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When he yawns, I trail my fingers through his hair. “Is there anything else you want to do tonight?”
Chuckling, his head shakes against my chest. “No. I think you’ve done it all.”
Realizing I get to wake up to his head on the pillow next to mine has me smiling. I got my wish. Reaching for the lamp switch, I turn out the light. The darkness blankets us, leaving my senses to focus on nothing but the sounds of our breathing and the feeling of him in my arms. Tomorrow morning is going to set a new standard for Saturdays.
“Aw, shit.”
“What?” He flinches in my arms, disrupting our cocoon of warmth as he looks up at me.
“I just remembered I have to be up in the morning to go help my family with the harvest. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to wake you up. I have to get up early to be there at a decent hour. They get started pretty early.”
I can see his smile through the moonlight. “I’m glad you have that.”
“What?”
“A pastime. Something to bond over with your family. Something that brings you all together.”
“Not all bonding is entertaining and too much togetherness isn’t always a blessing,” I inform him sagely, remembering the sound of Mom’s rose bushes cracking last weekend.
“Well, I wish I could see you out there just once, picking apples.” His fingertip traces a circle around my nipple, sending a tingle down to my belly. “It’s kind of become a fantasy of mine.”
He dreams about me picking apples?
I would pick apples all fucking day for him if it made him happy. Afterward, I’d crawl into bed with him and make him confess whatever thoughts he had about me when I was up on the ladder. But that won’t happen tomorrow. No. Instead, it will be a suck-fest of putting up with Jesse’s shit all day, when all I’ll want to be doing is to be with Cam.
“You could…come with me.”
“Really? Oh, my gosh, I’d love that.”
It’s a terrible idea. I’ve never brought a friend home to help us with the harvest. That’s what my family would think Cam is, “a friend”. While my instincts tell me to talk myself out of the idea, I argue with them.
Why can’t it be plausible that I have a friend even though I’ve barely had many in my life? Sure, I’d never think of asking Mark to take a road trip to the harvest, but still. Jesse’s brought his buddies out to the orchard to help over the years. Why can’t I?
Because I’m Pete and my family scrutinizes my every action.
“I can help pick apples,” he offers excitedly. “I won’t get in your way. I promise.”
Fuck it. They can scrutinize me all they want. They already do anyway. I’ll be damned if anyone makes him help pick, though, as damned as I’ll be to deny him something he clearly has his heart set on.
“It’s not fun,” I warn him. “My little brother is a pain in the ass. My sister still thinks she’s the boss of me, and my mother will make you eat your weight in food, but…I mean, I could take you into town on Sunday to the shops you talked about…if you can put up with the other stuff.”
“You’ll be there, right?” he asks, smiling up at me.
“Of course. I won’t leave you to fend for yourself somewhere you don’t know.”
“Then it’s the only place I want to be.”
I kiss him. And then I kiss him again and again until he has no air left to say things that make my cup run over.
CHAPTER 20
Pete
Freshly showered by my hands, Cam looks beautiful in the soft hue of the rising sun, even as a muffin crumb tumbles from his lips and into his lap in the passenger seat. It makes my eye twitch, but I’ll survive. I don’t eat in my car. I can’t stand it when people do, but the way he tediously held a napkin under his chin and collected every morsel he dropped is a courtesy I didn’t know someone was willing to extend to me. There are nothing but hearts in my eyes today. I have a boyfriend, an extremely thoughtful boyfriend.
I know, officially, the agreement was that I have a ‘he’ll-never-fuck-anyone-else-but-me’ person, but the word boyfriend sounds much more fitting, even if it hasn’t been said. And now, I’m bringing my boyfriend home to my family. My family who knows that I’ve never been with a man before. The butterflies he stirs in my stomach are threatening to turn into nausea.
Glancing over, I catch his eyes raking me up and down again. It’s just like at the office, but worse. If he looks at me like that at Mom and Dad’s, there’ll be no convincing anyone that we’re merely platonic acquaintances. Honestly, I have the urge to just blurt it out to them that I’ve become completely, desperately, smitten with a man, but that’s not the problem. Is it?
