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“I wasn’t aware that was something a person could do.”
I scramble up and tuck my legs under me. “But Miles, I can tell you don’t love your work, at least not commercial law. Why do you do it?”
His eyebrows come together as he steeples his fingers in front of his face. I know he’s not passionate about the cases he takes or the clients he handles, and I know what he loves to do, but I can’t reveal that secret. It’s one he’s never confessed and goes to great lengths to hide.
“I’m good at it. Excellent even.”
It’s a throwaway answer, an easy response, and an excuse if I’ve ever heard one. And clearly, I’m familiar with excuses. But before I can respond, he continues with the smallest of sighs. One I might not have even noticed, except a shake of his head accompanied it. “I don’t have the luxury of following my dreams, Lauryn. Not when I’m the one and only son in the Beaufort line.”
“You’re not royalty,” I exclaim, ready to pull out my hair. “Come on, all I’m asking is, if you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”
He holds my gaze for a long moment in the soft yellow light from the table. He has an answer, one I can almost feel reverberating through him, but he doesn’t give it to me. At least, not yet. “Do you admit you’d move up here, back to the orchard, in a heartbeat, if the circumstances were right?”
Thecircumstances, a.k.a. this man I fell for years ago and who I’m falling for even harder the further we get from our real lives, will never be mine. Maybe, that’s the lesson I need to learn: to stop putting my life on pause for a daydream that will never, ever, come true.
“It’s late, Miles,” I say with a sigh. “And we have an early morning tomorrow, along with a full day of work.”
His fingers curl into fists, and a muscle in his jaw clenches, but he rises and nods, then eyes the bed. “I’ll take the floor, of course.”
Miles | Saturday morning
Icoulduseanothercup of coffee. The strong, black brew I downed in three gulps in the kitchen this morning before the sun was up wore off hours ago. And we’ve been going strong ever since.
Not we as in Lauryn and me. I haven’t seen my PA/pretend weekend girlfriend, or her worn denim overalls and red-checkered shirt, since she pressed her lips to mine before she headed out with her mom and sisters to handle the orchard market. But the way she kissed me, as if it were the most casual, everyday act in the world, along with the flirty smile on her lips, has lingered in my mind for hours. I can’t wait to see her again.
No, I meant we as in Lauryn’s dad and me.
“Can you drive a tractor, son?” was the first question he’d asked as we headed out to the barn with the other significant others at first light.
Thatsonhit me square in the chest again. “No, but I’m willing to learn.”
He lifted his cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair in a way that reminded me of my grandfather, even though he’s much closer to my father’s age. “Don’t have time to teach you now, but maybe, later or tomorrow before you go. Lauryn could teach you, too. She’s been driving since she could reach the pedals.”
Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.
Without tractor privileges, they put me on heavy manual labor, loading and unloading bins of harvested McIntosh and Redcourt, Gala and Spartan, to refill the stock at the market for folks who don’t want to pick their own. I’m just about done when Lauryn’s dad returns from delivering a load and tosses me a bottle of water.
“Doing okay there, Miles? Need a break?”
“No, sir, never better,” I say, taking a long swig and wiping my brow.
He eyes me as if he doesn’t quite believe me, but it’s true. My grandparents’ estate, where I spent every summer growing up and now spend almost every weekend, is one of my favorite places in the world. It isn’t far from downtown but seems a world away, kind of like this place.
My grandfather made his millions in mining, but he was an outdoorsman in the truest sense of the word. An avid hunter and fisherman, a birdwatcher, a photographer, and an arborist. He was salt of the earth. A trait my father didn’t inherit and still frowns upon. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but in their case, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Maybe, that’s why my grandmother and I keep my time there as our little secret, even today.
“Good to hear,” Lauryn’s dad says with an approving nod before adding, “Say, I was just about to take a drive around the orchard. You know, make sure everything is running smoothly. Care to join me?”
“I’d love to.” Even if the hair on the back of my neck is standing up at the invitation, or rather, the motivation behind it.
The tour, in an old pickup that runs as smooth as my brand new Range Rover, is thorough. This man’s pride for the orchard is well-deserved. Along the way, he shares the history of how, years ago, his parents started with just five acres and a dream and how one day, he hopes to pass on the place to his children and keep it in the family.
“Not Lauryn, though,” he says, pressing his lips together as he pulls off the road at a spot with just enough elevation to overlook the thousands of apple trees that blanket the land.
“Why not?”
He shakes his head. “She’s not coming back here, no matter how much she loves it.”
“What makes you say that?”
