She groaned and checked the display. Vince Brady’s name came up.
Avery answered. “Hey there, Vince.”
“Hi, Avery. Hey, I’m sorry to bother you while you’re taking a few days off, but I just wanted to touch base with you to let you know that with the drought and all we’re coming into the end of the season a little early. I know you like all your produce fresh and we’re doing our final harvest on pecans, almonds, and walnuts this week. Thought I ought to tell you.”
“Oh . . .” That news spun Avery when she wasn’t expecting it. She knew what day it was, knew how many days she had to each holiday. But somehow the end of harvest gave Avery a whole different perspective. It signaled a sharp sales peak over the holidays, then several long, quiet months before summer.
Suddenly, Avery’s mind tripped into gear with this hit of urgency, and her mind churned over recipes, cash flow, and storage space.
“I need to do a little planning,” she told him. “Can I call you back in a few?”
After a quick look over her finances, she saw what she feared: she was going to have to choose between landscaping for the café and grabbing the nuts fresh at a bulk price, which would save her money in the long run, but . . .
But if she didn’t get over herself and find a contractor to finish the damn café, she risked getting such a late start on the holiday season that it wouldn’t be worth opening the café until summer. If that happened, she would be both putting her life on hold again and falling backward financially.
Her stubborn streak flared. No. She’d come way too far for that.
She picked up her phone and texted Delaney.
Can you get the information on the guy Trace suggested? A contractor friend who had a job fall through? I’m coming home tomorrow.
Then she dialed Vince’s line at Brady Farms and started toward the bedroom to pack.
NINETEEN
Avery’s short drive home was filled with angst and second-guessing, but her renewed mission to retake control over her life won out.
She had a list as long as she was tall, filled with action items, and the very top was graced with Trace’s name in all caps. Clearing the air with Trace was her very first “to-do.” He’d acted out of complex and powerful emotions that night he’d pushed her away, and she was going to confront him to make sure that was what he still wanted. If it was, she would accept it, let go, and move on. But she couldn’t live with a lingering sense of loose ends and bad feelings between them.
Driving back into town with all its quaint cottage bungalows, wide streets, and mature trees swamped Avery with the comfort of home. But when she got to the intersection of Chapel and Kingston and glanced toward the house on the corner, Trace’s truck was gone from the driveway.
Avery’s stomach dropped. An edge of panic snuck in. She parked in front of the house and approached the door where she rubbed sweaty palms against the denim at her hips. She knocked, crossed her arms, and waited, shifting from foot to foot. When no one answered, she rang the bell and waited, her stomach knotting even tighter.
Still no answer.
Her panic turned to dread. If he’d already up and left town, then she had her answer, didn’t she?
With her stomach in a knot, Avery walked around to the back of the house and peered through the French door leading to the kitchen. She knocked again and tried the handle but found it locked. Avery cupped her hands around her face to peer through the glass where she could see the kitchen, dining area, and into the small living room. All the home’s original furnishings were still in place but nothing more. The rooms were spotless, neat, and completely depersonalized, reminding Avery of a hotel room after it had been cleaned by housekeeping.
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the glass.
Hurt and disappointment broke through her barriers and flooded her body, sagging her shoulders and pushing tears to her eyes. Avery turned, slid to the concrete stoop, and wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her head there.
She thought she’d run out of tears during the last few days, but she’d been wrong. They rolled from beneath her lashes, leaving dark-blue puddles on her jeans, but her eyes dried quickly, and her pain deepened from the acute slash across her heart to a more chronic ache in her chest.
He’d moved on.
Now she’d have to find a way to move on, too.
Again.
She fought to keep herself from thinking on the short drive through the quaint streets of Wildwood toward Main. Avery kept pushing thoughts out of her mind as they popped in, unable to fathom coming to grips with Trace’s loss. With David, the end had been drawn out and unsettled for years. This was far more traumatic and hurt much more deeply. Trace had been there one day, loving her, making her world full and happy and right, then gone the next.
When she turned onto Wild Harts’ driveway, her thoughts were in the past, remembering men she’d known in the military who’d died overseas. Filled with memories of her efforts to comfort their young wives and help with the couples’ young children. And by the time she pulled the car to a stop near the front of the building, she felt so numb she wondered whether she had a pulse.
Then she focused out the window, saw the state of the café, and her heart thumped hard, reassuring her she was indeed still very much alive.
Her gaze scanned the front of the building, where rows of bright-green shrubs lined the landscaping boxes and clusters of pansies and petunias flanked the entrance. The stair banister was in, completing the stairs and finishing off the quaint, wide, covered porch with a real zing of style.