Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 53

Clara gave Addison a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “First things first, send out that apology letter and make sure it’s heartfelt. I just had a taste of one of those apples, and they’re definitely sweeter and crisper than the ones from North Ashford.”

Addison quickly wiped her eyes and perked up. “Got it!”

Clara then turned to the young guys nearby. “How much are you selling them for per pound?”

“It’s always been sixty cents.”

“Addison, be sure to mention in the apology letter that as a gesture of goodwill, we’re throwing in an extra pound.”

Originally, it was 9.9 dollars for ten pounds, so even with the extra pound, they’re still getting a deal.

“Okay.”

Once the apology letter was sent, everyone anxiously kept an eye on the backend system. Before long, cancellation messages started pouring in like a winter storm.

Addison was in a panic, holding her head. “Oh no, what if all twenty thousand orders get canceled? It’s all Quinn’s fault for saying we deceived our customers. Now, with this letter, people might actually think we’re guilty.”

Clara gave her shoulder a comforting pat, urging her to keep monitoring the system. She then stood up and addressed the young men.

“There’ll still be a few thousand orders left. Gather some folks, and let’s start packing apples through the night.”

The young men had been tirelessly working in the tent for days with barely any sales. Now they saw a sudden surge in orders. Even the local farmers pitched in to help with packing.

Some people were puzzled. “Did we really sell a few thousand orders that fast?”

Clara didn’t want any confusion, so she explained the situation. As long as the customers knew these apples were from South Ashford, not North Ashford, it was all good.

Someone put their hands on their hips, “Grab the megaphone and let everyone know from one end of the village to the other. Tell them to get up and start packing. Let’s get these first couple of thousand orders ready before we hit the sack!”

Without missing a beat, a young man snatched up the megaphone and started going door to door to wake everyone up.

Soon, nearly everyone over fifteen showed up to help, and they began packing like pros.

After three hours of hard work, a few thousand orders were finally packed.

Clara yawned as Addison suddenly let out a scream, “Clara! There are more than just a few thousand orders left! I checked, and only a few thousand have been canceled. We’ve received confirmations from over ten thousand people saying they’re sticking with us!”

Clara could hardly believe her ears. That meant there were still over ten thousand confirmed orders to ship. She thought having a few thousand left would be a miracle.

Addison’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I asked around, and a lot of people said they trust you.”

Clara had indeed put on a great show in front of the camera. She was calm, composed, and patient, clearly someone with a good upbringing.

After weathering so much stress, Addison finally got to celebrate with some good news, jumping up and down with joy.

Anyone with a brain would know to keep things discreet, not mess around with his fiancée’s sister, and let the whole world know. True elites wouldn’t approve of such behavior.

“Quiet.” Dylan closed the document and maneuvered his wheelchair towards the door.

Aiden realized he’d overstepped and kept quiet, organizing the files.

Dylan was heading out for some fresh air. The guesthouse had lovely scenery, and South Ashford’s remote location meant crisp, clean air.

He leaned back, gazing up at the moon.

It was already 1 a.m., and most folks were asleep. You could only hear the sound of water trickling over the rockery. The sound of his wheelchair wheels was particularly clear in the night.

He stopped in front of a courtyard with a painting exuding a unique charm, evidently commissioned by a master artist.

“Mr. Dylan, you like this painting too?” Quinn’s voice was soft and gentle as she approached him. “I didn’t expect you to be up too. The nights here are so quiet, the air is fresh, and the moon seems closer.”

Her eyes glinted with satisfaction as she tried to make a good impression on Dylan.

She always felt that if she played her cards right, Dylan would be drawn to her just like other men.

Now, she wisely addressed him as Mr. Dylan, not Uncle Dylan.