Page 41 of Fall Love

“More like a beaver.” I gnash my teeth together, realizing that Neve’s temper runs hot and cold. One minute she’s looking at me like she wants to rip my clothes off, and the next, she’s ripping into me with a jab or quip.

It’s surprisingly endearing.

I set my hand on the back of the tractor seat and hoist myself up behind her. There isn’t much space with her large belly hitting the steering wheel, so I simply balance my thighs on the edge of the seat, surrounding her.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks, clutching the wheel.

“I told you. Photo op.” Then I reach around her, aim the phone screen toward us, and center the image.

We look good together. Her cheeks are rosy from the slight heat of the day. Her hair is windblown. Mine flows backward in the breeze, and our eyes meet in the image.

Click.

The moment is captured for eternity. I’d like a thousand more moments just like this one, and all the other ones today.

“Ready to make a pie,” I say, pulling back my arm but not hopping off the tractor seat yet.

“Ready for a nap.”

Shit. “Are you tired?” We eventually made our way through more lanes of trees, filling up bags too small to collect more than a few Honeycrisps. I carried the bags and the apple picker while Neve lumbered beside me.

While we walked, we talked. Not about Rusty’s Wrecks or the surprise that she intends to work for Bucky Beaver Body Shop. Not about my work either.

Just general things. Little stories about my summer visits and her growing up around here.

There are so many traditions in small towns. So many activities and festivals and celebrations, and I don’t know how I ever missed out on meeting her before that New Year’s Eve party.

Turns out Neve is my neighbor, but I keep that to myself, for now.

“We can make a pie another day,” I suggest half-heartedly, because I’m not ready to let her go. I want to continue our day, but the baby and Neve’s health come first.

With our apples in hand and a few extra donuts to go, we head back to her place. I follow her to her door and then step inside, intending to drop off the apples and treats, then leave.

“You know.” She pauses, chewing at the corner of her lip. “I just need a little power nap. Fifteen minutes tops, and then we could make that pie.”

She glances at the mess still littering her kitchen space. Her place is small. Cozy, like I mentioned, but I don’t know how she’ll have space for a baby.

“Maybe you have phone calls or emails, or whatever you do, to check on.” She waves toward my phone in my back pocket. I do have emails to answer and a contract to check in on, but Neve is my priority.

I was supposed to return home last weekend. Then my cousins convinced me to stay through the holiday and attend the Chug-Along beer fest. I didn’t want to appear like I hadn’t set up a meeting with Lumi Snowe, who apparently flaked on it last week, so I told the office I needed a few more days to shore up the deal.

But the real reason I’ve stayed is the bomb Neve dropped on me Saturday evening.

And now, I’m not certain what to do.

“Yeah. I could work. Take all the time you need. You and the baby need.”

“Thanks.” She tries to stifle a yawn. She points toward an open door off the kitchen. “My bedroom is in there.”

We both freeze, and her eyes lock on me. “Where I’ll be taking a nap.”

I nod.

“But the bathroom is also in there. Should you need it.”

I nod again, trying not to think about Neve in her bedroom. Taking a nap. On her bed.

We didn’t have sex on such comfort. We had sex in the back of a Bronco, where our bodies kept us warm, and the heater struggled to keep the space only slightly warmer than a cold tin can.