Page 32 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter twenty-seven

Sawyer

“ A re you sure it’s okay for us to tag along?” Cam asks from the back seat.

Gravel crunches under the tires of the hatchback I share with Atty and Ty as I take in the nearly empty parking lot.

Good question.

With each second that ticks by, I worry further that my assumption was wrong.

“I haven’t been here in years.” Kai, who’s in the front seat beside me, leans forward to scope out the barn and the vista in the distance.

While the three of us studied at the ice arena, I found myself struggling to organize the ideas I plan to present to Mercer at our check-in tomorrow morning. I’m brimming with strategies and tactics. Several of them are doable, but I have no idea how to narrow them down or where to focus.

I talked through some of the ideas with Cam and Kai, explaining the project in detail.

But without visuals, Cam, who’s never been here, struggled to picture any of it.

Kai, apparently, came here all the time when they were younger.

I would have pulled up pictures online, but the orchard’s internet presence is nonexistent, its website basic and outdated .

That will change soon, I hope.

One thing led to another, and before I knew it, we were piling into my car and heading off campus so I could show them Evercrisp Orchard.

“This place is beautiful,” Cam says. “How have I never been here before?”

It’s a valid question. The orchard is two miles from Holt University.

“My mom brought us here with all our cousins every fall,” Kai says as we make a beeline for the storefront. “Oh my god. Look.” They point to the gap between the storefront and the barn. “We took pictures with this tree every year.”

They tear off toward the wooden apple tree cutout, complete with a measuring stick and a cute little sign that reads Growing Memories at Evercrisp Orchard since 1908 .

“Do you want me to take your picture?” I tease.

“Actually, yeah,” they chirp. “I’ll send it to the family group chat.”

Kai strikes a pose and I snap a few shots. They take a few selfies, too, and once I’ve texted them the photos from my phone, we stash our devices.

“Why’d your family stop coming here?” I ask.

The sun is low in the sky, mostly covered by clouds, as we meander toward the barn.

Inside, there’s a storage shed with a padlock in one corner and a second-level loft that looks equal parts cool and creepy. There are far fewer pumpkins and gourds than there were the last time I was here, but according to Noah, they’ll receive fresh shipments every week through October.

“I don’t know.” Kai turns in a slow circle, their head tipped back. “Maybe we grew out of it. They used to have a corn maze. And hayrides. In elementary school, this was the best field trip spot.”

Cam crouches low and arranges a few smaller pumpkins in a cluster. “Honestly,” she says, taking a picture, “this place is a social media fall aesthetic wet dream.”

She’s not wrong.

With my hands on my hips, I inspect the barn. It really is brimming with potential.

“Come on. You haven’t even seen some of the best parts.” I step outside and lead them toward the storefront.

I run through the mini tour I plan to give to the class next week, pointing out the orchard and the apiary. When we venture in through the bakery side of the store, scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove cast a fall-scented spell over us .

“Let’s have pie,” I say as I march up to the counter where Edna stands, waiting.

Cam practically gasps. “There’s pie?”

“Of course there’s pie,” the older woman says. “Made from scratch and baked fresh daily.” She scowls, the wrinkles in her forehead and around her eyes deepening. “Is there pie,” she mocks as she pulls out a knife and server. “We’ve got seven kinds today. Seven.”

“That’s an impressive amount of pie,” Kai commends.

“Pie’s on me.” Leaning against the glass, I take in the offerings on the other side. Each pie sits in a vintage tin, lending even more authenticity to the atmosphere.

It’s late afternoon, yet only two pies are missing a slice. It’s a shame the orchard isn’t busier during the week.

“I’ll take a piece of Dutch apple,” Cam orders.

Kai weighs their options, eventually settling on peach.

I opt for a slice of honey-poached pear.

Edna insists we set up on the wraparound porch, yet another idyllic facet to this place, and Cam and Kai take pictures of their food before we dig in.

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 an umph as 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.”

He nods, his expression relaxing. “Okay, good. Just as long as I didn’t mess up. Do you need anything? From me? Or, I mean, I guess, in general? Something to drink? More pie?”

My chest warms as I drink him in. He gets flustered easily, I’m learning. It’s cute. And a little ironic. He’s so burly and virile, but he has a soft, shy side, too.

“We’re good,” I insist. “We need to head back to campus soon anyway. But I’ll be back next week. With the class, I mean.”

Good grief. Has his stammering rubbed off on me? I’m never this awkward.

Noah rises to his feet and runs his hand through his hair once, then again.

“I’ll let you get going. Nice to meet you,” he tells my friends.

“And sorry again about the Shiloh attack. She was going crazy in the house. I figured she spotted a deer or a rabbit and let her out to sate her curiosity, but then she took off like a shot.”

Cam snorts, and I shoot her a not-so-subtle glare. I don’t want Noah to feel bad about any of this .

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “Really.”

After he excuses himself, I gather my things, and as we walk to the car, I do my best to ignore my snickering friends.

They at least wait until we’re safely inside the vehicle before starting in on me.

“This place sure is special, Sawyer,” Kai teases.

I shoot them a death glare as I buckle my seat belt.

“ Super special,” Cam chimes in. “It honestly might be the most gorgeous, tanned, muscular, hunky place I’ve seen in a long time.”

Okay, fine.

Digging into this project allows me to spend extra time with the handsome, reclusive apple orchard owner. But I left that out because it means diddly squat. It’s just a crush.

I feel something—a lot of somethings, actually—when I’m around Noah. That doesn’t mean anything. Not if I don’t know whether he’s attracted to me, too.

Plus, I won’t give Mercer ammunition. I won’t allow him to weaponize any kind of connection against me. I want to work on this project, and I refuse to jeopardize my assistantship. So I’ll keep things professional when I’m here on business.

With a huff, I put the car in reverse. The whole way back to the rink, they tease me, and by the time we cruise under the arch at the esplanade that leads to Holt University, I can’t temper the smile that takes over every time they mention Noah’s name.