Always in Season

By Heidi Lemelin

Daisie Rhodell is a simple, stubborn, and absolutely single girl. With senior year approaching fast, she realizes that she has never been in love and, at the age of 18, has yet to be kissed. For her whole life, soccer has always been the most important thing to her. Somehow, Daisie finds herself curious and completely annoyed with the new kid, Brayden McMillen, who just so happens to move to Willows Creek, Tennessee, right as school begins. After many attempts to ignore the obnoxiously charming cowboy, Daisie becomes overwhelmed with emotions she never knew existed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647504779

Heidi Lemelin

Heidi Lemelin was born and raised in Rancho Cucamonga, California but now resides in Texas. She graduated from Texas Christian University with a Bachelor’s degree in communication studies and minor in secondary education. Ms. Lemelin has a published blog titled, “When Life Hands You Lemons” and has always wanted to be a published author for a novel. Heidi loves her yellow jeep and enjoys movies, reading, and listening to country music. She is very excited to share her work and cannot wait to see where this path of writing takes her.

Book preview

About the Author

Heidi Lemelin was born and raised in Rancho Cucamonga, California but now resides in Texas. She graduated from Texas Christian University with a Bachelor’s degree in communication studies and minor in secondary education. Ms. Lemelin has a published blog titled, When Life Hands You Lemons and has always wanted to be a published author for a novel. Heidi loves her yellow jeep and enjoys movies, reading, and listening to country music. She is very excited to share her work and cannot wait to see where this path of writing takes her.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my family and friends for their constant support and love throughout this entire process. Thank you for always believing that I would achieve my dream one day.

Copyright Information ©

Heidi Lemelin (2021)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Lemelin, Heidi

Always in Season

ISBN 9781647504762 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781647504755 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781647504779 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021909531

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

Thank you, Brandon Daily, for being the first person to read this work of literature. You opened my eyes to a world of creativity and really empowered me to move forward and achieve this goal. Thank you, Austin Macauley Publishers, for seeing all the potential here and for making all of this a reality.

Chapter 1

Daisie

I sit down and comfortably get myself settled in so that I will be ready to go, before pulling out my brand-new leather journal and ball point pen I had just received from graduation. I open the pages and flip through the perfectly empty lines that silently yearn to be written on. I move my hands along the unwritten pages and find the very first page anxiously awaiting the story that is about to be told. I know that most journals are usually filled with hearts and deep secrets but, even though there are a couple of hearts involved, this one is going to be a little different.

I unscrew my pen and start doodling flowers all around the first page. I begin with a few lonely petals that make their way into a large rose which connects itself to a strong, confident stem. From there, I add more petals and more leaves that twist and turn all along the edges of the page. There are small flowers and large flowers that trade off to create tension on the page and I sit back and smile while looking at the beginning of the best masterpiece.

The page following the simple drawings is where the real fun begins. I think hard and long to myself before I figure out what I am going to write first. After a couple silent moments, I find the top of the page and introduce the pen and the empty line to each other by reminiscing on the memories and moment that got me to where I am today, and I begin to write.

*******

Most people called them weeds. They were usually seen as dead, lifeless, plants. No one realized the beauty behind the single petal of a daisy. They were put in bouquets, but only as the filler flower. They were never meant to stand out, yet they were everywhere, kissing the very ground we walked on and lying in the pastures we played in. Daisies. Confident flowers that got mistaken for small weeds.

There were many types of flowers that did and smelled like many different things. From tulips, that blossomed and exuded confidence in its garden, to babies-breath, that whispered delicate scents along a lady’s nose. The way flowers smelt and looked brought smiles to individuals faces in times of sadness, and comfort in times of sorrow.

Not only were there different types of flowers but each flower served a separate purpose or meaning. Men and women had begun categorizing the jobs of these organisms and had given each petal a purpose. They were an important asset to a wedding, they made a statement at dinner parties or restaurants, they were a safe welcoming gift when meeting the in-laws, and they were a memory when attending a loved one’s funeral.

The funny thing about flowers was that most people deemed them small and insignificant, but instead, flowers were one of the only things we could count on to stay constant in this changing world. The tradition of flowers, bouquets, and center pieces would never change. They would always be reliable, strong, and beautiful. That is why I was named after a flower now that I come to think of it. My parents chose the name Daisie, in hopes that I would exemplify those same three qualities.

I was very young when I fell in love. Well, what I believed to be love at the age of eighteen. I thought I knew everything at that age and believed that I had already met all the different types of people there possibly were in the world. I met families of different faith backgrounds, men, women, and some who stated to be neither. I sang in an African American church choir for Christmas performances, as well as involved myself in the casual international student conversations as I passed the halls to my different classes. I went through numerous dogs in my lifetime, and I attended my fair share of funerals. I never questioned my parents and always stayed respectful to my elders. I never let my grades slip and I always called my parents when I reached any far destination just so they would know I had gotten there safely. Life was safe for the most part and I was content.

A couple of months before my senior year of high school, I began to wonder why I never went through a rebellious stage. Ever since I could remember, my mom had always been my best friend and my brother, Cade, and I did everything together. He was only a year younger than I, so I always had a playmate, and when I did not, Mom or Dad would come to the rescue with cookies and a princess tea party. As I grew older and went through the awkward stages of puberty, I had Mom by my side explaining the changes that were happening and Dad protecting me, like a bodyguard would, from any childish middle school boys. Cade was not too far behind, so we took on the voice changes and growth spurts together, laughing and making fun of each other the whole way. It made life easier having my family around during times like those.

High school was a whole different story though. Maturing and learning were my parents two favorite words whenever I would come home crying because of a fight with a friend or bad grade on a test. One good thing that did come from high school was my weekly lunches with Mom. When we started these out of school lunch dates, Mom would always let me pick where we would eat. Sometimes I would change locations and get her tastebuds curious, but I usually just stuck to the same place. Most people would get tired of the same restaurant, but I never did. I always asked to go to this little cafe a couple of streets down from my high school. It was one of those hole in the wall places that most people would drive by or pick last on a road trip, but it was always the place I wanted to go. Their food was not that great, and the sweet tea always needed a little extra sugar, but I did not care.

I only knew of this place because of Dad. Years ago, around the age of 7, I remember tossing and turning in my pink princess bed, crying from a nightmare. Dad would stumble in, just waking up from a deep sleep of his own. He would always lie down beside me and tell me the same, sweet story to put me back to sleep.

Dads are a daughter’s first love, first hero, and first example of the man they should look for when they are older. Most girls are not as lucky as I was to have such a splendid example, even if I did not realize that my dad was teaching me what kind of man to look for in the middle of the night, in a princess bed, at the age of 7.

The story my dad always told me was about a young boy who fell in love with a beautiful girl. She was the prettiest of them all, he would tell me, her brown hair fell so perfectly around her face, like a blanket you’d want to cuddle up with.

He described her cheeks like those of a stuffed animal, adorable and cute, and then began to tell me about her eyes that would draw men in by the dozens. He said that her eyes reminded him of the sweetest chocolate and the most golden sun that glistened on a hot summer’s day. When he would describe the girl in the story, he would hug me a little closer, and I would know that it was Mom he was describing. His voice would get louder, and his smile would grow bigger and bigger every time he had said her name.

It made sense that he would always tell me this same story as a little girl. My mom was the best dancer, singer, pirate, princess, and friend. Dad never took it personal though, he always knew a mother and daughter’s bond was inevitable because of the whole stuck in the womb, mother’s intuition, and birthing thing.

My parents met when they were about my age and heading into their senior year of high school. On top of that, they met at the same high school I attended. Willow Creek High had been here for ages and I was considered a legacy kid along with about 400 of my closest friends there. Dad would say that, for him, it was love at first sight with my mom, at least that’s what he always teased Mom about. He knew he loved her from the moment he saw her and that’s where Dad always said their love story started, but Mom argues that it was the day he showed up 3 hours late for their first date.

It took my dad months to get the courage to ask my mom out, and even when he did ask her, he was in no way prepared for it. She agreed to go to dinner with him one Friday night. My dad had gotten his jeep wrangler that his parents bought for him as an early graduation gift and left an hour early to pick my mom up for dinner because he wanted to make sure he was not going to be late.

My dad said driving around in an outdated Jeep was the cool thing to do in his days, but it was not so cool when his jeep had broken down on the way to Mom’s house. Since it was the middle of January, in Tennessee, and the jeep had no heater, something in the engine got too cold, causing his car to shut down. Dad told me he had to push his car to this small cafe named Always in Season for some warmth and help. The inside was decorated with flowers of all shapes and sizes. There were pink flowers with blue vases, red flowers with green vases, and many more on top of that. He saw roses and dandelions on the walls and sunflowers scattered around the tables. If anyone had lost their flowers or needed to buy more, this was the place to be.

After what felt like only a second, an older lady, mid-40s, asked to sit with him. Dad, of course, allowed it since she was older and might know where a nearby phone was.

Nervous about this first date you’re about to go one? she asked bluntly.

How did you know this was going to be a first date? he sat up straight and tried to look older than his high school self.

Oh, come on sugar…the sweaty palms, you anxiously checking your watch, all dressed up in your best button up I assume, eying my dad up and down looking for any wrinkles. It couldn’t be more obvious.

Feeling self-conscious about his wardrobe choice now, my dad began to tell the kind stranger about the beautiful girl he is supposed to be taking to dinner tonight, and how he had finally gotten the courage to ask her to dinner, but how these unfortunate events are ruining his chances.

By the end of my dad’s rant and worry, the women had finished 3 cups of tea and was pouring herself a fourth. Well, now I know you weren’t on your way to pick up this young lady without the proper flowers to greet her with, right? she said in a reprimanding tone.

Now most guys barely think through their daily plans and if they are lucky, they think ahead to what class is next in school or where they need to be after sports practice, but when it comes to making plans for a girl, boys are oblivious. My dad is no exception.

I didn’t know that I was supposed to get flowers for her, he murmured under his breath, clearly thinking his life and his chances with my mom were over.

Well, every girl deserves a nice bouquet of flowers from a nice-looking man like yourself and you’ve come to just the right place. The lady smirked then squeezed my dad’s cheeks like she was an old relative visiting for the holidays.

This cafe is called ‘Always in Season’ meaning that we will always have flowers to greet you as you enter to enjoy a meal or beverage. I wanted to create a place full of color and scents so having someplace people could enjoy beauty on a regular basis was the perfect way to do that.

My dad looked around and realized that all he had to do was get up, walk over to a stem, and grab some flowers right here, or so he thought.

Being a seventeen-year-old guy, my dad would tell me that he did not know anything about flowers. He assumed all were the same, even when asked to smell the diverse types. It was not his fault, and no one could blame him, he just had a lack of knowledge in that category.

As my dad started to choose which flower looked the prettiest, his eyes were drawn to the wall of roses. This wall was so vibrant and had a waterfall of roses that cascaded down into a lake of petals. There was a clump of deep red roses that looked like the queen of flowers painted it with her own crimson blood and he thought those were perfect for his first date with Mom.

The elderly lady got up from her seat and rushed over to his side restraining him from picking the roses off the wall. Roses, that’s what you think you should give this young lady on a first date? Confused, my dad looked and nodded towards her a little annoyed by her abrupt disagreement.

The lady turned my dad to face her and looked him dead in the eyes. Roses are a symbol of romance and love. Giving her a rose, especially a red one, shows a sense of passion and infatuation with her that would surely scare her away and might not even allow you to take her out to dinner. Seeing the seriousness in this stranger’s voice, he backed away from the now daunting and intimidating wall of love and moved on to find something different.

I didn’t know there were stories behind the flowers, I always thought they were just something pretty to look at and never assumed anything more, he casually said as he walked along the edge of the cafe trying not to disrupt anyone from their late-night conversations.

Oh yes, she said as we passed by what seemed to be a sculpture of birds that she called birds of paradise, used to help people escape from their stressful white collar business days. The women continued, The type of flower you give a lady determines the seriousness between the couple, the occasion, the situation someone’s in, and the feelings being expressed. Flowers are a crucial part to any relationship.

Seeing that my dad has much to learn from her, he kept his mouth shut and moved on to the next flower he thought to be worthy of a first date bouquet.

These flowers were displayed very differently than the roses and birds were. The delicate clump of flowers huddled around pictures of infants smiling and sleeping swaddled in blankets. Now as a man, my dad would have stayed far away from a display like this, but something about it made him feel like It would be the perfect flower to give.

She gave my father a little pat on the back and smirked, This flower is called baby’s-breath. Women tend to use these for their wedding bouquets and center pieces, also around baby photo shoots to give a delicate and gentle feel. My dad’s pale-white-face turned red just thinking about my mom and him getting married and, eventually, having a baby.

He moved far away from that section as quickly as he could. Choosing flowers was not as simple as he always thought it would be, but he needed to find something quick before he really lost all hope with my mom.

The older lady sat down at the same table from earlier and signaled for him to join her. Look ma’am, his tone had grown more impatient. I really appreciate all your help, and this cafe is gorgeous, but now that my car is defrosted, I really better be on my way to pick up the lady for our date. I have been waiting a long time for this moment.

Well, you’ll be waiting a whole longer with the door in your face If you show up empty handed, she commented in a calm and collected tone.

I don’t have time to learn all the meanings of each individual flower in here, my father began. It looks as if the owner has been collecting flowers for ages. How am I supposed to find the perfect flower for the most perfect girl! He yelled and now had everyone’s head turned in his direction. Sorry, he muttered, then sat back down in silence.

Well, no one needs the perfect flower, she said in a hushed but assertive tone. They just need the right flower for the right occasion.

She could tell from my dad’s dumbfounded face that a seventeen-year-old teenager was not going to know what the right flower was for every occasion.

This girl of yours, isn’t expecting to receive flowers, but when she gets them tonight, that will be what begins the rest of the evening. As she continued talking, my dad began to finally see where she was coming from, These flowers will be an indication of your apology for showing up late, your nervousness for the first date, your perception of her, and where you want the night to go.

The wheels in my dad’s head turned, The flowers are the deciding factor of the evening. He sat back nodding at her in understanding. After what felt like forever, he left the cafe sneezing from the pollen, full from the hot cocoa, and grasping his first ever bouquet of daisies. He had forgotten that he was wearing a watch and realized he was 3 hours late to pick my mom up!

My dad would tell me this story in such detail like it had happened yesterday, even though I am now going to be a senior in high school and my parents are happily living in the middle of their 40s. Each time I heard it though, I always would dream of a love worth stressing over flowers for.

He always ended his story by telling me how upset Mom was at him for showing up 3 hours late and then how happy she was when my dad gave her the bouquet of daises from behind his back. He told her that daisies reminded him of possibility and hope. They were the underdog of the flower family, yet they are scattered all around the globe. He continued and said that was what he hoped this date could be, full of hope and possibility.

Nobody picks the daisy as the prettiest flower because people mistake it for a weed, but he was grateful that my mom had taken a chance on him and that she saw the flower instead of the weed in him. That was why my mom says their love started on the first date, she never knew a guy could be so full of knowledge and passion for flowers and it kept her curious to see where this simple bouquet of weeds would take them.

I always loved hearing their love story, and dad was always happy to tell me it. Now that I was the one going to be a senior, I wanted to find a guy who would go such lengths to bring me a bouquet of flowers. I wanted my first date to be as momentous as theirs was. Seeing that I was eighteen, never had been kissed, and never even had a boy look at me, other than my next-door neighbor who always pointed out the food in my teeth from breakfast that morning, I had my work cut out for me.

Chapter 2

Mom had always told me to keep my standards high and my dreams as big as my imagination would let me. Dad had always said to never settle, and that no man was good enough for me, which I assumed every dad believed when raising a daughter. I was always confident in myself growing up, and never gave into the typical teenage drama days, but that was purely because of the parents that raised me.

Even though my first year in high school was rough, I eventually grew into my personality and finally, as a senior in high school, I could confidently say I felt comfortable in my own shoes. Cade, my younger brother, on the other hand, had no awkward or rough years, other than a few