting half in and half out of the doghouse. When she had read about the inn being pet-friendly, she hadn’t realized how seriously they took the statement. Dante had received a complimentary basket of goodies that rivaled the one she had gotten. He had his fancy bed, water and food bowls, and access to this nice yard with a shelter in case it rained. The staff even provided dog walking and exercise services, although Paige didn’t think she would need them. Dante could go with her to Kassidy’s, providing a much-needed way to get Paige’s mind off Kassidy’s gorgeous hair and curves since she would need all her faculties about her to keep him from destroying entire rows of lavender.

  After Paige dropped off her dry cleaning, she wandered through the small old-fashioned downtown area. Historic buildings were given new purpose, and their street-level windows revealed upscale boutiques that were an interesting contrast to the stoic brick facades. Artisanal crafts and edibles filled the majority of the shops, from soaps to baked goods and art galleries to microbreweries.

  Paige couldn’t tell for certain whether the abundance of products worked together to provide an environment in which they all did well, or if the competition would make it difficult for most of the individual suppliers to thrive long-term. She jotted down her question in the notebook she had bought for this job. She used a new one for each client, keeping track of her impressions in the beginning, the topics she needed to master during the middle, and her conclusions once the consultation period was nearing its close.

  The Lavender Lane Farm notebook was mostly empty so far, with only Paige’s initial impressions after talking to Kenneth and a page of notes about Kassidy she had written last night. The part about Kassidy was a bit too flowery to be included in a business notebook, and admittedly written after Paige had had a few glasses of wine. She needed to tear out the page and eat the evidence.

  Now, though, she was fully in command of her emotional response to Kassidy. Or, at least, she was determined to ignore it until the job was done and she was out of Kassidy’s life. She wrote a reminder to investigate the longevity of the more successful businesses in town before putting the notebook in her back pocket and entering a shop dedicated to olive oil called OreOil. She wasn’t convinced this detour would help her with the Kassidy project, but she was intrigued by the single-minded focus of the store and curious about what could possibly be on the shelves besides bottles of olive oil.

  A bell jangled when she walked through the door, which featured the business’s name on it alongside a picture of an oriole, and a man came out of the back room. He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and three layers of shirts, all apparently chosen to be intentionally mismatched. Paige would never put together a yellow sweater, blue plaid button-down shirt, and white T-shirt, but the look somehow worked, and the guy looked like he should be standing in line at some hot new hipster club in the city rather than behind a counter in a small-town olive oil store.

  “Welcome to OreOil,” he said, giving her the same hearty type of
greeting she had gotten at every establishment in McMinnville, from the clerk at her bed-and-breakfast to the teen working at the dry cleaners. “I’m Everett. Are you browsing, or would you like to taste some olive oil?”

  Paige bit back the urge to honestly voice the question in her mind about who could possibly want to taste plain olive oil. She had learned her lesson about that last night when faced with perfumed chicken. Her initial reaction had been wrong then, so she might as well go against her better judgment and at least try his product.

  “I’ll give it a try,” she said, curious about how it would be served. On bread? Drizzled over a slice of ripe heirloom tomato?

  Or in a cup. She took the tiny paper container he handed her and looked suspiciously at the shimmering green liquid inside. This couldn’t be good for the digestion.

  “This is one of our more delicate oils. Cold pressed, of course, like all our oils. You’ll notice it has a light texture and a bright, grassy flavor.”

  Paige scrunched up her nose and took a sip, expecting to merely notice that it was oil, and therefore not a typical beverage option. Everett walked her through the process with several samples, though, mentioning bitterness and spiciness and even different vegetables at just the right time to help her identify what she was tasting. He also explained the process of harvesting and milling the oils in between handing her more samples, and she found the experience much more educational than she had expected. Still, her mouth felt greasy, and she wouldn’t need lip balm for the rest of the month.

  Once she had finished drinking her oils, she wandered through the little shop, amazed by the number of items made with olives. There were bottles of oil for sale, packaged in fancy wooden crates with the name of the store stamped on them and also sold individually for a lower price. Colorful jars of olives packed in flavored brines were stacked alongside some other pickled vegetables. An entire wall was devoted to skin- and hair-care products. Paige picked up a bar of olive oil soap flecked with deep blue lavender buds and sniffed it. The scent was strong, and definitely in the perfume-y category. Very different from the flavor in Kassidy’s chicken.

  “Ah, that’s one of our most popular fragrances,” Everett said when he noticed her holding the soap. “The lavender is grown locally, of course, by our resident lavender keeper.”

  “Lavender keeper,” Paige repeated with a smile. “Do you mean Kassidy Drake?”

  “Yes. Do you know her? She’s as lovely a person as the plants she grows.”

  “She is,” Paige agreed. “I mean, I assume she is. I just met her once.”

  Well, twice, but Paige decided not to include the party incident. They hadn’t exactly exchanged names, so it didn’t count as a real introduction.

  “What do you recommend as a gift for someone who loves cooking?” she asked, determined to change the subject at least as far as Everett knew. She decided not to say the gift was for Kassidy.

  He came over to the display of oils and took three small crates off the shelf. “You really can’t go wrong with any of these. The Select oils are well suited to cooking because they’re heartier and they won’t be overpowered even with meats and spices. This second package has oils that are sweeter and more delicate in flavor. They’re good for baking or for drizzling on food after it’s cooked. But these unfiltered oils are my personal favorite. The last sample you had was one of them. They aren’t for everyone since they are less refined, but someone who loves fresh produce and a real local flavor would probably appreciate them.”

  “This one will be perfect,” she said, pointing to the crate of unfiltered, cloudy oils. She had liked the rawness of the sample she’d tasted, and she had a feeling the strong flavors would blend well with lavender.

  She added a jar of citrus-flavored olives packed with Cipolline onions and hunks of preserved lemons, as well as the bar of soap, and paid for her purchases, thanking Everett for the time he had spent with her. She went to a few more shops in the downtown area, including a bakery where she bought a loaf of Italian bread to complement her olive and onion midnight snack and realized she needed to hurry back to the inn if she wanted to walk Dante before she went to dinner.

  She thought about her shopping trip as she wandered through the vineyard with Dante, making occasional notes in her book while never taking her attention completely off her dog in case he decided to excavate again. She had been in stores like the ones she had visited today before this, but she had never paid much attention to them beyond the products they sold. If they had something she wanted, good. If a chain store had it for a better price or had something mass-produced she wanted, also good. Today’s experience, though, had been as much about the people as what they were selling. Everett, the staff at this winery, and the other shopkeepers were passionate about their products, and this passion coupled with their expertise made the urge to buy their products nearly irresistible. Paige had brought packages of food and other items back to the room with her, but the memories of being in the stores and the information that was shared with her were what she had been willing to pay for.

  Dante pulled free, dodging under a vine and into the next row over from hers, and she dropped her notebook and hurried after him, catching sight of the bright yellow breast of the meadowlark he had flushed. She caught hold of him again and led him back to the path where she retrieved her now-dusty notebook. She put it in her back pocket and finally let her thoughts turn to the more discomfiting feelings she had experienced today. She wanted to push them aside, but she had to face them and then let them go because it didn’t do her any good to live with regrets or might-have-beens.

  She had originally decided to pursue economics in college and an MBA because she wanted to be exactly the type of business owner she had met today. Maybe not on this small a scale or in this tiny a town, but with the same grand passion she had seen in every business in McMinnville this afternoon. She had struggled when she was a recent graduate, though, to find a concept or interest or angle unique to herself, some way she could make her own mark in the world, but she hadn’t been able to come up with anything. Nothing.

  She was good at quite a few things. She was reasonably good at most sports, able to master the work in any academic class she took, confident and approachable enough to be elected to any school office she had pursued. But none of it was personal. Each endeavor was just a series of skills to learn, and she never cared about any of it beyond a superficial level. Superficial. She hated how much the word defined who she was in a very uncomfortable way, even though most people only saw the successes she had on the surface of her life.

  Paige checked the time on her phone and turned Dante back toward the inn since she only had half an hour before she was supposed to be at Sarai’s. Kassidy had asked her why she didn’t have her own business, and Paige wouldn’t admit the real reason. The peripheral ones were enough, and they told a small portion of the truth. She had taken a job at a consulting firm because she had wanted to get exposure to a variety of businesses, hoping to find the one that resonated with her. She hadn’t, but at least she had been good enough at observing companies and fixing what was wrong with them to make a living at it.

  Hopefully, she could do the same thing here. Help Kassidy mobilize her passion and get the farm performing to its highest potential. Learn a little about lavender along the way. And then move on to the next business that needed her help.

  Chapter Six

  Kassidy answered the call on Skype and smiled at the image filling her screen. She felt as if she was looking in a mirror at herself. If she was six years younger and cut her own hair with the dullest gardening shears in her shed.

  “Hey, K,” her sister Kayla said, rubbing her eye with a knuckle and yawning.

  “Hey, K. Late night?”

  “And early morning. The Pearsons’ mare colicked again, and then I had to go to Jane’s to check her gelding because you know how paranoid she gets when show season is almost here. I just got back here to the office and heard Kyle’s message
.”

  Kassidy smiled and didn’t bother to remind Kayla that she didn’t know either the Pearsons or Jane. Her sister had a habit of talking about her clients as if everyone knew who they were. Kayla cared so much about them and their animals, they seemed like family to her.

  “So, who’s this spy Dad sent to your farm? Should I come up there, or did you get rid of her?”

  Kassidy sighed. She shouldn’t have mentioned Paige’s visit when Kyle called last night. She had spent her early years taking care of her twin siblings, and somewhere during their time in college they had turned the tables and appointed themselves as her protectors. Apparently using the mafia model as their inspiration.

  “She’s not a spy,” Kassidy said. A good spy would have researched Kassidy and known what she grew, thereby missing the opportunity to call her chicken perfume-y. Or maybe that was all part of Paige’s evil plan to throw Kassidy off the scent. Dante was probably in on it, too. Kassidy pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh at her thoughts when her sister was looking so worried and exhausted. “I checked her out online, and she’s a legitimate consultant. A very expensive one. Besides, if Dad wanted to know about the farm, he’d just ask something straight out, like how much money did I lose last month, or do I really think people can make a living selling weeds.”