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Her question is so earnest, so heartfelt, it hits me right in the gut. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before. It’s something everyone knows about me. Something they’ve always just accepted about me. But never asked why .

“Just who I am.” I lift a shoulder, as if that simple answer will be enough. I know it won’t be though. “In my family, each of us has a very specific role, and that’s mine.”

Sawyer nods, understanding in her eyes. “I get that; my siblings and I are our own personalities too, but?—”

“But you’re not one of seven ,” I tell her, unpacking the rest of the basket.

I hand her a sandwich, and she smiles, lighting me up inside all over again as she mouths thank you.

“When you’re in that big of a group, you have to do something to make yourself stand out, especially when you’re in the middle.

Hux got tapped to be actual middle child, so the rest of us middles had to find a way to be seen. This is what came naturally.”

“So you just go around pushing everyone’s buttons?” she asks, taking a bite of her BLT.

“I got ten bucks that says you go around telling your siblings how to live their lives,” I counter, breaking off a piece of bacon sticking out from the side of my sandwich.

Sawyer purses her lips, looking away, then right back at me. “How dare you.”

“Am I wrong?”

“If they made better life choices, then maybe I wouldn’t have to.”

I laugh again. “Okay, little Miss Bossy Pants.”

“We…” She sighs, putting her sandwich down, looking up at me. “We actually don’t talk all that much. They don’t understand me.”

“How so?”

Sawyer pauses, tilting her head, examining me. As if no one has ever asked her this question.

Picking her BLT back up, she takes a bite, clearly buying herself some time before she has to answer. Fine by me. I don’t have anywhere else I have to be. Anywhere else I want to be either.

“Both of them are a lot more like my parents. Carefree, laid-back. Work to live type of people. Taylor dropped out of college to work with them and Morgan just never went. My personality always seems to…” She looks up at me, vulnerability written all over her features.

I inch into her, silently urging her to continue.

“Clash? I guess that’s the word. Sometimes I wonder if my interest had been oceanography if they would have been more apt to listen when I talked about wh at I was studying, but deep down, I know it wouldn’t have mattered. ”

“If it makes you feel any better, my ag knowledge surpassed Auggie’s in about the third grade…”

Sawyer half chokes, half laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. My heart sinks for a second, hating that I don’t get to see those pretty pink lips as she reacts.

“But I bet he listened. He seems like he would have let you talk his ear off.”

I shrug. “To a point. And then he sent me off to hang out with the Adlers. Cary’s family has been in charge of horticulture for Hayes Industries for three generations.

I might be vice president of agriculture and produce, but I’m nothing—Hayes would be nothing— without my chief horticulturist, and my best friend is the best damn one there is. ”

“He is pretty sharp.”

“You should see his daddy and granddaddy too. Put the three of them together, oh boy…” I whistle, raising my eyebrows. “They’re the ones who nursed this grove back. When I was a kid, this was just a field. Don’t get me wrong; it was my happy place, where I could come out here, get some alone time.”

“Just you and the stump?” she teases.

I laugh. It’s a good sign that she feels comfortable enough to joke.

“Exactly.”

“So, how old are these trees?”

“We planted these eight years ago, the summer I turned thirty,” I tell her. “Being a soil expert, I know you know all about the earth getting “peached out” and taking fifty years to restore, but how much do you know about the actual tree?”

“Very little.”

I pop up to my feet and hold out a hand. Sawyer looks up at me, skeptical for a second, then takes it, letting me help her up. I don’t let go of her, interlacing my fingers with hers, leading her toward one of the full peach trees, the branches heavy with the beautiful fruit.

“It takes about three years from planting until you have a tree, or at least what most people think of as a tree, and then four to five until you get fruit. The average tree lives for about fifteen years.”

“That’s it?”

I nod. “Yup. We start picking in mid-May, and we go until late August. In a perfect season, we get a good one hundred days of fruit. The key is listening to the trees.” Sawyer’s eyebrow quirks upward and I can tell she wants to comment, but I don’t let her.

“The tree tells you when it’s time. You feel the soft tips on the bottom of the peach.

That’s how you know. So every morning you come out and go what’s ripe today ?

We’ll visit the same tree six or seven times in a two-week period sometimes. ”

“Seriously? So when I buy a peach at the grocery, it hasn’t been sitting in some warehouse for forever?”

“Not during peach season. At least not a Hayes peach.” I reach up, pressing my thumb to the bottom of a peach, feeling for a soft tip.

This one is much better than what I grabbed earlier, so I twist it off the branch and hand it to her.

“Everything happens really fast once it comes off the tree. We’re talkin’ days, not weeks, to get it processed, shipped, and into stores. ”

Stepping into her, I rest one hand on her hip, tucking the rogue piece of hair back with the other. Her breath hitches, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to stay just like this. To not make some stupid move that would annoy the fuck out of her.

Which is the last thing I want to do.

Because Sawyer is different .

And she has me hypnotized.

“Anton…”

“Sawyer.”

“Why can’t you be like this all the time? I like this you.”

I like this you…

“Which me is this?” I ask, holding back the real smart-ass answer I want to let loose.

“This nerdy, sciencey, ag guy. He’s…disarming.”

I scoff laugh, looking off into the distance. Well, I’ll be damned.

Me. Sawyer likes me. The real fucking me.

Taking another half step forward, I erase any distance left between us. My pulse starts to race, my system in overdrive as I try to figure out my next move. I want to kiss her like I want my next breath. I want to know how she tastes. What she feels like. How she moves.

Fuck it.

Wrapping my arm around her waist, I haul Sawyer into me and capture her mouth with mine. I don’t stop to think. The sound she lets out goes straight to my groin, her arms weaving around my neck. And I’m in heaven.

My mind goes blank. Nothing exists but the feel of her soft lips against mine, her gentle whimpers floating through the air, and the heat from her body. Her subtle sweetness is intoxicating, going straight to my head, making me dizzy. Making me crave more.

Crave her.

I twist us around, slowly walking her backward toward the tree, until I can rest her against it. Sawyer moans as I deepen the kiss, my tongue finding hers, seeking out more of that sweet taste. It’s still not enough. I’m not sure it’s ever going to be enough.

“Anton…”

Sawyer grasps onto my biceps, her fingers digging into my skin as I kiss along her jawline.

I shift my weight so we’re straddling each other as I lean her against the tree trunk, keeping my full attention on her.

Right where it belongs. Sliding my hand along her waist, I dip my finger just inside the waistband of her jeans, teasing the button.

My dick throbs, just the idea of seeing more of her exciting me beyond measure.

Flicking her jeans open, I slip my hand lower, over her panties. I can feel the wetness in her crotch, and let out a groan.

“I bet you’re sweet enough to eat…”

“No.”

Errr…what?!

It’s as if an audible record scratch sounds. Sawyer freezes and I immediately step back, arms up in the air in surrender.

Because that’s the magic word.

Or, well, the not-so-magic word.

“What’s the matter? What’d I do?”

“I…errr…” The panic in her voice matches the fear in her eyes. Deer in headlights have looked calmer than Sawyer does right now. “I have to go.”

Faster than I can think, much less react, she’s past me, running. Legit, actual running. As if she were participating in the annual Thanksgiving 5K. Where to, I have no idea. Because now I’m frozen. I’m the deer in the headlights.

Fuck.