Page 81 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘Pop!’ Molly protested, though she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

‘What?’ Eddie spread his hands innocently. ‘I’m old, sweetheart, not blind. And I’ve seen that expression before – on your nan’s face when she first looked at me across a room.’ He turned to Jack, his gaze sharpening slightly in assessment. ‘You’ll take care of her, buddy.’ It was a statement not a question.

Jack met the older man’s eyes without hesitation. ‘With everything I have,’ he promised, the simple words carrying the weight of absolute sincerity.

‘Jaysus,’ Patrick’s soft chuckle broke the moment of intensity. ‘Look at us,’ he said, gesturing around the table. ‘Four strangers a month ago, family now.’ He raised his glass again. ‘To unexpected blessings.’

‘And family,’ Eddie amended, lifting his own glass to meet Patrick’s.

‘And new beginnings,’ Jack added, his voice low and meant primarily for Molly.

She raised her glass, meeting each of their gazes in turn – Pops with his lifetime of steady support, Patrick with his newfound place in her heart, Jack with his promise of something wonderful and unexpected.

‘To Nan,’ she said simply, her voice steady despite the emotion swelling in her chest. ‘For making it all possible.’

Through the windows, Golden Valley spread in nighttime splendor; the lake a black mirror reflecting scattered stars, barley fields swaying in gentle rhythms against the evening breeze, the distant silhouette of the oak above the orchard a darker shadow against the night sky.

Molly felt Jack’s thumb trace a gentle pattern against her palm, the small gesture communicating more than words could express.

‘When will you tell your boss?’ he asked quietly, his dark eyes serious in the candlelight.

‘I actually called him this afternoon,’ Molly admitted. ‘He wasn’t thrilled, but believe it or not, the Goldenridge video reached them too, so they’re viewing it more as a sabbatical to “explore alternate creative approaches”.’

Jack’s smile was slow and warm. ‘And is that what you’ll be doing? Exploring alternate approaches?’

‘You could call it that,’ she replied, holding his gaze with newfound certainty. The past two weeks had transformed her in ways she was only beginning to understand – not just in finding family and roots, but in rediscovering parts of herself that New York’s pace and pressure had gradually buried.

‘I’m glad,’ Jack said simply. ‘I really wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye.’

‘Neither was I,’ she admitted. ‘Even before our … misunderstanding, I was reluctant to leave Golden Valley.’ Her fingers tightened around his. ‘Leave you.’

The admission – honest and unconditional – hung between them. Jack’s eyes softened, the usual guardedness now completely absent as he looked at her. ‘The orchard has always been my anchor,’ he said quietly. ‘But you’ve helped me see it doesn’t have to be my boundary.’

Brid reappeared at their table then, her silver-streaked hair elegantly coiffed, her manner brisk yet warmly familiar. ‘Will ye be having dessert?’ she asked, her gaze lingering significantly on their linked hands beneath the table.

‘Definitely,’ Eddie replied, his appreciation for food undiminished by the day’s emotional intensity. ‘Some of that apple tart please. And coffee, if you have it.’

‘Of course, pet,’ Brid assured him with a fondness that made Molly suspect her grandfather had already thoroughly charmed the hotel proprietor during the short time they’d known each other. ‘I’ll bring it with some custard.’

As Brid departed, Patrick leaned back in his chair, his expression more relaxed than Molly had yet seen it. The lines of his face seemed less pronounced, as if some long-carried tension had finally eased.

‘It’s mad,’ he said, his gaze moving between them. ‘I’ve spent decades wondering what became of Aoife, imagining all the paths her life might have taken.’ He nodded toward Molly and Jack. ‘I’m only delighted those paths led to good places.’

‘Full circle,’ Eddie agreed, his face softening as he winked at Molly. ‘She’d appreciate that, too. Aoife always did like to finish things properly.’

Epilogue

Molly paused outside The Cherry Blossom Café, her breath forming small clouds in the crisp March air as she studied a poster in the window. Golden Valley Blossom Festival, it proclaimed in swirling pink letters above a watercolor illustration of apple trees in full bloom.

She pushed open the door, and the café’s familiar interior enveloped her immediately, carrying the mingled scents of cinnamon, coffee and freshly baked goods. The wooden floors creaked beneath her boots as she unwound her scarf, still necessary despite the warming spring temperatures.

Each small detail here had become precious to her over the last six months – the worn leather bench in the corner where Patrick often joined her for a chat, the antique mirror behind the counter that reflected the village square.

But most of all …

‘Helloooo,’ Eva sang from behind the counter, her hands busy with a steaming teapot as she poured for the morning regulars. Her curly hair was piled into its usual messy bun, held together today by what appeared to be a wooden spoon. ‘Just in time, I’ve a fresh batch of those fruit scones you’re so fond of.’

‘You’re a mind reader,’ Molly replied, settling onto her usual stool at the counter. The familiarity of the routine – this daily morning treat in town before heading up to the orchard – still struck her with occasional wonder. How quickly the extraordinary could become habit.