Chapter One: The Lemon Grove Awakens

The morning air carried the crisp scent of citrus as Evelyn Harper stepped onto the dewy grass of her grandmother’s lemon grove. The sky, streaked with soft pink and orange hues, promised a warm, sunlit day. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the fragrance of lemons and earth, the scent of home. It was a ritual she never tired of, the quiet solitude of morning, the moment before the world stirred.

Clementine, her tabby cat, wound between her legs, nudging her ankle with a familiar insistence. “Alright, alright, breakfast first,” Evelyn murmured, scooping the cat into her arms and carrying her back to the house. The old farmhouse, with its weathered shutters and ivy-laced porch, had stood strong for three generations. She liked to think the house carried memories in its bones, just as she did.

In the kitchen, the teakettle whistled as she prepared her morning ritual—chamomile tea with a dash of honey, just as her grandmother used to make. The old woman’s embroidered apron still hung on the hook by the stove, a quiet reminder of the hands that had once tended this grove with the same devotion Evelyn now carried. She let her fingers brush against the fabric for a moment before picking up her mug and stepping onto the porch.

The lemon trees stretched in orderly rows, their branches heavy with golden fruit. Sunlight caught on the morning dew, making the leaves glisten. This was her life—predictable, steady, and entirely her own. She had chosen it, just as much as it had chosen her.

She took a sip of tea, savoring the warmth as she glanced toward the old barn on the edge of her property. A mental to-do list formed in her mind—check the irrigation system, prune the lower branches, make sure the fencing was secure. There was always something to do, always something to tend to. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Then, the sound of a rattling engine disrupted her peace.

A rusted blue pickup truck crested the hill and rolled up her driveway, tires crunching against gravel. Evelyn frowned, setting down her mug. It wasn’t often that visitors found their way to her grove unannounced.

Clementine, ever the self-appointed guardian of the farm, hopped onto the railing and let out a low, unimpressed meow. Evelyn absently scratched behind her ears, her gaze fixed on the approaching truck.

The vehicle came to a slow stop near the barn. The driver’s door opened, and a man she didn’t immediately recognize stepped out. He was tall, with an easy stance, wearing jeans worn from work and a flannel rolled at the sleeves. His brown hair was slightly tousled, as if he had just run his fingers through it.

Evelyn wiped her hands on her jeans and took a step forward, her brow furrowing as the man lifted a hand in greeting. “Excuse me,” he called, his voice carrying over the trees. “Hope I’m not intruding.”

She crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Luke Donovan. My grandfather used to run the hardware store in town. I just moved back to help my aunt with it.”

Recognition flickered in Evelyn’s mind. Mr. Donovan had been a kind man, always slipping her grandfather extra nails or a roll of twine whenever he stopped by the store. She studied Luke more closely—broad shoulders, blue eyes, an easy way about him that was unsettlingly charming.

“What brings you here?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Luke leaned against his truck. “My aunt swears by your lemons for her pies. Figured I’d see if I could buy some.”

Evelyn’s lips quirked. “Just a few?”

“Well,” he admitted, “maybe a few more than that.”

He glanced around, taking in the rows of trees. “This place is beautiful. You take care of it all yourself?”

“Every inch of it,” she said with quiet pride. “It’s been in my family for generations.”

Luke nodded. “That’s impressive. Not many people stick with family land anymore.”

Evelyn shrugged. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

He smiled at that, an expression that made something warm stir in her chest. She ignored it, focusing instead on the practical matter at hand. “If you’re looking to buy lemons, I can show you where the best ones are.”

“That’d be great,” Luke said, pushing off his truck. “Lead the way.”

As they walked between the trees, Evelyn pointed out the ripest fruit, explaining which ones were best for baking and which held the most juice. Luke listened attentively, nodding along and occasionally reaching up to pluck a lemon from the branches. He had large, capable hands, and she found herself sneaking glances at them as he worked.

When their fingers brushed over the same lemon, a jolt of something unexpected shot through her. She pulled her hand back quickly, clearing her throat. “So, you plan on staying in town long?”

Luke hesitated for half a second before answering. “Yeah. I think I might.”

Something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on the trees, made her wonder if he was telling her—or himself.

By the time they made it back to the truck, Luke had a basket full of lemons, and Evelyn had the unsettling realization that she might actually enjoy his company.

As his truck rumbled down the road, kicking up a trail of dust, Clementine hopped back onto the porch railing, tail flicking.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Evelyn muttered, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

Clementine merely purred, as if she knew something Evelyn didn’t.