There had been so much of me in everything Ian had said on camera. My life and my presence in his spread out on a countertop in a twenty-foot set trailer. I’d heard my words—things I’d told him during our runs or over lunch—slip out of Ian’s mouth when he’d spoken about the beauty of the land and the county’s apple production.
I finally managed to type an inarticulatewowand hit send.
My sister’s reply was immediate:All of the orchard merch is sold out. The tee shirts, the hats, the mugs. All of it, sold out online. I’ve been fielding calls all morning asking when we open for the season. Mac texted, and all their stuff is sold out too, even the baking mixes and jam and stuff from the bakery.
Wow, I repeated dumbly, as my mind raced, truly unable to comprehend what Ian had done, very intentionally shining a light on our family business.
Candace: Wow is right. The Dorian Masters effect, in real time.
Candace: Also, he’s clearly in love with you, but we don’t have to talk about that if you aren’t ready yet.
I stared at the words on my screen as my stomach flipped over, very much not ready to think about Ian’s feelings, or my own.
Later that night, I made dinner while George drew at my kitchen table. Ian had a production meeting that was running late, but he was due any minute.
Normally, we made dinner together. Usually, a recipe of my mother’s that Ian was excited to try his hand at. He was great at chopping, but terrible at measuring with his heart. His heart usually put in twice the garlic and three times the salt.
Ian came rushing in just as I was slicing and plating the pork tenderloin.
George set the table while Ian washed up, and we ate together the way we had so many evenings in the last few months.
The kid dominated much of the conversation as he recounted the book he was reading on the Great Molasses Flood. Ian listened in stunned horror, occasionally asking questions between bites of mashed potatoes.
If anyone noticed how quiet I was, they didn’t comment on it. I was still mulling over that interview.
When had it been filmed? Why had he said all of those wonderful things about our town and our business? Didn’t he know he was supposed to be promoting his film—his own livelihood? What was that collection of stuff on his countertop, and why did it make my chest hurt just looking at it?
What did all of this mean to him? Was he really just going to leave next month and take George with him?
What the hell was I supposed to do when they left?
I stood abruptly from the table, my chair scraping loudly on the wooden floor.
“Everything okay?” Ian said quietly after a tense moment following my sudden departure.
“Yeah,” I called over my shoulder, placing my dishes in the sink with forced gentleness.
But a minute later, I heard Ian stand and collect the rest of the dinnerware. “Georgie, why don’t you set up Monopoly in the living room? I’ll be in there in a minute.”
The boy whooped and hurried out of the kitchen.
A hand touched the small of my back as I stood over the sink, forcing myself to breathe.
“What’s going on?” Ian asked as he settled beside me, depositing his and George’s dishes next to mine in the sink.
The warm hand on my back stayed, rubbing circles over the fabric of my flannel. I leaned into his touch, wondering how much longer it would be mine.
After clearing my throat, I replied, “Just a weird day.”
“What made it weird?”
I watched you in your element and saw how I might fit into your life. You just did more for my parents and this farm in one interview than we could have ever hoped to accomplish with any amount of advertising on our own. I wish I could be as brave as you are, as open. I think I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how to lose you. I think letting you and George go might ruin me.
But I didn’t say any of that. I couldn’t even look at him. “We had the final planning meeting this morning for the spring festival. Eloise was in rare form.”
“That’s right. The Spring Fling is next week.” Ian sounded amused.
I finally managed to bring my gaze to his, curious despite my internal freak-out. “How do you know about it?”
