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Annoyance flashes under my skin. What does this have to do with anything? She’s out here because she’s supposed to be showcasing Red Barn Orchard, and with this one question, this suddenly feels like a different kind of interview. Briggs must think the same as the air stiffens between us.
“I love it. The town and the people have been so welcoming.” I tilt my head and smile sweetly up at Briggs. He smirks at my sarcasm, thinking I’m funny. Then again, only he would pick up on the sarcasm as it’s directed to him. I turn back to face her. “And I love events like this. I first heard of Red Barn Orchard from my friend Will Ashton on the Fourth of July, and of course I had to come and try their famous cider donuts. They’re delicious, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been here more than once.”
Her eyes flare at the mention of Ash, and she’s so proud of herself for talking to me. You can see she’s like the cat who got the cream.
“So would you say that Red Barn Orchard has become one of your favorite local spots?” she asks, digging. Should I say yes? I don’t know. I do want to so that maybe Briggs will get more business, but at the same time, I don’t. I don’t really want a bunch of strangers wandering up our mountain because they’ve discovered where I live.
I glance at him quickly, but he gives nothing away.
“I would say that Jane, who runs the cider house and makes the delicious donuts, is the sweetest person here, and everyone should definitely come out and see her.”
My tone lets her know I don’t want to be asked any more questions. This was quite possibly the fastest interview ever, but she crossed a line twice. Seeing the tension suddenly emanating from the two of us, she takes her cue.
“Thank you, Cora, and there you have it! Jane and her cider donuts are some of the best and sweetest in town. But don’t forget to sample the hard ciders, grab some apple butter or other pastries, and pick some apples while you’re at Red Barn Orchard. ’Tis the season, and I don’t know about you, but it’s time for a hand pie.” She winks at the camera, and then it’s lowered.
“Wow, that was perfect timing.” She turns to beam at me.
“Sure was,” I say back, still smiling but dripping with sarcasm.
Something brushes my lower back, and I glance down to see it’s Briggs’s hand. With the few interactions we’ve had, the only time he’s touched me is when he tried to keep me from falling by the blackberry bush. While I don’t remember much of that, I certainly feel his fingertips now sparking a weird sensation through my thin shirt and into my skin.
“I’m glad you’re here. I have your order,” he says, gently pushing me to move. “Thank you, Jessica, for stopping by,” he says to her. Without waiting for a reply, we leave those standing around watching and start walking away.
“It was nice to meet you, Cora,” she calls after us, and I wave my hand in return without looking back. The crowd around us has grown, and a twinge of unease makes me momentarily nervous. Is it a problem for him that I’m here? Does he feel the need to shuffle me away to prevent any kind of fangirl scene?
Then I hear her tell the cameraman that they need to get a few seconds of clips of people picking apples, drinking the cider, and the kids playing.
The moment is over.
“Rude much?” I mumble to him as he steers me not into the cider house but around the outside of it. I could be talking about him or her, or both, I don’t know.
He doesn’t answer, but as we keep moving, I’m not unaware of his long muscular legs as they walk next to mine or the heat of his large hand as it remains on my back. I don’t know where we’re going, and surprisingly, whether he was rude or not, I’m not unhappy about it.
11
BRIGGS
Ilove the opening weekend of the “You Pick” season. Every year, we spend months getting ready with the different flavors of cider, the take-home jams, jellies, and butters, and making sure the property is in tip-top shape. We also plan a few extra fun things to entice people to come out, like food trucks, live music, and three bounce houses for kids. Outside of the fall festival weekend, this is our second-largest revenue day.
What I don’t love is being ambushed by reporters.
I know this is the wrong attitude to take, that Jessica coming out here really had good intentions, but she’s irritating, and I hate running into her around town. I also just, in general, loathe reporters.
Growing up, my family was frequently followed and always photographed. It would be one thing if what they reported was accurate, but the content was almost always grossly inflated or just fake news. And unfortunately, too many people believe what they say.
Goldie is silent as she walks next to me. Then again, I’m not sure what I expect her to say. She did me a solid by not talking about herself and bringing the story back to the orchard. Who knows, maybe if I’m lucky, this clip with her will reach beyond Horizons Valley and bring in more customers.
As we round the cider house, maybe thirty yards away, is the large red barn that warehouses the cider production. It wasn’t originally red, but I figured with the name and the branding, it should be.
“Thank you,” I say to her as we walk by a few people who’ve been to tour it, and I hope she hears the sincerity.
She glances my way, and I watch her pinch her lips together out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m surprised they let you out of the house today to actually speak with people.”
I can’t tell if she’s teasing or if she’s serious. Then again, I’ve never given her a reason to think differently.
“Me?” I smile down at her. “You’re the one who instantly drew a crowd. Do you have this problem everywhere you go? Is that why you never leave your house?”
