He grins. “Nah, bro. Only you.”
I snort and start unloading the kegs, arms aching as I heft them into place. Luke claps me on the shoulder and then jerks his chin toward the other end of the bar.
“Duty calls,” he says, grabbing a bottle of tequila. “Yell if you need anything.”
He disappears to tend to a cluster of customers, leaving me alone with Ashton and the low hum of the bar.
For a beat, neither of us says anything.
I slide the last keg into position and wipe my hands on my jeans. “So,” I say lightly, glancing at him. “Did you come here to see me, blondie?”
Ashton nearly chokes on his beer.
“What? No,” he says too fast, color blooming across his cheeks. “Of course not. This is—this is the only bar in town. I came to talk to my brother. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I arch a brow, fighting a smile. “Funny. I make this delivery the same day, same time every week.” I tilt my head. “Seems convenient this is the second time you’ve just happened to be here.”
His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. “I—I mean—”
I crack, a laugh slipping out before I can stop it. “Relax. I’m just fucking with you.”
He exhales, shoulders dropping, then shoots me a glare that lacks any real heat. “You’re an asshole.”
“Guilty,” I reply, grinning.
I wipe my hands again, then step out from behind the bar and take the empty stool beside him. The space between us feels charged the second I sit, his knee angled just close enough to mine to make me acutely aware of it.
“Rough day at the orchard?” I ask, nodding toward his beer.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You have no idea.”
I hum in understanding, tracking his gaze even though he’s clearly trying not to meet mine. His eyes are a vivid green in the dim bar, catching the glow of the neon lights overhead. He stares down at his glass, thumb tracing slow, restless circles through the condensation.
“So,” I say after a beat, keeping my tone light, “I’ve heard your family’s kind of a big deal around here. You’ve got quite the reputation.”
His jaw tightens. “Um, yeah… I guess so.” He exhales sharply through his nose. “My great-grandfather moved here in the forties to start the orchard. We’ve kept it going ever since. Every generation, the eldest son has taken over.”
“And that’s you. The eldest son. Right?”
He nods, lips pressing into a thin, resigned line.
The weight of that settles in my chest. That kind of legacy feels heavy just hearing about it. It must be tough, being so young with so much responsibility.
“Your dad retired?” I ask carefully.
He nods. “Yeah, but not willingly. My mom basically had to threaten him into it after his heart attack last year.”
My eyes widen. “Shit. Is he okay?”
“Yeah. He’s fine,” Ashton says quickly, then hesitates. “But even though he’s retired—and I’m technically in charge—he’s still… very involved.”
I tilt my head. “How so?”
He takes a long pull from his beer, then wipes the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand, sighing. “My dad doesn’t like change. He’s stubborn. Opinionated. Thinks every decision I make is the wrong one.”
I frown. “Sorry. That sounds rough.”
He waves it off. “It’s fine. I love the orchard. I really do. My family can just be… difficult.”
