I grinned. “Well, this is a red-letter day.”
“Secondly, this day is one for the books because Kai Malloy has had the good fortune to nab a girl and dupe her into visiting his hometown. I believe this is the same man who said at the end of his high school years that he would shake the dust off his feet as he left and not worry about ever coming back.”
“That was Jesus who said that,” Kai called from over by the blackberries. “I just said I thought Wenatchee was a waste of space and that I was sick of everybody knowing all my business.”
Tom nodded slowly, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “Auspicious, I tell you.”
“That’s probably enough of this conversational topic,” Kai called from the end of the row of baskets. His ears, I noticed, were still pink. “If you can take a moment away from harassing your customers, I’d like to purchase some fruit.”
Before attending to Kai, Mr. Breyon winked at me. “Welcome to Wenatchee, Miss Garrett. You got yourself a good man here, even if he is a bit of a pain.”
I watched Kai negotiate a price with his friend, neither of them looking one bit interested in the money exchanged once the banter had concluded. I watched him hug Tom warmly and ask him to say hello to mutual friends. And I felt his arm loop around my waist as we walked back to the car, our bags full of apricots, berries, a box of crackers, and Mr. Breyon’s house-made strawberry-rhubarb jam. Kai felt alive and warm and protective in all the right ways.
Yes, I thought, a very good man.
14
WE were still unfolding from Kai’s car when the front door of the rambling white farmhouse flew open. A tall, slender woman wearing a flowing batik skirt, tank top, and headscarf came charging toward us, one finger pointed menacingly at Kai.
“Tom Breyon just called,” she said, striding past a painted sign that stood in the yard, its careful lettering announcing Forsythia Farms. “You’re here. With a real, live girl. And I have to hear this news from an elderly man at a highway stand? Have you not one considerate bone in your body, Kai Malloy?” By then end of this little monologue, she was laughing, her sinewy, muscular arms draped around her brother’s neck.
“Good to see you, Dahls.” Kai lifted her and spun her in a half circle, making her skirt ripple outward in a colorful arc. He set her down and turned her toward me.
“Charlie Garrett, this is my eldest and bossiest sister, Dahlia. Dahlia, meet Charlie. Famous pastry chef and a woman who alphabetizes her clothes according to label.”
“What?” I sputtered, noting the way my heart had started to thump loudly in my chest, suddenly eager to impress this woman. “First of all, I’m not famous—”
“Oh, yes, you are!” she said, barreling toward me, arms outstretched. “You are famous in our family. You’re a girl! And Kai let you come here with him! You’re already a legend around here.” Dahlia gathered me into a neck hug. My nose rested on her bony collarbone. “So lovely to meet you, Charlie,” she said, eyes bright. “My dolt of a brother could have given me a little notice, and I would have at least cleaned the toilet. But you’ll just have to take your chances. Come,” she said, tugging on my hand. “You can freshen up while I get drinks. Ruben is out in the fields, Kai. I’ll pack a lunch, and you and Charlie can take it to him.”
“See?” Kai whispered into my ear. I was still not used to having him so close. The word scrumptious came to mind. “I told you she was bossy.”
He held the screened door for me, and I stepped into the front hallway. My eyes swept over the rooms before me. A family lived here, I could see, and by the looks of it, one that was spirited and creative and lively and full of love. Creaky oak floors cushioned our steps, punctuated every now and then with colorful rugs. I loved the wide white baseboards and molding, the abundance of beautiful photography, family portraits, and children’s artwork. I slipped into a tiny bathroom tucked under the stairs. The toilet, as it happens, was sparkly clean, making Dahlia out to be either a liar or a woman with very high standards of cleanliness. Either way, I felt relieved.
After I finished slapping my cheeks in an effort to pretend I had encountered the summer sun before that morning, I walked to the end of the hallway and was greeted with a large, open room flooded with light. An expansive family room sat to my right, full of comfortable furniture, stacks of board games, and bookshelves crammed with worn titles. To my left, a large, inviting kitchen beckoned, and Kai had already answered the call. He looked up from where he stood by the island, his hands busy with a bag of tortilla chips.
He smiled. “Salsa and chips okay?”
“Perfect,” I said. “How can I help?” I hesitated, waiting for Dahlia to give me the high sign. One never wanted to presume in another person’s kitchen.