Chapter Three: A Town of Gentle Gossip

The afternoon sun slanted through the windows of Rosie’s General Store, casting golden light across shelves stocked with homemade jams, fresh produce, and jars of local honey. The scent of roasted coffee beans and the faint aroma of cinnamon created a warmth that made the small shop feel even more like home. The wooden floor creaked under Evelyn’s boots as she leaned against the counter, watching Rosie scoop coffee beans into a brown paper bag, her eyes glinting with barely contained curiosity.

“So,” Rosie said, tapping the bag against the counter. “Are you going to tell me why Luke Donovan was seen wandering around your lemon grove this morning, or do I have to start making up my own story?”

Evelyn sighed, picking up a jar of honey and inspecting the label, more for something to do than actual interest. “You mean the whole town doesn’t already have one?”

Rosie grinned. “Oh, trust me, they do. I just want to hear your version before I hear Mrs. Carter’s, which will probably involve some elaborate engagement plot.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “There’s no plot, and definitely no engagement. He showed up to apologize for dropping by unannounced yesterday. Then he offered to help with some pruning, and I let him.”

Rosie rested her chin on her hand, looking entirely too amused. “You let someone help? That’s a first.”

Evelyn crossed her arms. “I’m not that stubborn.”

Rosie snorted. “Right. So how was he? With the pruning, I mean.”

“He was… surprisingly decent,” Evelyn admitted. “Didn’t even complain.”

“That’s because he was too busy admiring you.”

Evelyn groaned. “Rosie.”

“Evelyn.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Evelyn huffed. “He’s just back in town to help his aunt with the hardware store. He’s not staying.”

Rosie arched an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

“He told me.”

“Hmm.” Rosie slid the bag of coffee across the counter, drumming her fingers against the wood. “Did he say he’s definitely leaving? Or did he say he just hadn’t planned on staying?”

Evelyn hesitated. She replayed their conversation from earlier in her mind—the way Luke had spoken about the city, about home, about how plans change. He hadn’t said he was leaving for certain, only that coming back hadn’t been in the plan.

Rosie smirked at Evelyn’s silence. “See? There’s a difference.”

Evelyn took the coffee and shot her friend a look. “This conversation is over.”

“For now,” Rosie said cheerfully. “But not forever.”

Evelyn turned to leave, but Rosie called after her as she reached the door. “Oh, and Evelyn?”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Be careful. Sometimes things that aren’t planned turn out to be the best things of all.”

Evelyn stepped outside, the warmth of the afternoon settling around her. The familiar hum of small-town life drifted through the air—distant laughter from the café patio and fresh bread wafting from the bakery next door. But Rosie’s words stayed with her longer than she wanted them to.

She had always believed in plans, in structure, in things making sense. That’s how she had kept the farm running all these years. That’s how she had avoided unnecessary heartache.

And yet, as she started down the street toward her truck, she found herself thinking about Luke Donovan. She remembered how he had worked beside her in the grove without hesitation and how he had spoken about home with something close to longing.

Maybe, just maybe, some things weren’t meant to be planned at all.