Page 22 of Apple of My Eye

Chapter Sixteen

Nick

I keep thinking about her before I sleep, the way she sounded when I kissed her neck, the way it felt to grab her ass and pull her closer to me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands in my hair.

I can almost feel the dip in the small of her back when I leaned in to hug her goodnight.

The night was quiet around us, moonlight shining down onto her wooden front porch, a rocking chair creaking in the wind.

Everyone else had gone home and I had lingered, wanting more time with her, wanting her alone, but not sure how to get there.

Her piercing gaze pinned me in place. A wisp of her hair was loose from her ponytail.

She hates having hair in her face, so I tucked it behind her ear instinctively, my fingertips grazing the soft part of her temple.

The incline of her chin towards my lips, expecting me to kiss her again.

The way her eyelashes fluttered when I leaned in closer, so ready to press my lips to hers.

I would have given anything for another moment out there alone.

But then the porch door swung open, screaming on its hinges, Cal jolting us out of the moment.

I stumbled to head back, barely hearing her murmur when I left, ‘Look up on your way home. The stars here aren’t like they are in the city.’ If I’m not mistaken, her voice was as shaky as my hand had been when I smoothed her wayward curl down.

Either the lack of socialization out here is getting to me or not being able to get Eloise alone is driving me crazy.

Because even though I’ve been sleeping well, I wake up with a headache.

Maybe it’s because I finally bit the bullet and started a TikTok account for the Parkers late on Tuesday night, still buzzing with energy from kissing Eloise.

My first few videos were pretty standard, an introduction to the farm, ‘meeting the grandparents,’ and what amounted to a little infomercial about their products.

But then I posted a video introducing everyone to the pigs.

I paid to promote it, deciding I wouldn’t even tell the Parkers about it.

I could afford a $50 ad placement. It worked.

The internet loved it. We’re already at over five thousand followers, a number that I think I can keep driving up.

Eloise hasn’t followed the account yet. I’ve checked.

But I’m not sure if she’s seen it. I thought she would be excited about the prospect of more folks visiting the farm, but she always seems uneasy when we talk about it.

I’ve only seen her once since the big dinner and her dad was tending to apples a row over from us, so we only talked about two things—how the apples are doing, and how excited she is to see her friend Evan, who’s coming into town for the Fall Festival.

Every time she mentions Evan I feel a tug in my chest. I can’t decide if I want to meet him or pretend he doesn’t exist. He seems to make Eloise really happy.

I decide that, for now, I don’t need to like the guy.

He’s coming in from Seattle and is probably some stuck-up city butthole.

Not that I’m any better, but at least I’m out here in the fields every day.

‘The town really goes all out,’ Eloise explains after she reminds me again that Evan’s coming, her voice interrupting my descent into hypocrisy.

We’re out in the orchard netting trees to protect them from pests.

Cal is infuriatingly nearby again. Five minutes ago I tried to mouth to Eloise, ‘Can we go somewhere to talk,’ but she said ‘What?’ so loudly that I saw Cal’s hat move out of my peripheral vision.

‘All out as in I can expect Joe to wear something other than his flannel?’

Eloise laughs. ‘You’re never going to see Joe in something other than a flannel. But I meant the apple pie contest.’

I go still. ‘Eloise Anderson. Did you just say apple pie contest ?’

She laughs. ‘Yes, my mom won two years ago and she’s looking to repeat.’

‘Who gets to judge?’

‘Locals.’ Eloise emphasizes the word so heavily I wonder if she’s about to tell me that non-residents can’t participate, but then she says, ‘I’ll sneak you a piece of my mom’s, don’t worry.

And .?.?.’ Eloise pauses, a shy smile creeping across her face ‘.?.?. we’re doing something different at our tent this year, we’re giving out growing kits for kids. ’

A smile tugs at my lips.

‘What?’ she asks, self-conscious.

‘I love how much you love teaching kids to farm,’ I admit, thinking back to the first time she told me about how much she loved volunteering at their summer camp.

‘It’s not teaching them how to farm really,’ she corrects me, but I can tell by the way her face lit up that she’s pleased.

‘This summer we were more teaching them how to garden.’ Her shoulders drop a little.

‘It would have been better if it could have been farming. We need more farmers,’ she sighs, ‘but it is really cute to see a little kid get so excited about a tomato.’

‘So, what are the growing kits?’

‘They’re radish seedlings that have already germinated. A radish can grow in about a month. All they need to do is water it. And the best part is that the containers are clear, so the kids can watch the radish grow!’

‘But don’t the radishes grow in dirt?’

Eloise’s bright blue eyes narrow just slightly, like they always do when she’s surprised I don’t understand something. ‘Well, not these ones .?.?. it’s a hydroponic system,’ she explains, ‘they only need water to grow. It’s magical to watch, really.’

I reach my hand towards hers and squeeze it. ‘That sounds so cool.’ There’s dirt between our fingers, and our hands are sweaty from hard work, but she intertwines her fingers with mine and squeezes back.

‘I can save you one,’ she promises.

‘I’d like that.’ I wonder if she would want to go to the festival together, but before I have the chance to, she lets go of my hand and drops to her knees.

‘I saw a worm,’ she exclaims, digging up a scoop of dark soil in her palm and letting it run through her fingers.

We’ve talked a lot about soil lately. I didn’t realize how essential it was to the farm until I met Eloise.

She is always feeling the dirt. Sometimes it’s dry and sandy, her shoulders sag when that happens.

Sometimes it’s rich and moist, like it is today, and before her face turns towards mine I already know she’ll be beaming.

This is the first time she’s mentioned worms, though.

‘Last year we filled this in with clover on the off season,’ she says happily, ‘and now, look!’ Excitedly, she picks up an earthworm that was wriggling in the dirt she just upended. ‘Hey, little guy,’ she whispers, ‘you’re welcome here.’

She sighs. ‘Sometimes I think my dad doesn’t believe me,’ she says loudly, emphasizing dad enough for Cal to hear from a row over. ‘But I don’t get how he doesn’t see it. The proof is right here!’

That’s when it hits me. It’s lack of socialization, it has to be. There’s no other explanation for why I like a girl who talks to worms.

We spend the rest of the morning finishing the netting.

Like most other days, we fall into an easy rhythm.

She hands me a new piece of mesh without asking if I need it.

I carry the supplies with us to the next tree without either of us asking the other if we’re ready to move on.

As the sun soars higher into the sky, we both build up a sheen of sweat on our faces.

Without thinking, I tuck a damp curl behind Eloise’s ear while she’s netting the final tree of the morning.

I can’t tell if it’s a glow from the midday sun or a blush that colors her cheeks.

‘Thanks,’ she says.

I resist the urge to tuck back another flyaway that isn’t even there, I just want an excuse to touch her again. As I walk back to the farmhouse it crosses my mind that I’ve never been that in sync with anyone except when I’m cooking with my mamma in the kitchen.

I call her when I get back to the Parkers’, the porch door creaking behind me as I slip in.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she answers. I can hear her smile.

‘Hi, Mamma.’ I feel both a rush of relief at hearing her voice, knowing she’s OK, and a rush of guilt for being away from her, for starting to imagine a life with Eloise, one where I don’t live as close to my mother, where I can’t support her so fully.

I ask her how she is and she tells me about Ronnie and her cousin Vienna (who has reappeared on the scene since I’ve been gone). She gives me the vegetable garden update and laughs when I tell her I’ll have some advice for her when I get home.

‘How are Julian and Isaac? Did you tell them they could come over for dinner while you’re gone?’

‘Mamma, you don’t need to feed my friends while I’m away.’ I laugh. ‘They’re good. They’re liking their internships.’

She harrumphs. ‘And how are you ?’ she asks after a beat of quiet.

‘I’m good. It’s nice here.’

‘But not too nice,’ she says, ‘not as nice as home. You better not be getting too skinny.’

‘Not too nice,’ I agree, although when I say it my heart sinks just a little. It is better than too nice, it just happens to be so far away from her . ‘I’m eating enough,’ I promise, ‘but the cooking here is nothing compared to yours.’