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I press my face against his shoulder to stifle my laugh. “You’re turning me soft, Golden Boy,” I say. “Too much wholesome behavior and baked goods.”

He pecks me on the cheek as the song ends, the lead singer leaning away from the mic and calling Ford’s name.

“Duty calls.” He picks up his cup of cider from a barrel-turned-table and steps onto the stage, positioning himself behind the microphone.

“Hey, everybody,” he starts, making the crowd fall silent. “On behalf of my family and I, we want to thank y’all for coming out to this year’s Orchard Fest to support the farm and the community.” He pauses for a soft applause. “Mama, how long have y’all been doing this out here?” Across the tent, Charlene calls a number to him while holding up her fingers. “Thirty-six years,” Ford says with a grin, causing another round of claps and yells to break out. “We appreciate y’all. Thanks for that. I know the high school athletics department really appreciates you spending all your money.” He gestures toward the athletes with his cup, and they give obnoxious yells, making everyone chuckle. “Enjoy the night. Thank y’all again.” He lifts a hand in a wave, moves away from the mic, but seems to decide he’s not finished because he stops, cranes his neckso his mouth is behind the mic again, and gives me a devious grin. “And, one important announcement I forgot to make”—I glare at him—“Scotty Armstrong is my girlfriend.”

The tent erupts with laughs and claps, and I mouth,I hate youto him. He grins, wide, and raises a cup of cider to the crowd, finishing it off with, “Thank y’all for coming out tonight. Have fun.” Then he steps off the stage, sets his cider down and pulls me to the center of the dance floor.

“You’re a damn asshole.”

He twirls me and pulls me back to him, our boots shuffling in the hay. “There’s the viper,” he says, his hand splayed across my back as we dance. “You know everyone here’s jealous of me, right?”

More people join the dance floor; I pinch my lips to hide my smile. “Liar.”

“I’m telling you.” He twirls me again, gripping me tight when he pulls me back in. “Every man wants to know what you’re hiding under this dress, and every woman wishes she looked half as good as you.”

I lift my chin to meet his eyes. “And what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you just made out with me in front of half the town and I’m going to be the one to peel that dress off as soon as we can convince everyone to eat all this damn pie.”

I laugh and it’s genuine. As unexpected as this whole night has been, I can’t wait for it to be just him and me, nothing in between.

At the end of the song, Wren’s next to Luke, holding hands. My heart bursts.

“She’s happy,” Ford says.

“She is.”

“Because of you,” he adds.

I scoff. “Hardly.”

He gives me a knowing look over the rim of his cup.

“Ford Callahan,” a woman’s voice shouts. “Didn’t even get my blessing.” June pounces toward us in a calf-length denim dress and boots, curly red hair down and framing her smiling face. “I’ve been looking for you!” She wraps me in a hug.

“Ford and I were just talking about how we should fuck in an apple tree,” I say with a grin.

She hugs Ford. “I’m sure Charlene would love that.”

She might.

Camp walks up, easy smile on his face, and hugs me.

“Scotty,” he says with a drawl, turning to shake Ford’s hand. “Makes sense it took the cops to drag you out to one of these things.”

“Oh, Campy,” I say with a grin. “You know me so well.”

When the next song starts to play—fast and filled with fiddles—it’s June pulling me onto the dance floor.

Hand in hand we dance, laughing and singing. “You’re happy,” she shouts over the music, bouncing to the beat like the mom she is. “And you have a boyfriend.”

I snort a laugh, putting my hands on her shoulders so we dance like middle schoolers. “And?”

She laughs as we sway. “And you’re about to have great sex I want to hear all about.”

“Maybe I’ll record it.”