Ian took my teasing in stride and lowered himself to the bench seat beside his nephew. “Then we’ll just have to agree not to tell Maurice. Hey, Georgie. How was school today?”
“It was fine. I practiced writing sentences, and Sophia and I started readingThe Wild Robot.” Then, without missing a beat, the boy asked, “Can I drive the tractor? Joan said we had to ask you first.”
Ian’s gaze shot to mine. “Uhhh.”
“It’s the lawn tractor,” I explained. “I’m mowing the last little bit of the wildflower patch before winter. I thought George might like to help me.”
The conflict practically radiated off of Ian. I could tell he was worried about making the wrong decision or putting his nephew in danger.
“I’ll be with him the whole time, and he’ll have eye and ear protection to wear,” I assured him. “My dad started bringing me along when I was about George’s age.” Truthfully, I’d been helping my dad mow since I was three or four.
The frown lines on Ian’s forehead smoothed incrementally. “Okay, then. Be careful, though. Make sure you listen to Miss Joan.”
George nodded and ripped off another piece of bread.
I passed Ian the lunch I’d prepared for Sophia, our fingers brushing unexpectedly. He took a long swallow from a water bottle, and I tried not to stare as his throat worked.
Shifting on the bench, I made myself focus on my food and not whatever weirdness was making me extra jumpy around Ian. I knew he was attractive. I wasn’t an idiot. But it was harder to ignore today for some reason.
He unwrapped the sandwich and said, “What do we have here?”
“The best thing ever,” George replied, sticky marshmallow dotting his upper lip.
I fought a grin. “It’s just peanut butter and marshmallow fluff.”
Ian took a huge bite before I’d even finished speaking. He groaned. “Thatisthe best thing ever. Definitely don’t tell Maurice.”
George giggled. “She uses chunky peanut butter. That’s why it’s so good.”
“Is that right?” Ian said.
“Yep,” the boy replied.
I pulled out some sliced apples drizzled in a little lemon juice to keep them from turning, as well as some pretzels and cups of yogurt.
It was a simple meal. My mom used to make sandwiches like this as a special treat for my siblings and me. It had seemed like something aseven-year-old might enjoy. But it still made me feel good when George had taken a tentative first bite, and then his eyes had shot open in excitement.
We chatted while we ate. Ian told us about the deer they’d seen in the woods while filming. George recounted the first few chapters ofThe Wild Robot. The conversation was surprisingly easy and weirdly domestic. But soon enough, Ian’s phone buzzed on the table, and he was needed back on set. It was nice that he’d been able to take his break and spend it with his nephew instead of going to the small set trailer where he said he normally ate. I imagined free time was hard to come by with such an irregular schedule.
So I was a little surprised when Ian managed to join us for lunch again the following day. It was a cold Thursday, and George and I were eating in the Apple House next to the space heater.
Ian approached from the orchard’s main entrance this time and brought with him a travel mug. He extended the cup in my direction after greeting us.
“What’s this?”
“Coffee,” he replied. “Junior and Nola have a really nice espresso machine back at the big house, and I’m getting pretty good at it, if I do say so myself.”
I accepted the offering and took a hesitant sip. I thought George might have hidden a giggle, but I couldn’t be sure over the sound of all my taste buds screaming out in agony.
The coffee was so bitter and strong, it somehow tasted like burnt hair and pennies at the same time.
Ian watched me nervously. “How is it?”
I worked hard to school my features, thinking I should have been nominated for a fucking Academy Award. “It’s great. Thank you.”
Ian beamed, boyish pride and dimples on full display. I swore his ridiculous curled lashes fluttered with happiness. Christ, he was pretty. Good thing too, because he’d never be a barista.
But the thought had been nice. I took small sips and fought a wince each time.
