Page 47 of Almost Rotten

With any luck, Noah will take Mercer’s advice and hire a marketing specialist for the orchard. I sincerely hope that happens. Even if that person isn’t me.

By now, Ty has joined his group toward the road. They’re in charge of signage and crowd control for the event. With the other group out in the orchard, I’m alone.

My thoughts are too loud in the silence, so I meander toward the sound of voices, eager to tag along with the group Ty isn’t part of. But as I pass the barn, apsststops me in my tracks.

Pulse picking up, I turn, searching for the source of the sound.

“In here.”

Noah.

“In the barn, honey,” he says. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

My feet stay planted, despite my heart’s desire to follow his instructions.

“I just want one minute with you.”

The idea of denying him makes my chest ache. I refuse to hurt him the way I’ve already hurt Mercer this week.

With a peek over my shoulder to confirm we’re alone, I scamper into the barn.

“Noah?”

He snags my elbow, his big hand warm and rough, and pulls me close.

“Hi, honey.”

Despite the darkness shrouding us, his smile is evident in his voice.

“Hi,” I reply, tucking my hair behind both ears.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, leaning closer.

“Noah.” Stomach sinking, I place both hands on his chest to stop him.

He halts immediately, his back going ramrod straight.

It kills me, the thought that he might feel rejected, but I can’t afford to get wrapped up in a moment with him right now. For his sake and mine.

In what I hope is a soothing move, I slide my hands over his shoulders and clasp them behind his neck. “There are students right outside.”

He clears his throat, his posture relaxing, and grasps my hips.

“So you’re telling me I shouldn’t hold on to the dream of sneaking you into my house? Even just for a few minutes?”

Closing my eyes, I rest my cheek on his chest and inhale, savoring the scent of cedarwood and honey combined with fresh air.

In my mind, I let the fantasy play out. The two of us sneaking toward the farmhouse. His lips on mine the second we close thedoor behind us, then drifting down to my neck, my chest, my breasts. This man sinking to his knees in the entryway—

A stick snaps outside, and I startle back, my heart rate skyrocketing into the heavens.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, hugging myself, holding in the pain and sadness threatening to pour out of me. “I can’t. I wish I could; I just…”

I meet his gaze, and despite how dark it is, the empathy and understanding on his face are clear.

“Did you at least get my text?” he asks, a tentative smile coming out to play. “I know it wasn’t as good as what you would have done—”

“I thought it was great,” I tell him, taking half a step closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply. This week… it’s been a lot.”