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“Our first public couple moment,” Jo says, watching Gabby tidy a stack of hay bales. “Do you mind?”
“That people know we’re together?” I swat her ass and nudge her toward the stacked buckets. “Not one bit. I just haven’t talked to Jake yet. I’m still worried about hurting him. I’ll feel better about full-town events once we’ve cleared the air between us in person. For now, we have a raspberry-picking competition to attend.”
“Because you think you’ll pick more than me?” She grabs two buckets and tosses one at my head. “Fat chance.”
I catch it with one hand. “I know I will. Should we place a wager?”
She holds her bucket against her stomach, looking pensive. “If I win, you can’t comment on my lack of tidiness for a month.”
“Yeah, okay.” I certainly won’t tell her I don’t mind her mess as much as I once did. Her hurricane ways don’t need encouragement. “If I win,” I say smugly, “you can’t boast after a soccer win for a month.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s lame, but fine. I don’t need to boast. The knowledge of victory is enough for me.” But her cheek twitches. Not rubbing everyone’s faces in their losses will murder her.
“May the best roommate win,” I say and hold out my hand.
We seal the wager with a shake, then she bolts ahead of me—sneaky woman—racing to the raspberry patch. Thankfully, my legs are longer. I overtake her quickly, then hear an “Ow.”
Worried, I stop and whip around. Jo waves her fingers at me and darts by. Laughing, I take a sharp left, hoping the shortcut through the apple orchard is the same.Bingo.
“You’re cheating!” she calls.
“It’s called winning!” I holler back.
I beat her to the raspberry patch and have a handful of berries in my bucket before she starts picking. Over the next half hour, raspberries are pelted at my head. Jolene yanks my shorts down once, not far from an elderly couple. I almost drop my stash and have to hop around to pull them back up. I smear raspberry pulp onto her neck.
She body checks me away with a haughty “Act your age.”
“Mentally, I’m still sixteen and obsessed with you.”
That earns me a blush that matches the raspberries in her bucket.
When we’re done, we stand over our buckets and peer inside.
“It’s no big deal,” she says, frowning at my larger haul. “Silent gloating is a thing. I can mess with people’s heads quietly.”
I wrap my arm around her, leading her to the exit. “I’ll get you a stress ball. Something to squeeze when the urge to brag becomes too much.” She pinches my side. I kiss the top of her head. “Ready for our picnic?”
She moons up at me. “Can’t wait.”
I drive us to Bear Lake, pleased only a couple of other trucks are here, but nerves spin through me. I brought more than food with me today. It’s no big deal, a gift I think Jo will appreciate. Or more of an offering? My heart laid bare for her.
Trying to act casual, I haul my basket and a blanket out of my truck bed. “If you take this to our old spot, there’s something else I need to grab.”
“I love that we have a spot,” she says and kisses the center of my chest.
I smile down at her and run my thumb over her bottom lip. “Spots, plural. Half of Windfall is filled with memories of you.”
A stockpile of history I never forgot.
She steals another kiss, then carries the basket to our old spot—a secluded rock ledge on a quieter side of the lake, a bit higher from the ground—while I pull the bag I stashed from behind my seat.
When I join her, she has the blanket down. She’s sitting on the ledge, her legs dangling over with her face lifted to the sun. I put my bag down and join her. We watch a couple swim lazily in the shallow area. Two women are lying on a blanket by the shore, sharing food and the occasional kiss. The surrounding trees sway in the slight breeze. A fish pops to the surface and disappears in a ring of water. We don’t talk for a bit, just let the beauty of Bear Lake lull us. Tranquility I’ve sorely missed.
“So,” I say, lifting my hand to brush back the stray hairs blowing across her face, “I brought something for you.”
“If it’s a poor loser medal, I’ll pass.”
Smiling through my nerves, I drag my bag closer and pull out a shoebox.Theshoebox. The one thing I took with me when I was ripped away from my life.
