Page 105 of Beneath the Quiet

“Maeve.”

I still can’t see her eyes properly, which, for some reason, irks me a little bit, but since I don’t have a good enough excuse to stay at her stand, I’ll have to let it go.

I glance over my shoulder before I turn to leave. “Do you have a business card or something, so I know how to reach you if I want to make another purchase sometime?”

She sets the Sharpie and mug down carefully and turns around to another table behind her. There’s a stack of flyers with a big stone resting on top of them, no doubt to prevent them from being caught in the wind. She tugs out one of them and turns back to me.

“All my social media is listed here.”

I take the small flyer and scan it quickly, happy to finally put a name to her face.

“Thank you, Niamh Whelan. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure. Thanks so much for supporting my small business. I…” She opens her mouth, then closes it and breathes deeply, her tawny-brown eyes meeting mine for the first time. I wait for her to finish. “This is my first time at a festival, and I think I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one.” I reach out my hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. Believe in yourself, and I’m sure you’ll be sold out before the day ends.”

She laughs.

“That would be pretty incredible. Thanks again.”

“See you later.”

I back away from her counter and head towards Aidan and Katie’s food stand. I scan the wooden crates inside, all lined up neatly in rows, several on top of each other. Some of them are double-sided, with wide racks lined up, and I crane my neck to read the sign at the very top, but I can’t quite make it out. All of them are filled with different produce, and my fingers are itching to get my hands on a little bit of everything, even though I don’t know the names of half of them. Small chalkboard signs showcasing both what they sell and their prices, urging people to buy local and support their farmer, make me smile.

The line is long, but that doesn’t surprise me. Not when I know how much Aidan and his family mean to the community. The history between the Lynch Farm and the village only goes to show their roots and deep respect, and I’m not surprised that the locals sometimes call him Lord Cloonmara.

My eyes wander to Aidan behind the counter, chatting with a customer. His sunny smile is like a balm to my soul, filling me with his warmth and light. He’s so focused on everyone around him, friendly and attentive. Not in a hurry at all. He grabs a box of strawberries and wraps them in a brown paper bag before he passes it along to the man in front of him, and my eyes take in his tanned arms.

Gosh, he’s sexy.

My mouth waters, more from the man himself than the strawberries, though I hope I’ll manage to snag a box of my own before he sells out.

For the first time in my adult life, I start to wonder what mine would be like if I hadn’t been a detective. A simpler life, perhaps? One that meant more physical, hard work, but less of a strain on my feelings.

I shake a little at my rampant thoughts.

Where did that come from?

Finally, the line thins, and it gets to be my turn. I smile at Katie as I step up to her.

“Wow, this looks gorgeous.”

Satisfaction dances across her face. “Thank you. We’re proud of what our farm offers every year.” She points behind her. “And we’ve also got a partnership with the local beekeeper. His honey is fantastic.”

I take in all the produce and plates with samples laid out on the counter between us, my mouth watering from the temptation before me.

“I need a box of strawberries, please, and you’ve already sold me on the honey, but what else do you recommend?”

“I’ll give you one of my favourite jams, too.” Keen to find out what she comes up with for me to take home, I watch as she picks up a tall glass jar from the shelf behind her and holds it out to me.

“Our raspberry jam is the absolute best in the county.” She puffs out her chest, clearly proud. “And we’ve also got some lemon curd if you’d like to try it.”

“Please.”

She picks up a paper napkin and a cake server. Fascinated, I watch the multi-level, tower-like cake stand next to her, and she picks up a little bun topped with butter and the yellowy lemon curd dolloped on top. Then she hands me a smaller bowl, and I take one of the toothpicks.

“Here you go. You need to try our apple cider, too, but let me just get those strawberries for you before we run out.” She grins at me. “They’re always popular.”