He took a quick right and drove around the block. He had plenty of time to stop and say goodbye to the McIntyres and to Kelly. He slowed along the curb, then decided against it. He could send flowers, or a card instead. Maybe call while he was in New York after she got back from her trip. Valentine’s Day was next week. Maybe Cupid would help him out.

He stopped and filled up his gas tank. As the gallons clicked off on the pump, he stared at the cars going by. There was a lot more activity in this town these days.

Rather than take the ramp up the street to get onto the interstate, he took a left. There was one more place he wanted to stop before he left Bailey’s Fork.

He timed the drive. Only seventeen minutes from the center of town.

The parking lot had seen better days. The asphalt was cracked, and dead grass had made its home there. He pulled in front of the Fresh Strawberries sign and shut down the motor.

This May, these acres would be lush and green and filled with ripe, red strawberries. Perfect for Kelly’s Honey Almond Cake. He wondered if she bought fresh strawberries here.

He got out of the car and started walking. It was well over a football field-length to the barn. The outside was faded, but the pole barn structure was built to withstand time. Inside, the boards and beams were hefty, and sturdy. He stepped off the length and width, then climbed the ladder up into the hayloft. The double-doors in the loft had blown open at some point. The warped wood held them in place. From here the view was breathtaking. Tall pines lined the back of the property line, the brown-barked trunks skying to those deep-green needles gave the graying winter landscape hope.

He sat there in the loft, with his feet dangling out of the doors, feeling small against the vast backdrop. Kelly had given that old factory a second life, which in turn gave the town and its people a better life. Her success inspired him. For the first time, he was beginning to think how his skills, his talents, could be used to do more than give him a very comfortable salary and bragging rights.

His phone rang, breaking the silence. He dug it from his front pocket to see who was calling. Francois, again. He inhaled deeply, then sent the call to voice mail.

Andrew sat there for a long time; there was a fair amount of traffic that went down the road in front of this property in both directions.

He climbed down and walked back to his car, taking the route past the industrial park to the I-85 ramp in neighboring Farm City.