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“Speaking of the festival, tell your dad, if you see him when you’re over there, that I’ll stop by tonight on my way home to help move those pallets of cider from the barn to the market.”
“Maybe, I’ll have to come with you. You know how much I love seeing you drive that tractor.”
“I may just have to buy us a tractor of our own,” I say, trailing a hand up her leg from calf to thigh.
She giggles and rises, straightening her dress. “You might have a house in the country, but you don’t need a tractor, Miles Beaufort. With your one-track mind, what you need is a bigger house for all the babies you want to make.”
She’s right.
“Do you blame me?” I ask, adjusting in my seat to ease the pressure in my pants.
“No.” She bends to capture my face for a lingering kiss. “Because I’m on exactly the same page.”
