Apple Cider Slaying by Julie Anne Lindsey

Author:Julie Anne Lindsey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“He’s coming!” I tossed the phone onto the table like a hot potato. “Oh my goodness. He’s really coming!”

Granny pressed her hands to her chest. “When?”

“Tonight,” I said. “Now.”

“Oh, dear.” Granny turned in a small circle, then burst into action. “How much time do we have?” she asked, snapping pink rubber gloves over her hands.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “He said he was finishing up at the bank and heading here on his way home.” According to my phone, it was approaching five o’clock, and thanks to daylight savings time, it was already dark. Luckily, Mr. Sherman and I had already decided the potential small business loan was for my cider shop, not the orchard, and he’d seen the orchard before anyway. Also, the Mail Pouch barn had electricity. Sure, it was only a light bulb on a swinging chain, but at least it wouldn’t matter that night had fallen, and all the taste testing could be done at Granny’s place.

We buzzed around the kitchen together, cleaning and organizing everything in sight while brainstorming the pastry selections we should offer with my cider. Twenty minutes later, Granny’s kitchen looked amazing, but there was no sign of Mr. Sherman.

“How does it look?” I asked, feeling a rush of nerves heat my cheeks and flip my stomach. I’d filled three of Granny’s glass tea dispensers with cold cider recipes, then lined them on a quilted table runner made by my great-grandmother. Beside those, I added two thermal dispensers with hot cider. Orange slices, cinnamon sticks, cranberries, and mint leaves floated visibly behind the glass of the cold dispensers. The contents of the final two dispensers, however, were a visual mystery, but hopefully a treat for the taste buds.

“Perfect,” Granny said. She set fresh glasses and mugs out for tasting, then lined the back side of her table with a mini-buffet of treats made from the orchard’s fresh ingredients.

I placed a stack of small plates, forks, and napkins beside the buffet. “What else?” I asked.

Granny examined the spread. “Music?”

“Yes!” I brought up a holiday station on her radio and set it to play softly. “Perfect. What else?”

“I think that’s it,” she said. Her gaze flipped to the black cat clock above her sink, its eyes and tail swinging in time. “Five-thirty-five. He should be here any minute.”

I blew out a long thin breath. She was right. The bank closed at five, and the commute was less than ten minutes. “He’s probably finishing paperwork or reviewing applications.” I doubted the bank staff stood at the time clock like diner employees, waiting to punch out. “He might even be approving my loan request.” Probably not, but a lady could hope.

Granny lit a pair of candles on her baker’s rack, adding cinnamon and vanilla scents to the already mouthwatering aromas filling her home. “There,” she said. “I think that’s it.”

I agreed. The room was perfect. Inviting. Enticing. Everything I could want for atmosphere on such an important night. Even the aged stone fireplace along the back wall had a little fire going and two orange kittens dreaming happily on the hearth.

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