I blink. “What?”
“It’s a great idea,” he says again, like it’s obvious. He pushes himself up onto his side fully now. “This place has so much potential. The bones are good. And with the orchard right there?” He gestures toward the open doors, where rows of trees stretch out in neat lines. “It’d be beautiful.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You really think so?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “It’d be an incredible place to get married.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest ache.
I swallow, suddenly very aware of the weight of his arm around me.
“Yeah,” I say, voice going softer, “I’d love to get married here.”
He goes very still next to me.
“Hypothetically,” I rush out, chuckling nervously. “Like, maybe someday. If—when. You know.”
Troy’s mouth curves slowly into a smirk.
“Well,” he says, leaning down until his forehead brushes mine, “I think I’d be honored to marry you here…hypothetically.”
Even though I know we’re both joking, his words still steal the breath from my lungs. In the sweltering heat of the old barn, surrounded by dust-covered potential, I fist his shirt and seal our lips together again.
My hands are stained a stubborn red from handling cherries all day, dried juice sticky against my fingers. The summer heat presses down without mercy, sweat dripping between my shoulder blades and plastering my T-shirt to my chest. My baseball cap does almost nothing against the blinding sun. I still have to squint as I scan the crowded street, the farmers market alive with overlapping chatter and the distant melody of a street performer strumming a guitar.
Olivia’s home sick with a cold, which means I’m running the stall alone. I’ve been scrambling to keep up since dawn—restocking the display again and again as baskets empty faster than I can refill them. My voice is going hoarse from answering the same questions on repeat, my lips aching from the strain of too many forced smiles.
I’m exhausted.
The only thing keeping me motivated is knowing I have plans with Troy tonight. The thought of stepping into his apartment, of finally cooling off in the dim quiet, of his hands on my waist and his mouth on mine—it’s a rewarding promise waiting at the end of the day.
From the corner of my vision, a tall figure snags my attention. I glance over to see no other than Mason Burke, strolling through the market beside a guy I don’t recognize.
Mason has always taken up space without trying. Broad shoulders. Sharp angles. A jawline that looks carved from stone. Defined pecs and thick biceps strain the sleeves of his T-shirt, but it’s the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose that soften him, giving him that small-town golden boy look. His shiny caramel hair falls to his shoulders in loose, beachy curls. His hazel eyes flick over the crowd as he walks, restless, almost nervous.
The guy next to him is shorter, light brown skin glowing in the sun, hooded eyes crinkling every time he glances up at Mason. He wears round wire-frame glasses that slide down his nose when he smiles. His frame is slim, half-swallowed by an oversized shirt, a canvas tote bumping against his hip, stuffed with fresh-cut flowers that spill out in bursts of color.
My brain goes a little numb as they angle toward my table.
The story Luke told me keeps looping in my head. What if that’s the guy Mason kissed? What if it wasn’t just a rumor?
What if I’m not so alone, after all?
Mason looks at me, brows knitting slightly, like he’s trying to recall where he recognizes me from. I can’t blame him. Back in high school, he was always more Luke’s friend than mine.
“Hey. You’re Mason Burke, right?” I ask, stretching my mouth into a tight smile.
His body stiffens. “Um. Yeah.”
“I’m Ashton, Luke Tremblay’s older brother.” I reach across the table to shake his hand, but he leans in at the same time, going fora half hug. We collide in a clumsy in-between, both of us tensing before awkwardly separating.
“We went to high school together,” I continue, dragging my sweaty palm down my jeans. “I was a senior when you were a sophomore, I think.”
Recognition flickers across his face, surprise softening into memory. His eyebrows lift. “Oh, right,” he says, laughing softly. “How’ve you been?”
“I’m great, man! Our dad retired this year, so I’m taking over the family orchard.” I wave a hand over the cherries piled high in neat rows. “You went off to college, didn’t you?”
