Page 14 of Raised On It (Between the Pines #1)

He opens his arms to the endless rows of what I now know are called bines of green hop plants.

Lifting my camera, I take a picture of him with his passion behind him.

The green landscape of the farm surrounding him coming nowhere near the natural beauty of the man.

Especially, when he talks about this land.

“Did you just take my picture?”

It’s my turn to shrug a reply.

“Am I gonna see that as your screensaver on your phone later? I am, aren’t I?”

“You are an idiot.”

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anybody that you’re infatuated with me. The feeling’s mutual.”

And there it is. Miles Montgomery stopping me in my tracks with his charming words yet again.

Embarrassed, I turn away from him, lifting my camera to take a picture, but he knows as well as I do it’s to shield his view of my flushed face.

Lou drops his toy at my feet, and I throw it for my new bestie. Because that’s what friends are for, right?

“So, you and your parents are pretty close then? This business stuff doesn’t get in the way?”

“I love my parents. We may not agree on what to do with the farm, but we’re still tight as can be. I rarely miss a Sunday dinner.”

“I can’t imagine spending time with my family because I want to and not because it’s expected of me. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

He turns back in the direction of the truck, and I follow his lead, only now realizing the truck is so far away it’s no longer in view. Sweet Lou comes up from the rear and slows down to walk beside us with his toy in his mouth.

“I’m sorry things aren’t better with your family, Mase. Has it always been that way?”

“Well, I’m an only child, but I’m not a boy, so there’s that.”

“Thank God for that.” He gives me a wink, sending shivers down my back in the very best kind of way.

“I still got the boy name, though. Lucky me.”

“Nah, I like it. It’s kinda hot.”

“Anyway, my parents come from money and are pretty old school,” I say, ignoring him.

“More details please.”

I hate talking about my parents. In fact, I never do, so why I feel so comfortable talking to him about them? I have no idea.

“Okay, let me find the right words. Um…my parents are of the mindset that even though women go to college and get degrees, their real purpose is to look pretty on their husband’s arm while not using the degree they worked so hard for.

You know, our skills are apparently better used to make a beautiful ho me and of course one to two perfect children.

I was pretty much a used-up spinster at the ripe old age of twenty-six. ”

“Understood. So, how do they feel about your career?”

Our pace is slow, taking our time walking up and down the rows of hops. He picks a leaf here and there while he listens.

“That’s a bit of a loaded question.”

“How so?”

“Well, how my parents feel about my career, let me rephrase that. How my father feels about my career changes, depending on the circumstances. My mom…she feels whatever her husband tells her she feels.”

“Ouch.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’d like to, though, so why don’t you enlighten me?”

Miles Montgomery sure can be sweet.

“Well, before I was a success, they were embarrassed by what I chose to write. Let’s just say, Sunday dinners with my parents, if we had had them, would have consisted of them telling me what a disappointment I was to them, and how I was shaming them by writing X-rated trash.”

“X-rated, you say? Maybe I should check out your work.”

“That’s the thing. They act like I write porn, but I don’t. I write about real life, and real life includes people falling in love, and like most people in love, sex is usually a part of the equation.”

“I like the way you think, lady. Your parents, however, sound a little stuffy, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Not at all. Your assessment would be extremely accurate. The thing is, when the series sold and got lots of notice, they were suddenly proud and claimed to have always known I had it in me or some crap like that. Then, when things ended with my ex, I was wasting my life and letting the family down. Merging my family with his would have been a great investment for both of our families’ legacies.

My career…my happiness…didn’t matter. So, not only did I lose the guy but I also lost my family.

Why? Beca use I was just a pawn in their nasty scheme, and in the end, I was the least important person involved. ”

“So your parents just wrote you off like that?”

“Not sure, because I wrote them off first.”

“Was it hard?”

“I wish I could say it was, but it really wasn’t.

I spent my entire life being told to sit up straight, smile, only speak when spoken to, and without exception, to never have my own opinion.

When you find out you’ve done everything they’ve told you to do your entire life only for them to be on the side of the person who betrays you and breaks your heart, it makes it easier to walk away. ”

We’ve reached the truck, and he walks to the passenger side door but pauses before opening it for me, shoving his hands in his front pockets.

“Mason?”

“Miles?”

“I’m really sorry your life has been full of assholes who didn’t see you for all that you are.”

My heart isn’t sure what to do with all of his kindness. I think I feel more sure of myself when he’s being a smart-ass.

“Thank you. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“I only speak the truth, Mason. Now, how do you feel about hazelnuts?”

And just like that, he lightens the mood and lights up my heart.

He drives us a few minutes away to the hazelnut crops, and we spend the next hour walking and talking about everything and nothing.

I swear the green on the leaves is deeper and more beautiful when you’re walking through them with him as your guide.

His love for everything surrounding us knows no bounds, and I’m seeing colors I don’t remember ever seeing before.

By the time we’re back in the truck, I know all about The Crew, the locals around town, and his childhood growing up running through the fields here at Montgomery Farms.

Yes, he is without a doubt charming, but he’s also incredibly down to earth.

After a trip through the hazelnuts, he takes me to what they call The House .

This is the house he grew up in, only now it serves as home base to the farm.

He shows me his office and introduces me to his team.

There are sleeping quarters the team can use while the hours are long during harvest season, and they even have a fully stocked kitchen.

It’s more than clear the Montgomerys care about their employees.

Activity has picked up in the hours since we arrived. You can see hop harvesters and top cutters out in the distance. Crazy that I know what hop harvesters and top cutters are, but I do, thanks to the infectious enthusiasm my tour guide has for the topic.

What is also infectious is how everyone feels about Miles as we walk through The House.

They may call him “boss,” but there is a genuine family feel between all of the men working at Montgomery Farms. Miles asks about their families and knows all of their children’s names.

It is a small town, and I’m sure everyone knows everyone, but this feels more like a family than a business.

The crap they fling at each other is pretty fun to witness, too, especially with their boss as the ringleader.

Something else I’m shocked I didn’t notice until well into our visit is that a lot of the guys are wearing Eastlyn Brewing Company hats or T-shirts. There is EBC signage all over The House as well. In fact, there is just as much paraphernalia for EBC as there is for Montgomery Farms.

Quite some time later after doing some quick paperwork, then going over some equipment issues with Peter and some of the other guys, Miles says he needs to grab something out of the kitchen, and as I follow him down the hall, I ask the obvious .

“Miles, I cannot believe I’m just now catching on to this, but does Montgomery Farms grow the hops used in EBC?”

Looking over his shoulder with the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, he gives me a wink. “I was wondering when you might notice that.”

“Shut up! Are you telling me I was walking through rows and rows of hops that are going to end up in my favorite adult beverage?”

He chuckles at my excitement. “Indeed.”

“Miles, I touched them.”

His laughter reverberates off the seventies era burnt sienna walls adorned with a rooster wallpaper border. Not to mention the cracked Formica countertops that lend to the old-school feel.

It’s perfect.

“You really like beer, don’t you?” he says, opening the refrigerator. One of the only upgrades in the room.

There’s no stopping the smile stretching across my face.

“I do. But I’m not an alcoholic or anything.

I usually have one or two and call it good.

My parents and Grant frowned upon a woman of my stature drinking beer.

So of course I would drink it every chance I got.

And then one day, I was in LA visiting a friend, and I asked the bartender to bring me his favorite beer on tap, and he brought me an EBC, and my life was changed forever. ”

He closes the refrigerator door and gets close. So close, there are only a couple of very small, very electric inches between us.

“What you’re really saying is, in a roundabout way, I changed your life forever,” he whispers.

Oh, shit. That is kind of what I just said.

He’s good.

I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m giddy and a little turned on at our proximity.

“I guess you did,” I whisper back. Leaning into him, I eliminate the space between us. “Thank you.”

To show my appreciation, I gently press my lips to his, and he kisses me back ever so lightly yet pulls away before things get heated.

“You’re welcome, City Mouse.”

His breath flutters across my face. He’s teasing me because he knows I want more of his lips.

Miles Montgomery has me all tangled up.