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I squeeze his hand, stand up, and give him a nod. I’m fortunate to have them. A small part of me aches when I think about leaving at the end of the summer.
As a result of our limited parking, cars squeeze in where they can, and vehicles start to line both sides of the street. I spot my parents’ friends, the O’Briens, the Hendersons, and the Smiths. Shannon’s friend, Nora, and her family are pulling in too.
I round the barn and follow the worn dirt trail to my rusty red tractor, climbing into the cab. Key turned, I give the engine a minute to warm up and get the gas flowing. This tractor and I go way back to the days I spent riding through these fields on my dad’s lap, memorizing the lay of the land, and learning the responsibilities of the farm. I’ve spent my whole life maintaining this land, the map of these fields forever ingrained in my mind. This farm and the surrounding acreage are filled with memories, my secrets, and will forever be a part of me. Next to the pine trees to the west, I had my first kiss. In the fields to the north, I got caught drinking my first beer, and the back field is where I cried after losing my first love.
The morning moves quickly, people coming and going. As I travel through the orchard, I wave at the families, watching them walk through the fields as they admire the trees, the branches sprouting young apple fruit for our chosen varieties—Gala, McIntosh, Honeycrisp, and great cider apples, the Winesap. They pause to read the fun-fact wooden signs we’ve stuck in the ground along the way. Below, I see families piling into the wagon for a hayride and kids enjoying the lawn games. Laughter echoes from every corner, and the warmth of friends and neighbors fills the air.
A couple chores and hours later, I park the tractor and walk to the barn to check on my grandparents, despite their insistence not to. On approach, I spot a familiar pickup pulling into the drive. I stop and lean against the porch post. The truck stops, and I immediately recognize the legs that slide out on the driver’s side and onto the running boards. Solia. For the third time in two weeks, I’m a little lost for words as a flush of heat courses through my body. I have the advantage of seeing her without being seen, so I take in every inch and determine she’s more beautiful today than I remembered.
Those jean shorts—damn. Taking her time strolling to the barn, she grabs a band off her wrist, gathers her long, wavy hair, and pulls it into a ponytail. Staring at her, I’m unaware of anything else around me, removed from the scene, an outsider looking in. I can’t help but notice that her muscular stomach shows when she reaches to tighten her hair.
Mesmerized by the sight of her, I snap back to reality when I hear a man behind me clearing his throat.
“Gerry! Hey, buddy! I didn’t notice you there.”
“I can’t imagine why, son. It wouldn’t be because of the sweet young lady in the driveway, would it?” Gerry smirks.
I can’t pretend I don’t know he’s referring to Solia, so I shrug and lean into the post, turn my hat backward, and smile in her direction. Sweat forms on my palms, and she has my full attention.
6
As the new girl, I need to weave myself into the fabric of Meriden. I am determined to make this work and prove to my parents that I am capable of much more than simply surviving here. Anyone from a small town can validate that the connection you build with friends and community is the special ingredient to belonging. My goal is to spend a couple hours, meet more people, and enjoy being outside. All through the summers I spent here growing up, I don’t remember ever visiting Christianson’s Apple Orchard, so now is the perfect time.
The sun bakes my skin, its heat beading sweat on the back of my neck. Getting out of my truck, I pull my hair up and look toward the barn in front of me. As I get closer, my gaze focuses on the attached porch, and I am suddenly stopped dead in my tracks.How can it be that the only two people I’ve met since arriving are standing next to each other under the porch staring my way?
Immediately, I notice every inch of my body—each inch that Jackson has already seen. I don’t think either of us blinks for a whole minute. If I were to dream up a hot, small-town guy, he would be my fantasy. His shirt is tight, and I imagine his muscles under my fingertips as my hands dip below the cotton. This man is desirable, and the sight of him makes my stomach flutter.
As I near the porch, I stare at his muscular hands resting in his pockets. He leans against the post, and his fitted jeans hug strong, tight legs. To finish it off, he’s wearing his freaking sexy work boots. Boots I wish he’d left at my doorstep.
What is going on with me?I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on meeting a man in my life. I couldn’t tell you his full name but desperately want to be screaming it from under my sheets.
“Hello there, Solia.”
I refocus on the man standing next to Jackson, breaking free of my steamy daydream, and register the man speaking is Gerry. I continue up the path.
Jackson lifts his right hand and waves with a smirk, making me question if he is a witness to the scenes playing out in my mind.
“Why am I suddenly under the impression that you orchestrated a setup here today?” I glare at Gerry, but I can’t help my smile.
This man is beyond sweet; his energy is magnetic. “Did you encourage Jackson to be here? Did my father put you up to playing matchmaker?”
Gerry smiles as I laugh in embarrassment.
“Hey, Solia. Don’t blame old Gerry here. My family owns and operates this orchard. Gerry is basically family. I’m just here earning a living in the best place around. It wouldn’t be a celebration without Gerry and the rest of the locals.”
“Your family owns the orchard? I had no idea. Beautiful doesn’t do it justice—this place is breathtaking. It’s my first time here. I may have visited as a kid, but I’d remember.”
Gerry attempts to hide his grin, but I am even more convinced he has something up his sleeve.
Muscles, a pickup, a face chiseled at angles made for a magazine shoot, and to top it off, Jackson runs an orchard. Damn.
His relationship with Gerry is beyond adorable and reminds me so much of my family back home. Being a small-town girl from New England, there is nothing steamier than a hometown hottie who rides a tractor and gets muddy on the daily. I’m a huge believer in signs, but I didn’t expect someone to catch my attention this soon. However, I’m not opposed to a little fun if love finds me. My thoughts sizzle at the possibility of Jackson seeing me naked under different circumstances …
“Me, playing matchmaker? I wouldn’t dream of it! But my boy Jackson here,” Gerry says, grabbing hold of Jackson’s shoulder, “would surely love to give a new lady in town a tour of the farm on his tractor. Right, J?”
Jackson’s face turns bright red and appears momentarily frozen. Then he stands up straight and does that thing where he lifts his backward-facing hat, brushes his fingers through his hair, and returns the hat to his head. Must be a nervous habit. Without missing a beat, he reaches his hand out to me. “Of course, Gerry. If Solia is up for a tractor ride, she can hop on mine.”
Riding his tractor isn’t the only thing I am envisioning riding at the moment, but I’ll take it. “Sure,” I utter, the only word I can manage, and without thinking, I grab hold of Jackson’s hand.
