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“Hm.” I nuzzle my nose against his cheek. “I thought you knew I told the cool kids to go fuck themselves.”

At this, he laughs. “I can’t wait to get your dirty mouth on my—”

“Ford, there you are!”

Charlene.

Ford and I step away from each other, giving her our full attention. While most people associate an orchard owner with wearing flannel and denim, unlike everyone else, she’s in sleek pants and a chic red sweater. His dad, Earl, handsome as ever with a new softness to his face and grey hair on his head, is a sight for sore eyes covered completely in denim.

“Scotty Armstrong,” he says with a grin, pulling me into an unexpected hug, which smells like whiskey and cinnamon. “I heard you would be here. It’s been too long!”

While Charlene turns me into some kind of bumbling buffoon, Earl has always been a comfortable space. “Earl, you haven’t aged.”

He chuckles and slaps his belly—a bit rounder than it used to be. “Charlene disagrees.”

Charlene waves a weak dismissive hand through the air with an amused eye roll then averts her attention to me, taking in my dress,eyes lingering on my exposed shoulder as Earl and I make small talk about the crematorium and the orchard.

“That’s quite a dress, Scotty,” Charlene says, tone unreadable. “Some things never change.”

“But some do,” I blurt against my will. “I have a job. And a house. And a dog.” Stop. Talking. Scotty. “And my checks don’t bounce like my mom’s did at the FoodMart.”

Earl looks at me with an amused expression while Ford clears his throat, a piss-poor attempt at hiding his laugh.

Charlene nods, same unreadable smile on her face. “Well, isn’t that all just great news for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Miss. Missus . . .” I quit.

She looks away briefly at the sound of her name, waving across the tent before looking back to me.

“Well, Ford’s a big boy. He knows what he wants.”

She hates me.

“Especially that time Earl caught us in the barn,” I joke.

Earl chuckles at the reference of teenage Ford and I half naked between bales of hay, while Charlene remains neutrally frigid. Finally, Ford steps in. “Mama, you need help with something?”

Her eyes linger on me a few more seconds then turn to him, smile changing to a warmer shape. “Oh yes. We need to move the cider. Come. Earl, help Ford.”

Earl and I exchange a look that roughly translates tosome things never change,and he and Ford follow on her lead through the crowd, Ford winking at me as they go.

I beeline to the hard cider booth and order the largest cup they have, downing it in gulps.

An upbeat song plays, couples twirl around, then another slow song, this one pulling Wren and Luke onto the dance floor.

Her eyes meet mine, and I put my index fingers together in a kissy motion that she glares at. They’re far enough apart it’s both cute and awkward, dancing in a motion like a teetering seesaw. She looks at him with hearts in her eyes.

“Can you believe them?” a blonde teenage girl says with a scoff to a brunette in front of me. “I heard her mom was in prison.”

My ears perk and hackles raise.Who the hell is this pint-sized bitch?

The brunette makes an agreeing sound. “And those weird boots she usually wears?”

Their giggles hit my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.

“My mom said her dad used to be something around here but got himself involved in some kind of trouble. Had to tuck tail. Can you imagine? Owning all this and not being able to keep it?” She clicks her tongue. “Heard he got on drugs and ran away or something.”

“Good ones never know what’s good for them.”