Page 76 of Almost Ravaged

The sweetness of the pie filling complements the flavor of the buttery, flaky crust perfectly, and the texture is just right.

I have to stifle a moan as I polish off my piece. It just might be the best pie I’ve ever eaten.

“How is it possible that this place doesn’t have a line out the door?” Cam turns in her seat, surveying our quiet surroundings.

“Could you imagine coming out here to study?” Kai muses as they collect the last of the crumbs on their plate.

I can. In fact, I’m already plotting when I can come back. I’ll bring a large coffee and sit right here on the porch while I make a small dent in the mountain of assignments I have to do for my classes. We’re only a few weeks into the semester, but already, I feel tragically behind.

“It’s the kind of place you want to come back to, ya know?” Cam says.

I hum in agreement. I know exactly what she means. It’s validating that she and Kai see how special this place is, too.

“Look at this,” Kai murmurs, holding out their phone. “My post from ten minutes ago already has fourteen comments. Everyone is asking where I am and where they can get this pie.”

I marvel at the images as they swipe through them. They posted a selfie in front of the sign, a landscape of the vista behind the storefront, a picture of the pies lined up inside the case, and finally, their last bite, perfectly positioned on their fork.

“There’s your answer.” Cam bounces in her seat. “Get students out here once and let them create the buzz.”

“I don’t know that a one-off event would make a big enough impact,” I worry out loud.

“Of course not. That’s not the point,” Cam insists. “But if a whole bunch of college kids post about the same place at the same time, it’ll make a whole bunch of other college kids want to experience it, too. One event. A few hundred people. Thousands of likes, comments, and impressions. Suddenly Evercrisp Orchard is the place to be.”

“I know I’ll be back. I still have six kinds of pie to try,” Kai declares.

Head tilted to the side, I scan the orchard once more. They might be on to something. I need to get my notes together and cross-reference some of the strategies outlined in the texts Mercer gave me, but a big event could be what the orchard needs to get the attention it deserves.

Cam yawns and stretches her arms overhead. “The entire class is supposed to participate in the project, right? You sure are putting in a lot of work.”

Nose wrinkling, I sigh. “They are, but I’m in charge of organizing the project, and it feels kind of high stakes,” I confess. “This is a family business. Merce—Professor Eden,” I correct, “made it sound like this isn’t just about the grade.”

Glancing toward the bakery entrance, I verify that Edna isn’t nearby before explaining. “This place is special, and it could really use the business. I think I have a chance to make a real difference here.”

“Incoming,” a deep voice calls from the doorway.

Before the words register, I’m attacked. I hit the back of my chair with anumphas a ball of fur tries to clamber onto my lap.

“Shiloh! Shiloh, no. Heel.”

I go from shocked to laughing in the time it takes Noah to pull his dog off me. A quick scan of my clothes confirms I’m not covered in mud this time around. Grinning, I lean forward and scratch the overly excited dog behind her ears.

“Sawyer,” Noah says, holding back the giddy mutt. “Are you okay? I don’t know what her deal is. She’s obsessed with you.” He tugs Shiloh back farther, giving me space.

As I brush a few strands of the dog’s hair from my jeans and catch a whiff of cedarwood and honey over the already delicious smell of the bakery, my neck and chest heat with the awareness.

And when I finally meet his gaze, he’s staring at me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, his stormy blue eyes examining me with intense scrutiny.

“Fine!” The word is more of a squeak, so I clear my throat and try again. “I’m fine. No mud anywhere, see? And no need to apologize. I like that she likes me.” I scoot toward the edge of my chair so I can pet her again.

Noah keeps a tight grip on her collar but allows her to come a little closer.

“Did we, uh, did we have plans today?” He looks from me to my friends, then back again.

God, he’s handsome. The sleeves of his fitted gray T-shirt strain almost dangerously over the bulk of his massive biceps and his thick salt-and-pepper hair is on full display, no ball cap in place today.

“No.” I wince. “Sorry. I had some prepping to do for class this week, and I wanted to show my friends what I was working on.”