A Place for Us (Blue Harbor Book 1)

by Olivia Miles

  Now, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer for some caffeine. And the dull headache that was starting to rear probably had more to do with her withdrawal than the numbers she’d been staring at for hours.

  She went down the hall to the staff kitchen, a small room with just a mini-fridge, sink, and enough counter space for the coffee machine, hesitating in the doorway when she saw Robbie filling his mug. She glanced at her own, wondering if it was really worth it, but considering the orchard was on the edge of town and she couldn’t exactly just walk around the block and find the nearest coffee chain, she supposed that it was.

  “Hello,” she said, walking into the room.

  He looked over at her with mild surprise, his eyes roaming over her body with the sole purpose she knew of judging her choice of attire. She pushed back the twinge of disappointment that Robbie seemed completely disinterested in her appearance, much less attracted to her, when she couldn’t help noticing that time had improved his looks. His curly brown hair was cut shorter now, and he had a five-o’clock shadow on his strong jaw. His shoulders had filled out from his boyish frame, and he stood taller, with more confidence, like he belonged here. And maybe he did.

  She pushed her pride to the side as she dumped her cold coffee down the sink and filled it again. “So as manager,” she started, leaning against the counter as she took a sip of her coffee. Oh, that was good. About as good as the patient expression that Robbie was giving her. Robbie. Her Robbie, standing just a few feet away from her in jeans and a button-down shirt, and brown leather boots that were much more practical than the patent leather stilettos she was wearing. Or the pencil skirt that did seem unappreciated in this casual environment.

  “What is it exactly that you do?” she asked, genuinely curious about his daily responsibilities and how they could be made more efficient.

  He seemed to bristle at this, emitting a look that told her he didn’t appreciate being called into question. But finally he replied, “I oversee all the crops. I oversee the Sunday market. And I oversee all the events that take place at the orchard.”

  She nodded. “Like the Cherry Festival.”

  “And the Harvest Fest. And group tours or school events,” he said. “We have one this afternoon.”

  “And how much do we charge for the school to come through?”

  He gave her a long look—long enough to tell her the answer.

  “What about wine tastings? And I don’t mean a sampling in the market on Sunday. I mean a real proper tasting, with pairings and a farm table in the vineyard. That kind of thing would be perfect for a girls’ weekend—”

  Robbie shook his head. “That’s all Dennis. He oversees the distribution and business end of things. I run the daily operations.”

  “But you’re not a farmer,” she said to him, trying to see if he could explain this to her.

  “No, but I spent half my childhood on this orchard,” he said frankly. No room for nostalgia there. “And I paid attention.”

  “And so did I,” she said, pushing away from the counter. She glanced toward the door to see if anyone else was nearby, but the building that housed the business offices had always been limited to two offices, a small meeting room, and this kitchen. They were alone. And she suspected he was just as aware—and just as uncomfortable with this—as she was.

  Still, she hesitated before eventually speaking her mind. “Did you know my father had to take out a loan last year?”

  Robbie didn’t look surprised by this. “We had a bad apple crop last fall. Too much rain will do that, but you know that.” He shrugged. “Without apples, no cider. No picking activity, either. Without cider, no sales. Sure, we made do, but the numbers were down. There was no avoiding that.”

  She shook her head. “The problem is bigger than that. Selling things locally, even regionally, well, there’s only so far you can take it.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we have a good product here. Our ciders and our wines could really sell, if we had better distribution.”

  Robbie shook his head, chuckling softly. Britt frowned at him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” he said. “Coming in here, trying to make things bigger and better. You’ve been here since when? Friday? Afternoon? Your father’s been doing this for his entire life. Some years are going to be better than others. I’m fully aware that the numbers don’t look good. I’ve seen enough to know that times are tight. You can’t control Mother Nature.”

  There was something in his eyes that told her he knew there was more to this than too much rainfall.

  “No, but you can have a bigger profit margin to offset a bad year.”

  “And what do you propose exactly?”

  “Progress,” she said evenly. “And growth. Has anyone considered expanding the product line, offering more than cider and wine?”

  “Cider and wine is what Conway Orchard is known for. It’s our brand.”

  She bristled at the possessive tone he had taken, but decided not to comment.

  “And it’s not enough,” she said impatiently. She huffed out a breath and leaned a hip against the counter as she met his eye. “You can’t move forward without growth.”

  “Growth? Or change?” he asked, frowning deeply at her.

  “Aren’t they one in the same?” she replied evenly.

  “And aren’t you leaving in less three weeks?” he asked pointedly, and she knew he had her there.

  Even if she didn’t technically have to go anywhere. But with her father back at work, there would be no room for her here. And, from the look of things, no way of paying her either.

  “I’ve been known to turn around entire companies in less time than that, or at least give them a plan to get them back on their feet.”

  He picked up his mug and walked to the door. “Maybe so, but we aren’t a company, we’re a family business. Your family business, as you keep pointing out. But I don’t think your father wants you coming in here and trying to fix things.”

  She held up a hand. “I can deal with my father.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just saying that I’ve worked with the man for over a year now. This isn’t about growing the business to him. It’s about protecting a family legacy. He’s proud of the traditions he has in place here, and I’m grateful to be a part of it. So there was a bad year. I’m fully aware.”

  “I’m trying to help. And I think I know my father a little better than you do, Robbie.”

  He raised an eyebrow, silencing her, and a terrible shame twisted her stomach.

  “If you want to help, then I suggest pitching in on everything we need to do to get the Cherry Festival going. We have less than four weeks now and I’m sure your dad will want to return to work knowing that everything is ready.”

  She nodded. He had a point there.

  But that still didn’t mean she would stop there. The Cherry Festival wasn’t just their biggest day of the year. It was also the perfect time to test new products, and see what they could do to move Conway Orchard out of the past.

  And maybe, to bring her out of it too.

  *

  Britt finally looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of her just as a bright yellow school bus pulled into the public lot near the barn. Even through the warm breeze filtering through her open window, she could hear the small, excited voices of the children as they were led through the berry path, buckets in hand, by Dory Williams, the woman her father had employed to give tours long before Britt had even been born.

  She smiled, thinking of how huge and exciting it had felt as a child to roam through the rows of trees and bushes, to pick a treat right off a branch, and taste a strawberry or cherry when it was warm and ripe.

  The sun was shining and the sky was blue, not a cloud in it. She had a pair of sandals in the trunk of her car. On a whim, she decided to put them on, take a walk through the fields and see all that this school tour entailed and
if anything had changed over the years—though, knowing Dory’s enthusiasm for sharing all her knowledge and all her stories, Britt could only assume that much had stayed the same.

  Like pretty much everything around here.

  Still, some fresh air would be nice, and she hadn’t said a proper hello to Dory, who spent all her time outside, while Britt remained inside. Maybe she could poll the kids for a few ideas for improving the place. Do a little due diligence while she was at it, without Robbie making observations or shaking his head.

  She frowned to herself as she walked to the car and swapped her heels for the much more comfortable flats. A business couldn’t just stay the same, year after year, and expect to thrive. Even her father had recognized this when he’d taken over the orchard and started making wine.

  She’d talk to him, soon. If she could ever get a word with him away from Candy.

  Her lip curled on the image of Candy spoon-feeding her father a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream last night. She didn’t know which part was worse, that her sixty-year-old father with a fully functioning right arm was being spoon-fed, or that Candy knew that his favorite flavor of ice cream was chocolate chip.

  Or that there was a woman living in her house who was not her mother.

  She slammed the trunk of her car a little harder than necessary and turned back to the fields. The kids were up ahead, in the cherry orchard, learning all about the growing process from Dory, who never spared a detail, no matter how tedious. She was an older woman now, a little frailer than Britt remembered, but the energy of the kids seemed to bring out her smile.

  And she’d always been proud of these cherries. No doubt, any chance to show off a bit of her effort was enough to brighten her entire day.

  Britt glanced at a few as she walked over to the group. Not ripe yet, but it wouldn’t be long now…

  And the Cherry Festival was a huge draw for tourists. Robbie was right; if she put her energy into making it a huge success, then they could make up their losses from last fall and maybe even pay off that loan before it came due in a few short months.

  “Hello!” A little girl with dark hair and big brown eyes stopped walking with the group and waited for her. “Are you here to pick strawberries too?”

  Britt considered this. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but seeing the hopeful expression in the child’s face, she wasn’t exactly sure how she could resist.

  “I don’t have a basket,” she said with regret. It would take too long to turn back now.

  “You can share with me,” the girl said happily.

  Britt felt a sense of warmth spread over her that she hadn’t experienced in a workday—make that any day—in…well, a long time. Too long, she thought, as she maneuvered her pencil skirt to crouch beside the girl. Too much of her time was spent in boardrooms, in suits, meeting with people whom she would leave and never see again, floating from one concrete building to the next, one hotel bed to the next, never making anything, or anyone, permanent.

  Never getting too close.

  “Oh, not that one,” she said gently, guiding the child’s hand away from a cluster of berries that still needed at least another week to grow.

  “Oh, I know!” the child said proudly. “You don’t pick the green ones. You pick the red ones. I know all about which berries are the best.”

  “Is that so?” Britt looked down, amused, as she dropped a few strawberries into the basket that sat between them. “Did Dory tell you?”

  The little girl shook her head. “My daddy. He knows all about these things. Basically, he knows everything.”

  Britt grinned. She used to think that about her father too. Still did, in many ways, even if his judgment was clearly off, and not just about the state of the business’s finances. Her mouth pinched when she thought of the way his eyes watched Candy as she fluttered about, trying to look useful. Trying to look something, that much was for sure.

  Feeling connected to the little girl, she leaned in, glanced around, and said in a stage whisper, “You know, the best way to tell if a berry is ready is to taste it.”

  She popped one into her mouth, smiling at the taste, and, after a moment, the little girl did the same, giggling the entire time.

  “I think those are pretty perfect,” Britt said. They tasted the same now as they had when she was just as small as this girl, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost believe she was still that young again, carefree and full of hope, before everything changed.

  “Sampling the product, I see,” a voice boomed behind them, and Britt shot up, even though she knew it was silly. This was her land. Her family’s property. But somehow, being away, she no longer felt like she held a place here.

  Before she could rise to her defense, the little girl shot past her, squealing, “Daddy!” before launching herself at his chest, her arms tight around his waist.

  Britt stared at Robbie, trying to read the look in his eyes. He was wary, maybe even concerned, and he was looking at her for an explanation.

  “I didn’t know this was your daughter,” she clarified. She grinned at the little girl, now noticing for the first time what must have drawn her to her in the first place. The same brown hair as Robbie. The same warm, chocolate eyes.

  She pulled in a breath. This was Robbie’s child. She’d known she existed but never saw pictures. Once, there was a time when she imagined her own children with Robbie, but here they were, so many years later, and despite all their dreams and plans, they hadn’t happened.

  Not for her anyway.

  She took in father and daughter for one more aching second and then held out her hand, “I’m Britt Conway.”

  “Like the name of the farm?” the child asked, reaching out to take her hand. “I’m Keira.”

  “Britt’s my boss,” Robbie told Keira, and then glanced back at Britt, his look challenging but slightly amused.

  She sighed, grinning a little. “Not really. Your dad and I are…old friends.”

  That was one way of putting it, she thought. More like first loves. And in her case, only loves. She pushed aside the hurt in her chest as she met Robbie’s gaze. Did he still feel it? The connection? The memories? The attraction? Judging from his demeanor, he felt nothing at all.

  But then, he’d moved on a long time ago, hadn’t he? While she…she’d simply moved away.

  “You know my dad?” Keira’s face lit up.

  Britt nodded. “That’s right. We used to play on this very farm. In fact, your dad used to help me pick all these strawberries so that my mother could make jam.”

  “I like jam,” Keira said, grinning. “Does she still make it?”

  Britt felt her smile slip. She swallowed back the lump that made it hard to speak, to even breathe. This was why it was easier in Chicago, or on the road, where people didn’t know her past, and didn’t really ask much about it, either. Where no one had to know that she’d lost her mother when she was only eighteen years old. When she didn’t have to miss her so much, or think about her every day.

  “No, she…she passed away.”

  “Oh.” Keira’s expression immediately fell. “My mommy’s in heaven too.”

  Britt looked up and met Robbie’s gaze. His eyes were flat, his jaw set, and he silently reached down and took his daughter’s hand.

  Britt remembered what her father had said, about giving him this job, about knowing how he felt.

  Robbie was raising this little girl all on his own. Now, seeing them together, she couldn’t help but think of her own father, and how he must have felt, with four girls under his roof, and then three, when she left.

  Was it any wonder he’d never dated? There was no time.

  But Robbie… She didn’t allow that thought to bloom.

  “What else did you and my daddy used to do?” the girl asked.

  Britt caught the mirth in Robbie’s gaze and did her best to keep a smile from forming, but there it was all the same. She didn’t allow herself to think of the past—the good times, or the b
ad—but now, with Keira staring at her expectantly, she saw no choice.

  “Well, we used to go swimming. And ride bikes.” Britt paused as a memory came back to her. “And once your daddy and I had a contest to see who could pick more strawberries, and I couldn’t understand why the more I picked, the less I had in my basket.”

  Robbie was watching her carefully, as if he too had forgotten that day until now.

  “Did he take them?” Keira looked at her father, aghast.

  Now Britt grinned. “Turned out he was eating them.”

  Robbie laughed, a sound that was loud and rich and achingly familiar, even if she hadn’t heard it in nearly half a lifetime.

  “It was payback,” Robbie chimed in. “Britt and I were always trying to outdo each other. Once, Britt dared me to see who could climb higher on the big maple tree in front of her house. And guess who got stuck on a branch with no way down?”

  Britt narrowed her eyes at him, but she couldn’t push away her smile. “My father would have eventually gotten me down,” she said.

  “Or the fire department,” Robbie pointed out.

  Instead it had been Robbie who climbed up on his own and guided her back down the tree until they were on firm ground. Hand in hand. Arm in arm. He’d kissed her then, their first kiss. Right up against the trunk of that old tree. She hadn’t even cared if her sisters were watching out the window, and they had been, of course they had. They’d heard her screams when she couldn’t get down from the top branch and Robbie had made a big show of saying he had somewhere to be, have a nice night…

  She swallowed hard, pushing away the memory of his kiss. The sweetness of it. The way it had taken her by surprise yet felt so natural all at once.

  “You know,” she said, leaning down to give the little girl a smile. “I bet that if you fill that basket with strawberries, you could have enough to make a strawberry smoothie for breakfast tomorrow.”

  Keira squinted up at her and shook her head. “I’m not sure my dad could handle that.”

  Britt burst out laughing, and even Robbie joined in. “Oh, I bet he could,” she said, giving him a rueful look. “He’s pretty amazing, your dad, you know.”