“Mmhm. Of course.” She points her shears down the row. “Well, speak of the devils.”
I turn and see the three alphas coming up the dirt path between the trees. Bram in front, hands easy at his sides. Reed beside him, tossing an apple from one palm to the other. Ash, half a step behind, sleeves shoved to the elbow, jeans dusty at the knee.
And it hits me...
The wind, carrying their scent straight down the row. The dark bite of cedar and chocolate. Worn leather. Coffee. And underneath all of it, woodsmoke, threaded with something animalistic. It is the smell of a porch in October, a safe harbor, every single one I have ever invented in my head and never gotten to go to.
A small, quick whine climbs up the back of my throat to call for them and I barely manage to swallow it. I cough. Hard.
Jenna lifts an eyebrow but blessedly says nothing.
“Hey, ladies.” Reed stops a couple feet shy. Those dark green eyes lock onto mine. “How’s our newest apple picker? Trust Jenna showed you the ropes?”
I clear my throat. “She really did. I now know seventeen ways to tell an apple’s ripe. I’m prepared to consult.”
Reed’s grin spreads. “Six hours and you’re already gunning for management.”
“I was thinking VP of fruit.”
“Knew it.” He hooks a thumb through his belt loop. “Bram. See, this is what happens. You leave the new hire unsupervised and she stages a coup for my job.”
“Maybe we should keep the new hire under closer supervision,” Bram says, his eyes darkening.
My eyes drop straight to my picking bag. Bram’s scent thickens at his own words, his leather deepening, all of it rolling toward me, a warm press at the small of my back.
I make myself look past Bram, to Ash, who’s standing with that half-smile in the corner of his mouth.
“On the topic of management,” he says, “we came to collect you. Crew lunch. We always order in for everyone on the second of the month.” His mouth tips at the corner. “And no is not an acceptable answer.”
***
Behind the barn, two long folding tables sit pushed end-to-end in the shade, laden with roast chicken, potatoes glossed with butter, green beans, and tomato salads, pitchers of iced tea sweating onto the wood.
The other pickers wander in with their bags slung over their shoulders, dropping them in a pile by the barn wall.
I take a plate from Ash. Our fingers brush, and the line of my arm goes hot all the way up to the shoulder. His pupils flicker, and I drop my eyes to the chicken.
Come on Luna, control.
We sit. Bench creaks. Bram across from me, Ash on my right, Reed on my left, the three of them of course perfectly positioned to keep me boxed in by scent...
“So.” I clear my throat and move a potato around my plate. I need to plant this flag before I lose the will to do it, because the longer I sit inside this combined scent the dumber my plans are going to get. “I have some news.”
They lean in toward me.
“By all means, tell us more.” Reed sets his elbow on the table, fork loose in his fingers.
I smile. “So Chloe called. Serenity Ridge got my spot back and I leave tomorrow morning.”
“Awesome,” Ash says, smiling. “I was hoping that’d work out for you.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Bram says.
“Told ya it would all work out.” Reed lifts his iced tea in my direction. “To the VP of fruit. May the energetic flow of the retreat be very. You know. Flowy.”
A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. “Thank you.”
They look happy for me on the surface, but I’ve spent a decade behind a reference desk. You don’t do that job for ten years without learning how to read people. So I can tell that a part of them really is happy for me, but right beneath it, another part isn’t.
