Page 5

“I looked at your portfolio.” I keep my eyes on her face. “The cream coat with the blue lining was my favorite.”

“The lining only shows in one photograph.” She looks up, surprised.

“You were laughing in it.” I lift my cup, then put it down. “I noticed.”

She watches me for a moment. The fryer hisses behind us, but I mostly notice the small movement of her throat as she swallows. She shifts closer until her arm rests against mine.

“The orchard walk is still open.” I tap the program, grateful for something to do. “Would you like to see it?”

“Do they still hang lanterns in the branches?” She smooths the paper with a fingertip.

“I helped string them yesterday.” I pick up the donut bag.

“You volunteer now?” Her smile warms. “Did somebody threaten you?”

“Mae offered to stop asking me to judge the pie contest.” I move aside to let her pass. “I’m not qualified to decide whose grandmother loses.”

At the gate, Anissa turns to show me the orange leaf stamped on her hand. We both move at once, and her open hand lands against my chest. I catch her hand before she can pull it away. Her fingers relax against my shirt, and for one reckless second I imagine pulling her near. Then she steps back, and I let her go, knowing she isn’t mine and I don’t have the privilege to hold her like that.

Lanterns glow among the apple trees. Our hands brush twice as we walk, and the second time she looks at me, I don’t pretend I haven’t noticed.

“I climbed that one when I was little.” She points at a bent branch. “I wanted the highest apple. Dad had to fetch a ladder.”

“Did you get the apple?”

“No idea.” She smiles at the memory. “He told everybody he was picking a rare variety.”

I remember her father’s pride when she showed him something she had made. Thinking about it makes my chest ache for the things she hasn’t been able to share with him.

“He would have liked your coat.” I brush a leaf aside with my boot. “He always talked about your work.”

“I wish I could show him.” Her hand slips from the jacket pocket and hangs between us.

“May I?” I hold my open hand beneath hers.

She lays her hand across mine. Her shoulders ease when I close my fingers, and something settles inside me too. I have imagined holding her in every way a man can want a woman, yet this small permission nearly undoes me.

As the path narrows, she walks ahead without letting go. Her thumb strokes mine, almost absentmindedly. I want the kisses and the mornings afterward, but I want this too—Anissa reaching back because she expects me to be there. I tighten my hand gently and follow.

five

Anissa

Mae waits beside the hayride wagon with a slightly suspiciously helpful expression. Lanterns hang at its corners, and the front cushion looks barely wide enough for one comfortable adult.

“I saved you two seats.” She points, smiling.

“Looks like one.” Silas slows without releasing my hand.

“Your powers of observation are why people hire you.” Mae looks at me. “Very popular ride.”

I have spent twenty minutes wanting an excuse to move closer. A wagon cushion seems like an excellent way to do that.

“Scared?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Of farm equipment?” He looks offended.

“Of sitting beside me.” I tug his hand.