watched Mike load the tan girl into the passenger side of his truck. This is so stupid. How can I be jealous? The guy’s an incredible asshole, no matter what Edna and Amy say.
Still, as she started the car and backed it up in the gravel lot, she endured the physical pang of wanting to be the one in that truck, the one he was about to start kissing, touching. How did Mike Romo kiss? Probably not softly—probably really intensely and passionately. And she thought she could get into that, darn it.
Pulling the BMW into another spot she hoped wouldn’t block anyone, she got out, clicked the lock button on her keychain—and was surprised to see Mike still in the parking lot, standing by his driver’s side door. It was too late to choose another path between other cars without looking like she was afraid to face him, so she resolved to simply trudge past—until he grabbed onto her arm.
Oh God. More tingling. Not only where he was touching her, but shooting up her arm and out into her breasts, too.
She peered up at his face and nearly melted because of how close they stood, their bodies almost touching. Every part of her pulsed.
“Listen, Farris—what Logan said, he was right. I’ve had a shitty day.”
She blinked, not sure how to respond. “Is that your way of apologizing?”
He appeared irritated again, uncertain. She’d never met a man who could look so damn sexy being irritated. “Just explaining,” he replied, clearly too proud to simply say he was sorry.
In no mood to cut him any slack, she responded coldly. “Well, you should get going. Your girlfriend is starting to look impatient.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Oh, that makes it better. Like I’m so relieved to hear she’s just a one-nighter. “Whatever,” she said, then yanked her arm away and started marching back toward the Dew Drop Inn.
“Rachel! Is that you?” The voice came from her right and she looked up to find an older-but-still-just-as-pretty Jenny Tolliver headed her way, smiling brightly, arms open for a hug. Rachel was thrilled to see her girlhood friend and smiled back, glad for the hug, and glad for Mike Romo to see she had better things to do than mope over him and his soon-to-be lover.
But even as she hugged Jenny and said all the appropriate things, even as she was introduced to Mick Brody—who was indeed as hot as promised—she felt as if she wasn’t really there, as if she was just watching it happen to someone else.
Because all she could really think about was how tightly her stomach still clenched—all because Mike Romo was taking some other girl home tonight.
It made no sense.
And it hurt like hell.
Edna and Rachel both stood on easel ladders beneath a Gala apple tree. Edna had suggested Rachel wear some of her work clothes, so both were clad in oversize cotton smocks and straw hats, and Rachel prayed no one would see her this way. She’d brought some old tops to wear, but Edna had insisted they were too nice for apple picking.
“Now, do you remember how to pick ’em from when you were little?” Edna asked, demonstrating on a ripe apple. “Grip, roll your hand upward, and twist.” The applepopped free and Edna lowered it into the basket hanging from her ladder.
Rachel looked at all the apples covering the tree, then thought about all the trees filling the meadow along Sugar Creek. “Are you telling me that in this day and age there’s no better, more modern way of picking apples? No handy dandy machine or a tool that picks twenty at a time or something?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya. At least not at the Farris Family Apple Orchard. We do things the old-fashioned way here.”
“Because we like the old-fashioned way? Or because we just don’t know about any other ways?” Rachel asked, curious.
But Edna just shook her head. “You and machines. I like to keep things simple—you know that.” Indeed she did. Rachel had once gotten Edna a computer for Christmas, mainly for e-mail
Still, as she started the car and backed it up in the gravel lot, she endured the physical pang of wanting to be the one in that truck, the one he was about to start kissing, touching. How did Mike Romo kiss? Probably not softly—probably really intensely and passionately. And she thought she could get into that, darn it.
Pulling the BMW into another spot she hoped wouldn’t block anyone, she got out, clicked the lock button on her keychain—and was surprised to see Mike still in the parking lot, standing by his driver’s side door. It was too late to choose another path between other cars without looking like she was afraid to face him, so she resolved to simply trudge past—until he grabbed onto her arm.
Oh God. More tingling. Not only where he was touching her, but shooting up her arm and out into her breasts, too.
She peered up at his face and nearly melted because of how close they stood, their bodies almost touching. Every part of her pulsed.
“Listen, Farris—what Logan said, he was right. I’ve had a shitty day.”
She blinked, not sure how to respond. “Is that your way of apologizing?”
He appeared irritated again, uncertain. She’d never met a man who could look so damn sexy being irritated. “Just explaining,” he replied, clearly too proud to simply say he was sorry.
In no mood to cut him any slack, she responded coldly. “Well, you should get going. Your girlfriend is starting to look impatient.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Oh, that makes it better. Like I’m so relieved to hear she’s just a one-nighter. “Whatever,” she said, then yanked her arm away and started marching back toward the Dew Drop Inn.
“Rachel! Is that you?” The voice came from her right and she looked up to find an older-but-still-just-as-pretty Jenny Tolliver headed her way, smiling brightly, arms open for a hug. Rachel was thrilled to see her girlhood friend and smiled back, glad for the hug, and glad for Mike Romo to see she had better things to do than mope over him and his soon-to-be lover.
But even as she hugged Jenny and said all the appropriate things, even as she was introduced to Mick Brody—who was indeed as hot as promised—she felt as if she wasn’t really there, as if she was just watching it happen to someone else.
Because all she could really think about was how tightly her stomach still clenched—all because Mike Romo was taking some other girl home tonight.
It made no sense.
And it hurt like hell.
Edna and Rachel both stood on easel ladders beneath a Gala apple tree. Edna had suggested Rachel wear some of her work clothes, so both were clad in oversize cotton smocks and straw hats, and Rachel prayed no one would see her this way. She’d brought some old tops to wear, but Edna had insisted they were too nice for apple picking.
“Now, do you remember how to pick ’em from when you were little?” Edna asked, demonstrating on a ripe apple. “Grip, roll your hand upward, and twist.” The applepopped free and Edna lowered it into the basket hanging from her ladder.
Rachel looked at all the apples covering the tree, then thought about all the trees filling the meadow along Sugar Creek. “Are you telling me that in this day and age there’s no better, more modern way of picking apples? No handy dandy machine or a tool that picks twenty at a time or something?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya. At least not at the Farris Family Apple Orchard. We do things the old-fashioned way here.”
“Because we like the old-fashioned way? Or because we just don’t know about any other ways?” Rachel asked, curious.
But Edna just shook her head. “You and machines. I like to keep things simple—you know that.” Indeed she did. Rachel had once gotten Edna a computer for Christmas, mainly for e-mail
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