Page 63 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

I rush upstairs and get to work on our lattes, snagging a cozy cashmere sweater on my way down. Five minutes later, I’m curled up in my favorite chair, the autumn sun warming my face, when I take my first sip of coffee.

“Thanks for this,” I say to my sister. Tally admitted to me last spring that her dream was to open a bakery across the street from me so we could have mornings like this for the rest of our lives. The reality is better than I could have ever imagined. For so long, my sister barely spent any time in Hope Harbor; having her back is amazing, but having her right across the street brings a comfort I never knew I needed.

“Of course,” she replies. “Though I promised Mom I’d drop off some at the house before taking them to the orchard, so I can’t stay too long.”

“I can take them,” I offer. “I haven’t been by the farm all week.”

Guilt hits me as I say the words. Normally—before Monty came back to town—I’d spend every free moment I had at the farm. When my father was still alive, I’d help him sell our golden and red mums, bales of hay, and even pumpkins as soon as fall hit. I might prefer to pick my pumpkins from a patch, but there are plenty of people who like the grab-and-go nature of the farm shop. My mom also had a whole selection of fall decorations to sell.

Those offerings were second to the large maze and haunted tractor rides the farm hosted every year—though the thought of running those events without our dad is unbearable.

“How are things going on the farm?” I ask Tally now.

“Okay, I guess. They’ve got their last wedding next weekend. After that it will be too cold. Walker’s looking into heating for the cottages but it’s a big expense.”

For the past year, Walker has been working hard to turn the farm into a profitable business. One of his ideas has been to fix up the thirteen cottages on the property so he can rent them out to wedding guests in spring and summer, and to tourists in autumn and winter. Heat would obviously help with that.

I focus on the pretty tree right outside my store—some of the leaves have already started to turn a mesmerizing golden color.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about the maze and the haunted hayride,” Tally says, drawing me back to our conversation.

I lean forward. The haunted hayride was always my favorite. Actually, I can’t say that, because I love almost every event during this season. Pumpkin picking, the haunted hayride, bonfire nights. I suck in a lungful of air and can practically feel the woodsy burn, the muscle memory so strong.

“What about them?”

“We should figure out a way to do them this year.”

I nod even though it feels like my throat is closing. Sometimes I miss my father so much it feels like my insides are freezing over. Right now is one of those moments.

I guess that’s just how it’ll be for a while. Grief doesn’t have an expiration date. Or if it does, I doubt we’re anywhere near it.

“It’s what Daddy would have wanted,” I agree. “For us to keep up the tradition.”

Tally gives me a watery smile. “Okay, I’ll talk to Walker.”

Swallowing down a bite of donut, I try to focus on the present rather than the past. “God, this is good,” I say before turning the conversation back to the farm. “I’ve been making a little bit of extra money lately. Maybe I can help with the heating expenses?”

“Mom would never take a dime from you. Neither would Walker. But if you can get that hot boyfriend of yours to help out with setting up the maze…” Her eyes dance and I giggle.

“I definitely will help in any way I can,” I promise. “But Monty is under a deadline.”

“No problem. We can plan to both help out this week. Just let me know what day works best.” She takes a sip of her coffee and the whipped cream sticks to her lips. “God, you seriously need to give in and tell me what the secret ingredient is!”

“And lose out on all this lovely sister time?” I laugh. “Never!”

Tally curls up in her chair, a smile on her face. “You’re right. It tastes better when you make it.”

***

Hours later at the orchard I am the opposite of warm and cozy. I decided to wear a red-and-black-plaid skirt with boots and a black sweater. The outfit was cute when I was still in my bookstore, but when the afternoon sun disappears beneath puffy white clouds and an early shadow is cast over the orchards, I’m regretting my bare legs. Monty and I have spent the early afternoon serving customers at the orchard. Given that we were let off the hook with planning the Maple Festival, volunteering to help felt like the least we could do.

Not that I’m complaining. Because whenever there’s been a lull in foot traffic, Monty has tested out his awful fall-themed dirty talk on me.

He turns to me now, a coy smile on his face, and I know he’s about to hit me with another line.

“If your left leg is Thanksgiving and your right leg is Christmas”—his brows jump as he grins—“can I visit you between the holidays?”

I smack him on the shoulder as I let out an incredulous laugh. “Did you read any of the books I gave you this week? Your one-liners need help.”