Page 38 of Apple of My Eye

Chapter Thirty

Nick

WEEK EIGHT

I walk the path to Eloise’s house as fast as I can.

Ever since I saw her at the Carnation County Fair, I’ve been anxiously awaiting the moment when I get to see her again, hopefully when we’re alone.

As soon as our eyes met in the town hall, it felt like everything else melted away.

And even though Mrs. P. couldn’t have interrupted us at a worse time, I still got to show Eloise how I felt and I got to see how she responded, her upturned chin, her gently parted lips, the desire in her eyes .

.?. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

It didn’t end up bothering me at all that Hazel won the applesauce contest. She deserved it.

And Eloise looked so happy. The only bad part of the day was that Betsy insisted on taking me to every other contest—bobbing for apples, churning butter, yodeling.

Every time I tried to find Eloise, Betsy was introducing me to someone else or trying to wriggle her way to a front-row seat.

Just when I thought the festivities were over Betsy insisted on tracking down the second-place yodeler to tell him that he should have won first.

I texted Eloise when I got home.

Me: I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you again—I swear Betsy was trying to set us up when I got there but then she developed a thing for the yodeler.

I watched as her typing bubbles appeared and disappeared. Once, twice, then a third time before text appeared.

Eloise: *eyes emoji* The second place one?

Me: Not you too!!

Eloise: What can I say, Betsy’s got good taste. Come over Monday morning?

Her groggy visits weren’t just a fluke. I could have jumped in the air for joy.

Now, as I half-walk, half-run my way to her place, I couldn’t be happier.

I’ve borrowed one of Joe’s thick Carhart jackets to beat the chill in the air.

I wear my farm boots so often they feel like a second skin.

I take a deep breath of the crisp morning air as I round the corner and the Andersons’ fields come into view.

It’s taken some time, but I finally feel like I earned my place here.

Eloise is leaning forward, picking apples off some lower tree branches.

‘Morning,’ I call out to her, my spirits lifting as I watch her straighten up, one hand holding her beanie into place, the other giving me a happy wave.

Uncharacteristically, she pulls me in for a hug, her expression cheery. I’m not ready to stop wrapping my arms around her when she pulls away. My shoulders tingle where’s she’s touched them, like her energy has lit them on fire.

‘It’s good to be back,’ I admit.

Eloise smiles at the ground, wrapping a wayward strand of hair around her finger. ‘About that,’ she laughs, ‘Mom got on my case for not having you over anymore.’

‘Did she now?’

Eloise nods. ‘She did. She said I was unhappy without you around.’

‘Hmm,’ I say, trying and failing to stop my smile. ‘Were you?’

Eloise punches me on the arm softly. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

‘Come on, I can’t have made you that happy.’

‘Well—’ suddenly she’s squirmy ‘—there is something else.’

‘What is it?’ I ask, feeling my suspicions rise.

For a moment I wonder if the Andersons have been contacted by Scott’s Orchards.

Scott’s had finally gotten back to us, wanting control over the whole farm.

Betsy and Joe would retain ownership of the land and the house, though, which is what I fought the hardest for.

Joe hated it. He insisted he would think about nothing less than equal shares. I countered with fifty-fifty ownership, but I wondered if Scott’s would decide at some point in our back and forths that we weren’t worth the trouble. With bated breath, I wait for Eloise to continue.

‘We’re just selling out of our U-Pick tickets way earlier than we usually do,’ she says, looking sheepish.

I sigh with relief. ‘That’s great!’ I respond enthusiastically. ‘More business for you is more for the Parkers,’ I say without thinking.

Her face falls again. ‘Right,’ she mutters.

Damnit , I think. I’ve only been with her for five minutes and I’m already ruining it. ‘Hey,’ I say, placing a hand on her forearm. ‘Why don’t we not talk about business.’

She looks up at me, her cornflower-blue eyes impossibly beautiful. ‘We only talk about that.’

‘That’s not true,’ I argue. ‘I’ve told you my whole family history by now. I think if you were asked to be my mom’s primary caretaker you would know her medical history as well as I do.’

Eloise softens. ‘You’re right. I forgot how much ground you can cover when you’re working the ground.’

‘Horrible pun.’ I shake my head at her in mock disappointment.

‘Nick!’ I hear Cal shout. ‘Glad to see you back!’

‘Glad to see you too!’ I call out. He’s riding a tractor parallel to our row.

‘Of course he’s nice to you,’ Eloise grumbles. ‘Wait until you hear what he says to me.’

As if on cue, Cal yells, ‘Eloise, those trees won’t pick themselves,’ and laughs so loudly I can’t help but laugh too.

‘Dad!’ She rolls her eyes and we get to work, picking the trees together one by one. I stay close to her, taking every chance I get for our shoulders to brush.

‘Julian and Isaac are visiting for U-Pick,’ I remind her. ‘They want to meet you.’

‘You told them about me?’ she asks. Her gaze is focused on the apple she’s just picked, but by the way her head is cocked towards mine I know she’s pleasantly surprised they know who she is.

‘Of course I did.’

‘Linden might be coming that weekend too. He usually surprises us, but he hasn’t visited this year. I keep wondering if this will be the first year he doesn’t come home at all .?.?.’

‘Would that upset you?’

Eloise sighs. ‘The million-dollar question.’

Birdsong floats through the air as I wait for her response. ‘The truth is,’ she says, ‘I’ve been trying to let go of some of my resentment towards him lately.’

‘You filled your resentment quota with me, huh?’

She chuckles. ‘You could say that .?.?. or you could say I’m growing tired of resenting people for moving .?.?.’ She pauses, turning to face me. ‘It’s an effort to dislike people when they’re not really doing anything wrong.’

My mouth feels dry. ‘Yeah,’ I croak out. If she knew about Scott’s Orchards .?.?.

Easily, we fall back into side-by-side rhythm, our conversation waxing and waning with the breeze. She tells me something about apple blossoms, how they used to be a symbol of love, and right after she says it she asks nonchalantly, ‘Will you put that in a TikTok?’

‘So you’ve seen them?’

‘Maybe.’

‘And?’

‘And .?.?. my words look better on a screen than I thought they would.’

‘Ah. About that—’

‘It’s OK,’ she interrupts me. ‘I was really annoyed at first,’ she admits, ‘but the videos are good.’

‘I knew I’d win you over.’

Eloise toys with her bottom lip. ‘Speaking of winning me over .?.?.’ She hesitates, before her eyes light up with an idea. ‘You’re leaving in, like, two weeks,’ she says.

‘Yeah,’ I acknowledge, even though the words make my heart sink.

‘So, what if we call it a truce until then?’

‘You? Eloise? The girl who told me I was threatening her entire future with my schemes, wants to declare a truce with me?’