Chapter 22

HANNAH

I nervously checked my watch. George should be here any minute. I took a few deep breaths. Sex scene writing yesterday had not been successful. I’d ended up abandoning it after thirty minutes of staring blankly at the screen and instead focused on confronting evil brothers and dragons. Hopefully today’s discussion with George would go better.

I peered out the window to check for any sign of George’s car. Nothing.

Butterflies swarmed in my abdomen. Restless, I got out of the chair and paced up and down my small study until I heard a car pull up outside my house. Here goes.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the front door. My heart bounced as I confirmed that it was, indeed, George in her beat-up blue Ford Fiesta out on the road, and then it sank as I made out another figure sitting next to her. Olivia. Damnit.

George turned to me as I jumped into the backseat. “Hey,” she said, voice low, the dimple showing on her right cheek. A thrill ran down my spine. She grinned and held up a bottle of sunscreen. “Do you need any of this?”

An image of George massaging sunscreen over my body suddenly appeared without warning in my mind, leaving me short of breath. I collected myself and shook my head.

“No thanks. I learned my lesson after our kayaking adventure and am well and truly smothered in sunscreen.”

As much as I wanted George’s hands all over my body, I had to tell her how I felt first in order for there to be any chance of that happening. Unfortunately, with Olivia in the car, now was not the moment.

The car trip went quickly, and before long, George was pulling into Red Tractor Farm, marked by a large red sign next to the main road out of town.

We met Jenny, Blake, and Amanda at the farmhouse where we picked up green buckets and then followed a wooden arrow sign with Fruit Picking written on it down a dirt path.

“This place is great!” I said, taking in the rustic farmhouse with a shining red tractor parked nearby, green fields, and scarecrows. I inhaled the sweet scent of flowers and grass. As we walked, we passed other wooden signs pointing in the direction of the Petting Zoo, Christmas Trees, Hayride, Flower Farm, Corn Maze, and Pumpkin Patch. “It seems like they do everything here!”

“We should definitely come back in the fall,” Jenny said. “They go all out on the fall festivities. There’s a hayride, pumpkin patch, apple cannon and amazing apple fritters.” She shot Blake a beaming smile which made me think there was a story there. I made a note to ask George later about it.

“They’re also my main supplier of flowers for my shop,” Olivia chimed in. “And an absolute pleasure to work with. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“It seems like everyone in Sapphire Springs is a pleasure to work with,” I said, smiling, and then felt my cheeks warm as I wondered how George would interpret the comment.

The blue sky was dotted with wisps of clouds, and there was a gentle breeze. My chest expanded as we strolled along the dirt lane, chatting and laughing. I’d always dreamed of having a group of friends like this. George was walking in front of me and I couldn’t help admiring her butt in her charcoal shorts and the way her white t-shirt clung to her broad shoulders. The memory of my hands pressing against her butt cheeks while she was stuck in the shed window came rushing back. Damn. If our talk goes well, maybe I’ll be able to run my hands over them again. I bit my lip. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

A few minutes later, the orchard, full of rows of leafy green apple and cherry trees, came into sight. “The strawberries are over there,” Olivia said, pointing to a field to the south. “But I’m thinking we should start with the cherries, as they’ll probably last better than the strawberries once they’re picked.”

The apples weren’t ripe yet, but the cherries, in gleaming dark-red clusters against the vibrant green leaves, were ready for picking. My stomach rumbled. I loved cherries.

“Do you know what the etiquette is about sampling a few as we pick?” I whispered to George.

“It’s one hundred percent illegal. But don’t worry, I won’t call the cops,” George replied with a wink.

“Should we work in pairs?” Amanda asked. “It looks like most of the fruit is higher up in the tree, so it might be easiest if one person goes up the tree and the other person stays on the ground to collect the cherries and help support the ladder if need be.” She eyed the rustic wooden ladders—some leaning against the trees and others lying on the ground under the trees—with trepidation. They did look a little rickety.

“I’m surprised we weren’t required to sign another waiver, relinquishing all our rights in the event of fruit-picking-related injuries,” I murmured to George, who chuckled.

“Who knows what other dangers are lurking in this cherry orchard,” George whispered close to my ear. Her soft breath on my cheek sent my pulse racing.

“Pairs sound good to me!” Jenny said, turning to Blake with a cheeky grin. “You can go up the tree first.”

“Gee, thanks,” Blake responded, sounding less than thrilled.

I suddenly became ridiculously nervous. George and I were standing right next to each other, so it made sense that we’d pair off together, but I didn’t want to assume. Memories of waiting to be picked by some boy I wasn’t interested in at high school dances, all the while wishing Sadie Charlesworth, my long-standing teen crush, would snap me up, came rushing back. I mentally shook myself. It really wasn’t the same at all. In this case, all my potential cherry-picking companions were lovely, unlike some of the boys I’d gone to school with. But George was my preferred one. I swallowed. Time to take action, Hannah. You’re not in high school anymore.

“Would you like to pick with me?” I asked George as casually as I could muster. I winced. Good lord, I sounded like a nervous schoolgirl.

If George heard a quiver in my voice, she didn’t let on. She turned to me and grinned. “That sounds great. I’m hoping we’ll get enough so I can make cherry preserves and a cherry pie for the café. By my calculations, we’ll need at least three buckets’ worth of cherries, so we’ll have to pick fast if we want to get strawberries as well. Are you up for the challenge?” She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile dancing on her face.

The buckets were big. Perfect. Lots of opportunity for one-on-one time with George to talk to her about my feelings.

“Challenge accepted.” I reached out my hand and shook George’s, enjoying the soft warmth of her skin against mine. Am I holding on for too long? I quickly dropped her hand, heat prickling my cheeks.

“I’m happy to go up the ladder first,” I said, staring longingly at a bunch of juicy cherries on a tree a few feet away from me.

George chuckled.

“What?” I asked.

“You volunteering to go first on the ladder wouldn’t have anything to do with wanting to sample a few cherries, would it?”

“Excuse me! How dare you!” I said with mock indignation. “My offer was driven by pure selflessness. I’m risking my life on a rickety ladder to get cherries for your pie. The least you could do is show some gratitude.”

“Thank you so much,” George said, her dimple appearing in full force. My stomach fluttered. “Well, let’s get to it, then. Not a moment to waste!” She clapped her hands and beelined toward a tree in the middle of the orchard.

I walked swiftly to catch up with her. Should I raise the topic now? George seemed like she was in a rush to get started, so perhaps not. Or was I just making excuses to put the conversation off?

I’d almost reached George when a noise made me jump. Loud grunts and snorts filled the air. I twisted my head, trying to identify the source of the sound. George looked similarly confused.

I jogged a few feet to where George was standing. “Where the hell is that coming from? It sounds like there’s a herd of pigs on the loose. Did you jinx us by joking about the dangers lurking in this orchard?”

“Surely we’d be able to see them if there was.” George stepped toward a tree. “It sounds like the noise is coming from up in the trees. Pigs don’t climb trees…do they?” George stared tentatively up the trunk, as if worried a pig might fall out and land on her.

“I’m no expert on pigs, but surely not. Don’t they have short, stubby little legs? That doesn’t seem conducive to tree-climbing.”

George, who’d been examining the tree, suddenly turned to me and grinned. “Okay, we don’t need to worry about being accosted by feral pigs. I found out what’s causing the noise.” She beckoned me over until I was under the tree, and then pointed up. There was a black, box-shaped object attached to the tree. “It’s a speaker. They must be blasting pig noises to scare off birds or something, I guess. How bizarre.”

The speaker emitted an extra-loud snort, and I jumped again. “Good Lord! Let’s find a tree away from the speakers. It’s not exactly the ideal soundtrack for a relaxing afternoon of cherry picking.” Or for the sort of conversation I’m hoping to have with George.

We found a tree a safe distance from the speakers and positioned the ladder under a branch dripping with cherries. Over the faint snorting of pigs, I could hear the others laughing in the distance, but I couldn’t see them. For the first time today, we were alone. Now was my chance to have that relationship talk. I swallowed.

“Are you having second thoughts about going up the tree? I’m happy to do it if you want,” George said gently, clearly picking up that something was bothering me.

“No, no. It’s fine.” I stared up at the gleaming red fruit, my mouth watering, and decided that potentially awkward discussions with George could wait until I’d sampled a few cherries. I’d had an early lunch today, and it was probably best not to have the talk on an empty stomach, especially not when there was such delicious fruit to fill it.

I climbed the ladder and looked around. It was lovely up here, surrounded by green leaves and red cherries. I reached for the nearest bunch, pulling them off one by one. Reaching down, I gently dropped them in the bucket George was holding up high, saving one to try.

I popped it in my mouth as I scanned the branches for the next cluster to pick. Sweet, rich juices rushed over my taste buds. Mmmm. Delicious. But now I was stuck with a cherry pit. If I was by myself, I would have just spat it on the ground, but I wasn’t, and spitting in front of your crush did not seem like a surefire way to woo them. I cursed the lack of pockets in my shorts as I looked around for somewhere to put it. Maybe there’d be a little hole in the tree trunk I could squirrel it away in. But there was no obvious pit storage location. Damnit. I was out of luck. I’d just need to spit it discreetly, far away from where George was standing so she didn’t notice. I carefully aimed on the other side of the tree from George and ejected it undetected.

I moved to the next bunch of cherries and put another one in my mouth as I placed the rest in the bucket. I knew I couldn’t keep up this one-for-me-the-rest-for-the-bucket approach much longer, but hot damn, the cherries were good. I spat the cherry pit again. My stomach dropped as the pit bounced off one of the branches and ricocheted backward, toward George. A strangled yelp left my mouth. George looked up at me just as the cherry pit plummeted directly into her face. I winced. Oh god.

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed as the cherry pit bounced off her cheek and onto the ground. “Are you okay?” I tensed, waiting for George’s reaction. George erupted into laughter.

My muscles eased. Thank god George has a sense of humor.

After what felt like at least a minute, George stopped laughing. “I mean, aggressive pig recordings and projectile cherry pits aren’t exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to go cherry picking,” she said, staring up at me, her cheeky dimple visible. “But I’m completely unharmed by that tiny pit.”

I decided not to sample any more cherries for the time being and, instead, focused on the task at hand: picking enough cherries so George could make the preserves and pie.

After ten minutes, all the bunches within easy reach had been picked. One large, particularly juicy-looking bunch of cherries was just outside my comfortable arm span. While the sensible approach would have been to step down the ladder and reposition it, I was eager for a few more minutes to recover from the cherry pit incident before I had to face George. Maybe if I leaned out and held the branch in front of me for support, I could grab it…

I reached out, grasping the branch for the support. My insides twisted as the branch bowed under my weight. Shit. I lost my balance, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought I was going to fall. I grabbed a studier branch just in time and took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay.

“Everything okay up there?” George peered up at me, concern on her face. I was leaning at an almost forty-five-degree angle, my feet on the ladder but most of my weight supported by the branch I’d just grabbed.

I tried to transfer my balance to get into an upright position on the ladder, but I couldn’t do it. Shit.

I looked back down at George. “I think I’m stuck.” I grimaced.

“What about if I shuffle the ladder so it’s closer to you. Do you think that would help?”

Anxiety flooded my brain, making it difficult to think straight. “I think so.”

My arms aching, I focused on holding onto the branch while George carefully shifted the ladder closer to me.

“Shit. I can’t move the ladder any further. There’s a branch in the way. Hold on a second, I’m coming up,” George said.

Oh god, I hope the ladder can hold us both.

The ladder wobbled underneath my feet and then a warm arm wrapped around the side of my waist.

“Okay, I’m holding onto a branch. On the count of three, I’ll try pulling you up and you try shifting your weight back on the ladder. Are you ready?” George asked.

“Yes,” I said. My arm felt like it might give way at any minute.

“One, two, three!”

I pushed off the branch with my hands and George’s arm yanked my waist up. The ladder shook ominously below us, send my heart shooting into my throat. But George’s grasp was firm around my waist, and as she pulled me up, my weight transferred back onto the ladder. Almost upright, I grabbed another branch to steady myself and take the load off George, and then stood straight on the ladder. Phew.

“Are you okay?” George asked, standing one rung below me, her arm still around my waist and her body pressing against mine. God, that feels nice.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes. But I think I might need a break for a moment.”

“Let me get down first.” George scrambled down the ladder, and then held it so I could make my way carefully back down.

Relief washed over me when I finally landed on solid ground.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said to George, my face hot. “I spotted a particularly juicy bunch of cherries out of my reach and got a little ambitious.” I frowned as I remembered my mission. “Damnit! I should’ve picked them once I’d stabilized.” I stared up into the tree, not convinced I wanted to retread my steps up the ladder so soon after my near-topple.

George grinned. “Hey. If you want to have a break from ladder duties, I can go and retrieve that ‘juicy’ bunch for you.” George raised her eyebrows at me, and despite not having fully recovered from the ordeal of being stuck in a cherry tree, I let out a laugh.

“If you’re sure you”re not concussed after that pit hit your head, then I’m happy to stay on bucket duties for now. And thanks for saving me, by the way.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to leave you hanging.” George’s eyes twinkled.

I rolled my eyes and stifled a giggle.

And with that parting remark, she hightailed it up the ladder and got picking.

“Hey!George, Hannah! We’re going to move on to the strawberries!” Jenny yelled.

Thank god. My arms ached from holding the now very full bucket up high to collect the cherries George had picked. Strawberries were also close to the ground. Less opportunity for unfortunate incidents. Not that any had occurred since George had climbed the ladder.

Cherry picking, at least the way we were doing it with one person up a tree and the other underneath them, was also not conducive to having serious discussions. It was, however, conducive to checking out the person up the tree’s calves, and George, I’d decided, had very nice calves—strong, tanned, shapely. When she shifted her weight, her muscles rippled. Those calves began their descent down the ladder, and within thirty seconds, George appeared on the ground next to me.

She eyed the almost-overflowing bucket. “I think we’ve got plenty now. Should we join the others?”

I nodded, and we picked up the buckets—three full of cherries, two empty ones for the strawberries—and walked over to the strawberry fields, where we spotted Jenny and Blake partway down a row of strawberry plants. Amanda and Olivia were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were still picking cherries, or had given up and gone to the farm café for refreshments.

Jenny popped a strawberry in Blake’s mouth, and George let out a sound halfway between a groan and a chuckle. “Why don’t we make a start over there, give the love birds some space?”

I nodded, and we wandered over to the spot George had suggested, a safe distance from Jenny and Blake.

“Have they been dating long?” I asked as I kneeled down next to a strawberry plant and began to pick the ripe fruit, inhaling the sweet, earthy fragrance.

“Since fall.” George chuckled as she crouched opposite me on the other side of the strawberry plant. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled for them, and it’s cute how into each other they are, but I like to keep my distance when they’re in that mood.”

Was now a good time to bring up our relationship? The topic was dating, so it might be an opportunity to segue to us. Or was it weird if I brought us up immediately after discussing two people who were clearly madly in love with each other? I stared at George, who was delicately pulling a strawberry off a plant. Damn. I knew I needed to talk to George about this, but at this rate, with my tendency to overthink everything and my aversion to awkward conversations, it would never happen. I sighed.

Tania had given me feedback on my last novel, which had a romantic subplot, that readers hated when love interests didn’t communicate. I’d taken her feedback without objection, but this experience reminded me just how damn hard communicating could be, especially when you weren’t sure how the other person felt, and you were potentially putting yourself out there for rejection. And looking back, Tania and I hadn’t exactly been the best communicators either. We still weren’t. We were well overdue for a conversation about how to divide our shared assets—a conversation that I’d been putting off. But George was different, and I wanted to learn from my mistakes.

I looked down at the plant in front of me and picked another strawberry. “I imagine it must be hard dating in a small town like Sapphire Springs as a queer person. I’m assuming it’s a fairly small dating pool. It’s so nice that Blake and Jenny found each other.” I looked up at George. Our eyes connected, and my heart stuttered.

I’m so glad I found you too. The words were so loud in my head that, for a moment, I panicked, thinking I’d said them out loud. But it was true. It’d only been two weeks since I’d met George, but in that time, my life had improved drastically. I was writing again and actually enjoying it. I was social again and also enjoying it. I felt more like myself than I had in years.

My eyes lowered to George’s dimple, which was peeking through, and then her soft lips.

Focus on the strawberries, Hannah. A strawberry field was way too public a setting for another make-out session, even if I was getting vibes George might be into it. A thrill rushed through me at the thought.

I dropped my eyes to the ground and pulled off another juicy, red strawberry, suddenly imagining George and me sharing it in some romantic, strawberry-scented montage. I internally shook myself. One of the drawbacks of being an author was an overactive imagination.

I thought I could feel George’s eyes on me, studying my face, but I didn’t dare look up yet.

My stomach churned. This was the moment. We were alone and relaxed, without pig recordings or friends close by to disturb us. You can do this, Hannah.

I slowly lifted my eyes to find George focusing on a strawberry plant in front of her. I took a deep breath. Here goes. Possible rejection incoming.

“Hey, George,” I said. George looked up at me expectantly, and I swallowed. “I feel like I didn’t handle the conversation we started on the kayak, about us, very well. And that maybe I cut you off before you’d finished what you’d been planning to say.” Everything—stomach, chest, throat—felt tight. But I had to keep going. I cleared my throat. “I know I said I had some reservations about starting a new relationship after just coming out of a long-term one. But I’ve been thinking about it more, and in reality, my past relationship was over long ago. Look, I, um…really like you, and if you’re interested, I’m down to give it a go. But of course, it’s totally okay if you’re not.” The words spilled out of me, too fast and jumbled. It was definitely not a romantic speech worthy of my novels—“down to give it a go.” Really, Hannah?—but at least I’d said it.

Holding my breath and not moving, I studied George’s face for her reaction. She was smiling, a gorgeous, tender smile that sent sparks shooting down my spine. That was a good sign, right? She started to lean in over the strawberry plant. Also promising.

“Hannah?” Her voice was low and gentle.

“Mmmm?” I said, trying to not get my hopes up.

George’s gaze was intense.

“I’m trying to kiss you, but if I lean in any farther, I’m going to capsize into this strawberry plant. Can you meet me halfway?”

“Oh shit! Sorry.” I laughed. With her words, all my worries about the strawberry field being too public a setting for any PDA flew away on the wind.

Maintaining contact with George’s warm, brown eyes, I leaned in, excitement fizzing in my chest. I closed my eyes as our lips met. George tasted faintly of cherries, her mouth soft and warm. I moaned. Damn. I didn’t think I could like cherries any more than I already did, but this was heaven. The kiss started off slow and gentle but quickly intensified, causing me to lose my balance. To avoid squashing the strawberry plant, I grabbed George’s waist to steady myself, and she wobbled, nearly toppling backward.

“Sorry!” I murmured.

“Don’t apologize.” George’s breath was warm on my face. She kissed me gently. “This wasn’t”—another kiss—“the most sensible”—and another—“position to kiss you in.” George pulled back softly. “I just couldn’t help myself. And in case you hadn’t gathered, I’m ‘down to give it a go’ too.”