“Maybe God is going to take all that training and use it now,” Gigi said. “For something that makes your heart leap. God’s in the dream-making business, you know.”
Evelyn paused. “I don’t know, but I want to.”
“You’re off to a good start, dear,” Gigi said. “Pay attention and stay open, and your purpose has a way of finding you.”
Evelyn met Gigi’s eyes and smiled.
Friday evening, Trevor stood in front of the mirror, wondering if he should shave. How was a farmer supposed to dress to host a community dinner?
In all the years he’d been running the farm, he’d never done anything like this, and he still couldn’t believe the number of tickets they’d sold. He owed it all to Evelyn, who’d planned it from beginning to end, and those Valentine Volunteers, who’d helped them overcome the hostile opinions of some members of the community.
They’d spent the entire day hanging white lights in the barn and the trees that surrounded it. Glass jars she’d converted into lanterns hung from the low branches of the trees and sat at the centers of all the tables, many of which were set up outdoors just to make room for everybody.
Lilian had been cooking all day, dishes made entirely from farm-raised meat and homegrown vegetables. Soon people would be able to pick their very own produce right here on the farm.
While he’d resisted these ideas at first, even he had to admit Evelyn had had a stroke of genius when she suggested them.
Lilian appeared behind him, looking more dressed up than he’d ever seen her in a long skirt and loose white top.
“You look fancy.”
She hitched up the skirt just above her ankles to reveal cowboy boots. “I’m still your favorite aunt underneath all this pretty.” She grinned, then glanced at Trevor’s clothes. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“I’m not putting on a tie,” Trevor said.
“Cargo pants and a button-down are hardly dressy,” Lilian said.
“I’m wearing sandals.” He smirked.
“Wait till you see Evelyn. You’re going to feel like an underdressed fool.”
He could only imagine.
Lilian smacked his arm. “Get it together. Your girlfriend is out there too.”
Maggie. He hadn’t seen her in days. In fact, he hadn’t even called her. They’d all been so busy getting ready. And if he was honest, he’d been so focused on trying to stop thinking about Evelyn, he’d stopped thinking about everything but work.
Shouldn’t things be moving more quickly with Maggie? Shouldn’t they be more serious than they were? He’d never been much of a casual dater, but even he had to admit that’s exactly what they were. Casual.
He was walking toward the white barn, thankful for the perfect weather, when the sound of voices coming from inside stopped him. The door was ajar.
He inched closer, careful to be quiet as he did.
“How long did you think you’d get away with this?”
That was Evelyn. What in the world was she talking about?
“Just until I could prove the truth.”
And that was Maggie. The two of them didn’t even know each other—what could they possibly have to discuss?
“I don’t know what you think you know, but I did nothing wrong. I would’ve told you that if you’d asked me, but instead you dragged my friend into this and made fools of both of us.”
Trevor frowned.
“In my experience, guilty people aren’t forthcoming with questions from a reporter,” Maggie said. “I knew if I was going to be the one to break the other side of the Christopher Brandt story, I had to do it like this.”
“You had to lie?” Evelyn raised her voice. “Did you even think about who you were hurting when you wrote those things?”
What was she saying? That Maggie was the one responsible for the stories about Evelyn? About her anxiety and her medication? About their supposed affair? Maggie had dragged both their names through the mud—and Evelyn knew about it?
His jaw tightened.
“Oh, please,” Maggie said. “Everyone knows there was no way Trevor was going to fall in love with me or anyone else.”
Trevor darted inside, catching their attention and stopping Maggie from voicing her theories on his feelings for Evelyn aloud.
Both women spun to face him.
“Trevor,” Maggie said.
“Is it true?”
She took a breath. “I can explain.”
He looked at Evelyn, wearing a blue sundress and looking horrified at the sight of him. “And you knew about this?”
She turned away.
“Well, I guess the joke’s on me then.”
“Trevor, please,” Maggie said. “I know how it looks, but I really like you. I never wanted you to get hurt.”
He put his hands on his hips and leveled his gaze. “I’m not hurt, Maggie. But what were you thinking? Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t mean for it to get out of control,” she said. “And I really didn’t mean to like you so much.”
He glanced at Evelyn, who focused on the ground.
“You should go, Maggie.”
“Trevor, please.”
He faced her. “Go.”
She lifted her chin as if to reposition her dignity. “Fine. But you and I both know you were just looking for a reason to walk away from me.” She looked from Evelyn to Trevor and stormed off just as Gigi, Doris, and Ursula arrived.
“Whit.” Evelyn moved toward him.
But he took a step away. “Evening, ladies. Welcome to Whitney Farms.”
CHAPTER
33
EVELYN WISHED SHE COULD TURN BACK THE CLOCK. If only she’d told Whit the truth about Maggie as soon as she got home from The Paper Heart. If only she hadn’t accused Maggie the second she walked in the barn.
She watched as, without so much as a glance in her direction, Trevor welcomed his guests to the dinner she’d planned and executed. He mingled and talked like a person who actually liked to entertain, and she had to hand it to him—he pulled it off.
“This is such a wonderful idea, bringing the community together like this,” said one of the ladies Evelyn recognized in face but not in name, stopping Trevor with a hand on his arm.
He stiffened at her touch, likely anxious to get this thing over with, but forced a smile and a polite thank-you.
“Everything is just lovely,” another woman said.
At that, Evelyn expected a glance, a smile—something—but he only nodded and moved on.
Lilian’s slow-cooked roast beef with rosemary potatoes was received with requests for her secret recipe, which, of course, she refused to give.
Evelyn would’ve asked Trevor how he felt about the whole event, but he avoided her all night long, and that made her sad.
She hadn’t even had a chance to tell him how she’d felt about planning that evening. How it awakened some sense of purpose inside her and gave her so many other ideas to help the farm grow.
And while the dinner was, as a whole, a huge success, the victory was empty because she couldn’t share it with Trevor.
Days passed and Trevor and Evelyn still hadn’t spoken about Maggie. They settled instead into a distant working relationship. With the dinner event behind them, they both turned their attention to the Sweetheart Festival and the rebranding of the wooden hearts.
Whit cut the hearts out and left them on her front porch, but the days of him knocking and checking on her were gone.
She’d set up a makeshift studio in the sunroom and spent most of her time there, transforming his blank wooden hearts into works of art.
Never mind that she had no idea if anyone else would see them that way. She supposed she would find out at the Sweetheart Festival dance when Gigi unveiled their plans for all of Loves Park to see.
Loves Park, which still hadn’t forgiven her.
She shoved the thoughts aside, reminding herself again to focus instead on what God thought of her. That she w
as good and lovely. That she was a masterpiece. Created anew.
She’d written the Ephesians verse on a note card and hung it on her bathroom mirror so she wouldn’t forget the message that comforted her when she needed it most. As an artist, one word stuck out to her. A creator had to be quite pleased with his creation to call it a masterpiece. Was it really possible God saw her that way?
Saturday morning, two weeks after the dinner event, the sound of voices outside woke Evelyn early. She peeked out the curtains and saw Trevor and Lilian, along with two farmhands, loading the truck for the farmers’ market.
She hadn’t been out in a few days, and the thought of spending the whole day at the farm alone didn’t make her happy. She dressed quickly—jean shorts, a tank top, and a loose white button-down—pulled her hair into a long side braid, and hurried outside.
She approached the truck as Lilian pegged Trevor in the face with a carrot, teasing, “Yoo-hoo. Earth to Trevor.”
He picked up the carrot and turned to her. “Do you really want to start something with me?”
She grinned. “You’re not so tough.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Evelyn called as Trevor lifted his arm to toss the carrot back.
He spun around, but she didn’t see kindness in his face.
“I poured a lot of love into those carrots, Whit. Don’t you dare turn them into weapons,” she said, hoping somehow they could move past her bad decisions.
He dropped the carrot. “Sorry.”
“You’re out of your art cave,” Lilian said, shooting Trevor a dirty look.
“I needed a break,” Evelyn said. “Can I come with you guys?”
“To the market?” Lilian asked.
She shrugged. “I’ve never been.”
Lilian glanced at Trevor, who said nothing, then back at Evelyn.
“I don’t have to come,” Evelyn said, feeling like an intruder.
Lilian hopped down from the bed of the truck. “Don’t be ridiculous. We would love the extra help.” She reprimanded Trevor with a look. “And like you said, you poured a lot of love into these vegetables.”
Evelyn found herself at a loss for words. Trevor must’ve really liked Maggie to be this upset about her betrayal. And Evelyn’s.
“You’d be doing me a huge favor,” he finally said. “Give me someone other than her to spend the day with.”
Slowly Evelyn met his eyes and forced herself to hold them. “Okay, then.”
Lilian held up a half sheet of paper. “Plus, you can help us push this pick-your-own-vegetables day. It was your idea, after all.”
Evelyn smiled. “You’re actually doing it?” She glanced at Trevor, but he didn’t say anything.
“The dinner went so well, I’ve already got another one on the calendar,” Lilian said. “We figured we should give all your ideas a try.”
An unfamiliar feeling of accomplishment bubbled at Evelyn’s core. She’d been forced to plan parties and gatherings for years and hated every minute. Somehow, planning this event, giving back to the people who had embraced her when she was at her worst, brought with it a whole new significance.
Maybe Gigi was right. Maybe all those years of social events would serve her well. She thought back to the mornings she’d spent with her sketch pad and wondered if God could take the very thing she’d loathed about her life in the public eye and turn it into something with meaning. She’d asked him to reveal her purpose, hadn’t she?
And what was it Gigi had said? “Pay attention and stay open”? What if this was all part of it—the reason she was here? In the quiet moments between pencil lines and brushstrokes, her mind always wandered there, searching for a way to pull the weeds that had grown up around her life, strangling her abilities and pulling her from anything God might’ve had for her.
Trevor got in the truck and started the engine. The passenger door swung open, and Evelyn stared at the bench seat. Three people would make for cramped quarters. Best if she sat by the window, Lilian in the middle. Trevor probably wanted as much distance between them right now as possible.
Lilian gave her a light push. “You get in, Evie,” she said. “I forgot my phone inside.” Lilian took off for the house, leaving Evelyn peering into the truck.
Trevor glanced at her but quickly faced forward. She pulled herself onto the seat, and seconds later Lilian emerged from the farmhouse, carrying the phone she probably had in her pocket all along.
Trevor’s aunt wouldn’t likely put up with their tension for much longer.
“Scoot,” Lilian bossed, hopping up on the seat beside Evelyn.
Evelyn moved next to him, her body tense as Trevor started toward town, country music on the radio, Lilian humming along.
“Thanks for letting me tag along with you guys,” Evelyn said. “I’ve never sold anything at a farmers’ market.”
Lilian popped a piece of gum in her mouth. “Why not? You could set up a whole booth with your artwork.”
“People sell artwork at the farmers’ market?”
Lilian laughed. “Just you wait and see.”
Evelyn kept her eyes on the road. “I guess I will.”
Lilian shook her head. “How is it possible you’ve never been before? You’ve lived in Loves Park since high school.”
“Christopher thought they were too ‘homegrown.’”
Lilian gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Evelyn shrugged, her shoulder bumping Trevor’s. “Who knows with Christopher?”
They pulled in near what appeared to be their booth space.
“I don’t care what your rich ex-husband thinks, Evie,” Lilian said. “This market is the heart of this town. If he had any sense, he would’ve realized that a long time ago.”
There were a lot of things he would’ve realized a long time ago . . . if he had any sense.
Evelyn and Trevor began unloading their homegrown vegetables, which they carried from the truck to their booth’s table, box by box. More than once, she paused to take a look around. It was a shame she’d never been to the market before.
It felt right, her being there, and she decided the new Evelyn would love to be a part of the homegrown community of Loves Park.
There. A decision she made all for herself—and not because anyone told her to.
Baby steps, but it was still progress.
“Once it’s all set up, we’ll have to walk through,” Trevor said.
“Really?” She faced him. He would do that with her?
“You’ll love it. There’s all kinds of vendors. Art, jewelry, candles, food.”
“I always wanted to come,” Evelyn said, grabbing a basket of cilantro. “But Christopher was so concerned with public perception.”
“Wouldn’t the public perceive you were out to support your town? Buy local and all that?”
Another shrug. “Yes, but he had himself convinced local meant cheap. And nothing about Christopher was ever cheap.”
Trevor watched her for a long moment, then went back to hauling boxes of vegetables.
“We brought a lot,” Evelyn said, picking up another box.
“The market brings in a big crowd,” Lilian said. “Thanks to you, we have more vegetables than we normally have. Should be a good market for us.” She smiled.
“Thanks to me?”
“Yeah. With you tending part of the garden, those vegetables have been thriving. Haven’t you noticed?”
She hadn’t noticed. She’d been too focused on not messing up the plot of land they’d put in her care.
“Get ready,” Lilian said, nodding toward the front gates of the market. “Here they come.”
Evelyn couldn’t believe the number of people who’d turned out so early on a Saturday morning. The booth was instantly busy, and while Trevor carried, lifted, and hauled, Evelyn mostly tried to stay out of the way.
Lilian mingled, took money and made change, and occasionally asked for Evelyn’s help, which she was happy to give. By noon she’d de
cided she liked being at the farmers’ market and she loved feeling like a part of Whitney Farms, whether she really was or not.
“We should have a lull now,” Lilian told her. “Mind straightening the front table?”
Evelyn nodded and did as she was told. She started by rearranging the berries, stacking them carefully so shoppers could see how appealing they were.
She smiled at the thought. She used to believe diamonds and pearls were beautiful, but now it was berries and radishes that captivated her.
“Evelyn?”
She looked up. “Lydia.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
How long had it been since the FBI had interrupted their luncheon at her house on Brighton? How long since she bore the weight of this woman’s judgmental stares across the table? She swallowed, her throat dry as cotton.
Lydia leaned in but did nothing to quiet her voice. “What are you doing here?”
Evelyn looked at Trevor, seated on a crate. He picked up an apple, took out his pocketknife, and cut off a chunk.
Lydia did a slow turn toward him right as he glanced their way. She raised a brow. “Oh, I see.”
“I’m just helping out,” Evelyn explained. “I weed the garden.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” She raised a brow. “I read about you two.”
Evelyn moved behind the table of berries as if that would put a safe distance between her and this barracuda.
Lydia shrugged. “I say good for you. Christopher has always been a slimeball. Isn’t that right, farmer?”
“His name is Trevor,” Evelyn said.
He took another bite of his apple, still regarding them, but said nothing.
“Does Georgina know you’re having a fling with the farmer?”
“I’m not having a fling.” Evelyn sounded defensive.
Lydia laughed. “That’s right. I read that pitiful retraction in the paper. Did you pay for that?”
Evelyn’s shoulders sank.
“Wait, I forgot. You’re broke.” She pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket. “I’ll take an assortment of vegetables. I’m nothing if not charitable.”
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