Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,220

side of the quaint shingled cottage down to the beach. It was warm and windy, waves rolling in briskly over the rocky shoreline. Holding my hair off my face, I slipped off my sandals and wandered to the water’s edge. The water felt icy cold on my bare feet.

I breathed in the damp air, smelling lake and seaweed and something being grilled nearby. My stomach growled. Had I eaten lunch? I couldn’t even remember. But whatever that was smelled delicious.

“Hello?” called a voice behind me. “Ms. Lewiston?”

I turned and saw a stocky, middle-aged woman wearing a hat and sunglasses waving at me, keys dangling from her hand. Heading up the beach toward her, I decided I’d ask if there was a grill at the cottage. I’d never actually used one, but I was sure I could figure it out with a little help from Google. It was time to step out of my comfort zone, anyway.

Without throwing things.

The manager, Ann, gave me the key and showed me around the cottage—not that there was much to show. Bedroom and bathroom at the back, one big living room with a kitchen over to one side, and windows along the front with a view of the lake. But it was clean and bright, newly decorated with a beach theme, and almost had a little Cape Cod vibe to it. I felt at home there.

After settling in, I went to the little market I’d seen passing through town and picked up some groceries. There was indeed a small grill on the cottage’s patio, but Ann said she had no idea if there were instructions anywhere. “But it’s just a standard charcoal grill,” she remarked, as if that made any sense to me. “There might even be some charcoal and lighter fluid in the utility closet.”

Lighter fluid? Good God, for cooking? Sounds dangerous. I thanked her and said I’d look around, but figured I’d better stick to what I knew how to do in the kitchen, which was basically hit buttons on the microwave, boil water, and spread peanut butter and jelly on bread.

I ended up eating the prepared chicken salad I’d bought, but I did manage to cook some green beans, which I’d picked up on a whim because the sign said they were local, and they were delicious. Same with the peach I ate for dessert with some vanilla ice cream. I wondered if the vegetables or fruit—or even the chicken—had come from Valentini Brothers Farm, and thought how strange it was that I’d never, not once in my life, considered where the food on my plate had been grown.

But then, that would be part of my challenge, wouldn’t it? To make people like myself more aware of where the foods I ate came from? Convince them it matters?

I thought about it as I ate, and then later I went through the file and learned as much as I could about the farm and the family that owned it. I read the New Client info sheet Jaime had forwarded, researched terms like “certified organic” and “sustainable agriculture,” and googled Valentini Brothers Farm.

Right away, I saw problems.

They had no social media accounts, and the website definitely needed to be updated, if not completely redone. It was cluttered and outdated, difficult to navigate, and had minimal engaging content. Zero personality whatsoever.

But there was a family photo.

Zooming in, I studied each person and wondered who was who. The oldest brother was already losing some hair, but he was tall and handsome, in decent shape with only the beginnings of paunch around the middle. He had his hand on the shoulder of a gap-toothed girl who looked to be about seven or eight. Next to them was the couple I assumed Quinn had met at the farm stand, Pete and Georgia. He was definitely the shortest of the three brothers, but had an adorable smile and thick dark hair. His fair-skinned wife, the only blond in the picture, was pretty and slightly taller than he was. Both her hands rested on her huge, pregnant belly, and I wondered how old the baby was now. On the end was the third brother, the only member of the family who wasn’t smiling. I zoomed in a little closer.

Well, damn. Maybe I would ride a cowboy.

He was tall, thick through the chest and trim at the waist. His jeans were tight, and because of the way he angled his body in the picture, almost like he was trying to back