Page 95 of Almost Ravaged

“After that, though? Do you have a few minutes? I want to show you something. But only if you have the time.” He scratches at the back of his neck, his head lowered. “It’s not that big of a deal if you can’t…”

He’s babbling. He does it pretty regularly. I haven’t yet determined whether he’s always this flustered when he talks to people, or if it’s specific to me.

A tiny part of me hopes it’s just for me.

On instinct, I rest my hand on his exposed forearm just below where the rolled sleeve of his plaid flannel rests.

He tenses on contact but quickly relaxes and straightens.

“I have time. Let me just swing through the apple room.”

“I’ll come with you,” he insists.

I dip my chin, and after one more sip of coffee, I skirt around him. He follows, his hand finding the small of my back. It’s a chivalrous gesture, and it could mean nothing. But he’s touching me. My instincts are telling me to slow down, to maybe lean into his hold, but I keep my pace steady, afraid I’ll spook him.

We walk like that for three paces before I’m the one who gets spooked. Discreetly, I take a bigger stride, putting more space between us.

On the way to the apple room, we pass the holiday décor as well as shelves of baking mixes and rows and rows of honey. The space where the students are working is much more bare. It’s a utilitarian space where the staff is constantly cleaning, sorting, and bagging apples to keep the crates stocked on the weekends.

I approach slowly, not wanting to disturb them or interrupt if they’re actively recording.

Tytus isn’t in this group, which gives me a strange sense of unwarranted relief. It shouldn’t. He knows Noah owns the orchard and that I’ve met with him on several occasions for this project. But a little voice in my head tells me that I should keep the connection I share with Noah to myself.

A woman my age with jet-black hair, blunt bangs, and a bold assortment of facial piercings stands behind a little counter, turning the handle of an apple peeler. “How many more apples are you going to make me peel?”

The group lead—Max, I think—replies on behalf of the others. “Um, just one or two more. If it’s not too much trouble. Ma’am.”

The goth girl freezes, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Ma’am? Seriously? Did you really justma’amme?” She plucks another apple from the basket beside her, slams it onto the work surface, then stabs it with a paring knife.

Harsh.

“Bella,” Noah says, his tone calm but serious. “Cut it out. You promised you could behave if I put you in charge of a station.”

She sticks her tongue out at him in response. “Relax. I haven’t even tried to talk any of them into sticking their fingers or other appendages”—she glares at poor Max—“into the peeler. Thisisme behaving.”

With a pointed look at the woman, Noah cups my elbow and guides me away. “They’ll be fine,” he mutters.

I’m silent as we wind through the storefront and toward the exit, but my mind is brimming with questions.

And, unfortunately, images of an unidentified underclassman trying to impress her or the group by sticking his manhood into an apple peeler.

A shudder works its way through me, and I bat the visual from my mind. None of them are that stupid. Right?

Once we’ve stepped outside, I ask, “Has Bella worked here long?” I can’t imagine sticking out my tongue at a supervisor. But maybe there’s a connection there I don’t know about. Maybe he has a thing for younger women in general.

He laughs under his breath. “She’s worked here for at least a decade. Probably longer.”

I frown. More than a decade? She can’t be much older than I am.

“Bella is Edna’s granddaughter,” he clarifies. “And my second cousin.”

Ah. They’re related.

A little ripple of relief works through me. It’s ridiculous, since I have no claim on this man, but it’s there, nonetheless.

“You’re sure you’ve got time?” Noah asks as we make our way into the side yard. The orchard is straight ahead, the rolling vista off to the right behind the house.

I check my phone, then make a show of setting an alarm so I don’t lose track of time. The class has another hour here, and my only real job is to check in with all the groups and make sure everyone is staying on task, which I’ve already accomplished.