Chapter Five: Love in the Lemon Grove

The morning of the Harvest Festival arrived with the scent of fresh-baked pies drifting through town and the laughter of children running between the booths. Evelyn had barely set up her stand when Rosie appeared, hands on her hips and an unmistakable smirk on her lips.

“So,” Rosie said, nudging a basket of lemons, “where’s your assistant?”

Evelyn busied herself arranging jars of homemade lemon marmalade. “He’ll be here.”

Luke’s truck rolled into the town square, parking near the vendor stalls as if on cue. He stepped out, sleeves rolled up, carrying a wooden crate of lemons like he’d been doing this his whole life.

Evelyn tried not to stare, but the way he moved—confident, easy, like he belonged here—made something warm settle in her chest.

“You two look like a proper team,” Rosie whispered before slipping away, leaving Evelyn to face Luke alone.

He grinned as he approached. “Told you I’d earn my spot at the lemonade stand.”

She handed him an apron, biting back a smile. “Let’s see if you can actually sell some.”

The festival bustled with activity, a blend of live music, the scent of cinnamon and roasted nuts, and the hum of friendly chatter. Their stand quickly drew a crowd, their fresh lemonade a staple of the event. Luke easily handled the customers, cracking jokes, charming the elderly ladies, and sneaking knowing glances at Evelyn whenever their hands brushed over the counter.

As the afternoon stretched on, Evelyn found herself relaxing, enjoying the rhythm of the day, the way Luke fit seamlessly into it all. He wasn’t just passing through town but becoming part of it.

When the sun dipped low, and the festival wound down, Evelyn took a breath, savoring the golden glow of twilight over the square. Luke was wiping down the counter when she spoke.

“You did good today,” she said, leaning against the stall.

He glanced at her, expression softer than usual. “I had a good teacher.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unsaid. Then, Luke reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jar of lemon marmalade.

“I made this,” he said, placing it on the counter. “Figured if I was going to help sell your stuff, I should learn how to make it too.”

Evelyn blinked. “You made lemon marmalade?”

Luke shrugged. “Your recipe. Rosie may have supervised, but I did the work.”

Something inside her shifted. This wasn’t just a man helping out for the day. This was someone trying to belong, to be part of her world.

She turned the jar over in her hands, warmth pooling in her chest. She had spent so long assuming people left, that nothing was permanent. But Luke—he was standing here, offering her a piece of something that felt real.

She took a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the jar. “Luke… are you staying?”

His gaze held hers, vulnerability flickering beneath the confidence. “I think I might.”

The words settled between them, and Evelyn felt something inside her release—a quiet, lingering fear she hadn’t even realized she was still holding onto.

For once, she didn’t overthink it. She didn’t fight the warmth blooming in her chest, the quiet certainty that something unexpected felt exactly right for the first time in a long while.

She stepped closer, the scent of lemons and sugar thick in the air. Luke didn’t move away.

When she kissed him, it wasn’t dramatic or rushed. It was slow, sweet—like the first taste of ripe fruit after a long harvest.

The sound of laughter and fading music drifted in the background, the town settling into the night. Clementine wound her way around their legs, her soft purring blending into the hum of the festival’s last moments.

Evelyn pulled back, just enough to see the quiet certainty in Luke’s eyes. She smiled, knowing now—some things weren’t meant to be planned. Some things were just meant to be.