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"The boots should absolutely be involved."

"I haven't decided anything," I said, which was at least partially true, and which both of them received with identical expressions of polite skepticism. They continued to stare, saying nothing. "I haven't. It's a date. People go on dates without it necessarily—" I shut up.

“Especially you,” Angelica purred.

"Angelica!" Chloe chastised.

"Well it’s true," she repeated. “I’ve got high hopes our girl can break her vow of celibacy.”

“It has been awhile for you, hasn’t it?” Chloe murmured. “Who was the last guy? Randall?”

“Ewww.” I said. “I didn’t sleep with Randall. The last guy was Dorian.”

“That’s even longer,” Chloe sat up suddenly, splashing her lemonade. “Are you sure you’ll remember what to do?”

“Shhhh, not in front of the baby,” I warned Chloe.

“What, she’s not hearing anything worth knowing. None of us are. So, are you going to sleep with Adam? Do you need pointers since it’s been so long?”

"I haven't decided," I said again, slower this time, which was not the same thing as saying I hadn't thought about it, and from the way both of them smiled into their lemonade, we all understood that distinction perfectly.

Chapter Twenty-One

James had been vibrating with excitement since I’d told him about the orchard.

Not the fruit. I'd been careful to explain that the apples, peaches, and pears wouldn't be ready until summer and fall, but that what we were going to see were blossoms. He had absorbed this information, thought about it for about four seconds, and decided that flowers that turned into fruit later were actually better than fruit now. He turned serious and said that learning how to be patient and wait was a good habit to develop.

I needed to send somebody at his pre-school a thank-you card.

"Are the trees big?" he asked, for the third time since we'd left the house.

"Pretty big."

"Big enough to climb?"

"You'd have to ask Miss Millie."

“Okey-doke."

He went quiet for a moment, which usually meant he was building toward something. The truck hummed along the road, late afternoon light coming through the windows at a low angle, the hills rolling out on either side of us, with a particular glow that only lasted a few weeks before it deepened into summer.

"Dad."

"Yeah, bud."

"What if Miss Millie doesn't like me?"

I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. He was looking out the window with the careful, neutral expression he put on when something actually worried him. "She's going to like you,” I assured him.

"But what if not?"

"Trust me, she will."

"But what if she doesn't?"

"James." I waited until he looked at me in the mirror. "She invited you specifically. You know what that means?"

He shook his head.