Page 6

He helps me up, his palm solid against my back. When we sit, he takes the edge, as though he can will a respectful distance. Mae drops a fluffy blanket decorated with smiling pumpkins into his lap.

“No.” He looks at it, then at her.

“It’s cold.” She steps away before he can hand it back.

“I was talking to the pumpkins.” He unfolds it and covers my knees first.

I laugh, and the softened look he gives me makes me warmer than the blanket. He can be annoyed by cheerful fabric while doing something kind—I used to adore that contradiction.

The tractor starts. Our cushion slides, depositing my hip against his, and my hand lands on his thigh before I catch the bench. He steadies my waist, and we go still.

“Excellent seating.” I tease.

“I’m filing a complaint.” His hand remains against my side.

“With whom?” I look up, conscious of the heat of his thigh against mine.

“The cushion manufacturer.” He draws the blanket over my fingers. “Poor structural integrity.”

His quiet laugh rumbles through his shoulder. For years, I remembered the rejection so clearly that I forgot how funny he could be when he relaxed. Tonight, I want to stay close to hear more.

We leave the lights and follow the orchard lane. Lanterns shift across his face, but he watches me instead of the scenery.

“What?” I brush hair from my cheek.

“You’re laughing.” He glances down at our knees. “I was afraid you wouldn’t tonight.”

I could make a joke, but the hope in his voice deserves more care. I rest my hand against his arm beneath the blanket. “I’m surprised too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still angry. But I’m also glad I came.”

He nods as the driver points out a giant pumpkin and his gaze drops to my mouth. I could kiss him if I knew how to be brave, but I tighten my hand around his instead.

At the next bump, he braces, drawing me safely against him. When the path smooths, I stay there. He checks my face, and I see my uncertainty reflected in his eyes.

“You all right?” He loosens his arm enough for me to move away if I want to.

“Yes.” I don’t move away, my mind still deciding whether I'm really all right being this close to him again after all these years.

Back at the gate, Mae takes the blanket and studies my flushed cheeks as Silas helps me down. “How was the ride?” She looks entirely too interested.

“Needs better suspension.” He glances at the bench. “And a less manipulative seating policy.”

“Five stars.” I tuck my hand into his. “Would endure again.”

six

Silas

As we walk toward the roasting pit to make S’mores, Anissa pulls her phone out of her pocket—a grim look crosses her face.

“Bad news?”

“An email from Chicago.” She hesitates. “I was fired. That’s the part Earl left out.”

“What happened?”

“Someone accused me of stealing a coat design.” She watches the flames as we stop next to the fire. “It was mine. I sent the review team my dated sketches, but they’d already made me clear my desk. They said the file history proved I copied the design. But I had sketches from months earlier. I showed them. They still made me pack my desk.” She takes a deep breath, her eyes still fixed on the fire. “The receptionist gave me a box. People I’d worked beside for two years wouldn’t even meet my eyes. I couldn’t keep paying rent while they decided whether to believe me.” She presses her palms together. “Coming home shouldn’t feel like failing, but it does.”

“You did the work.” I turn my hand palm up. “Somebody treating you badly doesn’t make it disappear.”