Chapter 156 Chapter 156

Chapter 156 Chapter 156
Talon’s POV

We made a late lunch, smoked turkey, cheese, and some thick slices of bread and sat by the window watching the sun break through the clouds. The sky turned this wild shade of purple and gold over the ridge as the weather cleared out.
"Mr. Gable called while you were checking the generator panel," she said, taking a bite of her apple.
"Let me guess," I said. "Reminding us about the muffins for Saturday?"

"Nope," she laughed. "He wants us to help judge the town soapbox derby next month." I stopped with my sandwich halfway to my mouth and looked at her. "He wants me to judge a kid's soapbox derby?" I asked in disbelief.
"Yep." she said.
"I used to dismantle multi-million-dollar shell corporations over phones," I said, staring at her. "Now I'm evaluating wooden go-karts built by eight-year-olds?"
"Consider it your official test for living in a small town," she teased, her eyes lighting up. "If you can grade a cardboard car without bringing out a risk-assessment spreadsheet, you're officially a local." she said.

"Deal," I grinned, leaning over to kiss her. "I'll make a spreadsheet anyway just to be safe." By nightfall, the wind had completely died off, leaving the sky totally clear. We stepped out onto the front porch for a few minutes before bed just to take in the quiet. The stars were out, sharp and bright against the black sky. The cold air was still, the storm was over, and the house behind us was warm. We went back inside, shut the door, and locked it tight.

Kira's POV

The end of April came with a ton of color and life that made winter feel like a distant memory. The snow was completely gone, replaced by green grass across the lower pastures and yellow daffodils popping up along the tree line. The morning air was crisp and smelled like damp dirt, pine, and apple blossoms from Mr. Gable’s orchard down the valley. I was sitting at the dining table around eight on Saturday morning with my laptop closed for the weekend. The fireplace was off, replaced by the morning sun coming through the windows. The front door opened, and work boots hit the mat in the mudroom.

Talon walked into the kitchen carrying a wooden flat filled with tomato starts and basil seedlings we got from Mr. Gable earlier in the week. He set the flat down on the island, took off his work gloves, and poured himself a mug of dark roast coffee before coming over to stand behind my chair. He leaned down, resting his chin on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist while looking at the garden blueprints on the table. "Looking at these grids," he said against my neck, "you'd think we were running a commercial farm instead of a backyard garden."

"You have to be exact," I said, turning my head to kiss his jawline. "If we don't plan the rows right, bugs will eat away all of our hard work, beside i need to plan them because some plants needs pest control and some don’t . We don’t want to mix them up."
"Fair point," he said with a quiet laugh, tightening his grip on me. "Marcus already checked the drip-irrigation lines twice this morning to make sure the water pressure was fine before we plant anything."

"Marcus takes his job way too seriously," I laughed, shaking my head. "Though having him guard our tomatoes from deer is pretty nice."
"Only the best," he said softly, turning me around so I could face him. He put his hands on my hips and looked down at me. "Ready for the potluck this afternoon? Where we have to drop off three dozen of Martha's zucchini muffins?"
"Yep," I smiled. "Mr. Gable said he'd audit our property deeds if we show up late."
"We better get moving then," he said with a grin, leaning down to kiss me.
By eleven, we loaded the muffins into containers, got into the truck, and drove down the valley road toward the town square.

The town was busy for Saturday. Kids were running around on the sidewalks, and neighbors were hanging out outside the shops. When we pulled up to the community hall, Mr. Gable was standing on the front steps.
"Look who finally showed up!" the old man said as we got out of the truck. "Did you bring the muffins?"
"Three dozen, right here," Talon said, shaking his hand.
"Good," Mr. Gable said. "Put them on table four near the front."

Inside, the hall was packed. Long tables were loaded with casseroles, meats, salads, and desserts. People were talking, eating, and hanging out. A few locals waved to us as we walked in. They just knew Talon as the guy who fixed the north drainage ditch and lived up on the ridge with me. We set the muffins down on table four and spent the next two hours talking to people and grabbing food. Around two, as things started winding down, Mr. Gable walked over holding a clipboard.
"Alright," Mr. Gable said. "Since you made it through the potluck, I'm putting you both on the committee for the summer festival."

Talon looked at the clipboard, then back at me. "We've only lived here a few months, Mr. Gable. You're moving us up fast."
"That's how it works  around here," the old man laughed. "You build a place, plant a garden, spend one winter and next thing you know you're helping run things."
"Works for us," I said, putting my hand on Talon's arm.
We said goodbye, walked back out to the truck, and drove back up to Oakridge. When we pulled into the driveway, we parked, walked up the porch steps, and Talon unlocked the door. He turned around, pulled me in by the waist, and gave me a long kiss on the porch before we headed inside to start unpacking the garden tools for the afternoon.

Talon's POV

I woke up at five-thirty one  Saturday morning in late May. The room was already starting to fill with that soft pre-dawn light coming through the bedroom window. Beside me, Kira was fast asleep, curled up on her side with her dark hair spread across the pillow and one hand resting on top of the sheets. I sat up slowly so I wouldn't wake her, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress. I threw on a gray t-shirt, pulled on a pair of work pants, and laced up my boots before heading down the hall.

Downstairs, the house was dead quiet. The woodstove was cold and shut tight since the weather had finally warmed up for good. I walked into the kitchen, turned on the espresso machine, and listened to the water heat up while I grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. While the coffee was dripping into the cups, Marcus walked through the mudroom door carrying a pair of heavy wire cutters and a roll of fencing tape. He pulled off his work gloves and tossed them onto the wooden bench near the door.