Page 1 of Sweater Weather (Sapphire Falls Orchard #1)

ONE

Bells

I taste the last sip of a latte I grabbed in Grand Central, and the second I step into this small town, I know it might be the last good coffee I’ll get.

Tossing the cup in the clean garbage can, I realize I’m not in Kansas anymore.

I roll my suitcase down the stairs and stop to look around for a cab.

I know better than to attempt to find an Uber here.

I don’t even know if the app works in this town.

There’s one single black cab, the driver standing outside the car smoking a cigarette on the hood.

“Can I get a ride?” I ask, rolling my suitcase toward them.

They flick the cigarette to the side and look me over. An uneasy feeling flies over me as they look from my heels to my copper hair. “Cash only, and I don’t take music requests.”

“Fine by me.” I shrug.

He nods and takes my suitcase, popping the trunk behind him.

I tell him where I’m staying—one of my family’s apartments right in town.

It isn’t too far to walk, but I refuse to mess up my heels by walking on this uneven ground.

Aren’t small towns supposed to be better at town upkeep or something?

I appreciate that he doesn’t try to make small talk, and the ride is quick.

I hand him an extra twenty, and he carries my suitcase to the front door.

My parents are staying at the hotel just outside of town, but I asked to stay here.

I didn’t want to be under the same roof as my parents, and they own a lot of property in this town.

They won’t be in the same room together—they haven’t shared a room in years.

Plopping my bag on the floor, I collapse on the bed.

My heels fall off, and I sigh. I’m not tired enough for bed, but I need to do something to take the edge off.

I’m stressed enough about seeing my entire extended family tomorrow.

I decide to look up the closest bar, which is apparently less than a three-minute walk. I hook my sweater around my shoulders, check my makeup, and put my heels back on. It’s mid-May, but the weather is surprisingly chilly.

Once I reach the bar, I take note of the rusty signage.

The lights are on inside, so it must be open—that’s what matters.

I sit down at the bar and wait for the bartender to notice me.

I’m used to being ignored in bars; I’m plus-sized, and that means, for some reason, that I’m invisible.

I often melt into the background of life.

I take out a twenty and wave it in the air, knowing money is the way to get attention no matter what you look like or where you are. Sure enough, the broody bartender notices me and walks over with a top-shelf smile.

“What can I get for you?” He’d probably be attractive—if I liked men.

“A dirty martini please—extra olives.” I’m really in the mood for some wine, but I have a feeling the only wine they carry in this place comes in a box.

“Coming right up.” He makes my drink, and I hand him the twenty, telling him to keep the change.

As I sip my drink, taking the olives out with a toothpick, I look around the place.

It seems like a popular spot for a random Wednesday night.

It isn’t crowded by any means, but it is busy.

Seems like mostly older men, wearing work jeans and baseball caps with dirt under their fingernails.

I’d secretly been hoping to see someone who might take the edge off, but since the crowd is mostly men…

Sigh.

In the morning, I need to get to the funeral home and greet people who probably knew my aunt better than me.

My family is all about appearances, and I doubt I’ll get away with bailing.

I’ll put on a brave face and smile my way through it—until the weekend is over.

I’m more worried about seeing my parents and having them ask me about work.

I’m up for a promotion, and any day now, I’ll know if the new title is mine—or if my ex gets the job I’ve been hoping for.

I’m more deserving, but life is often an old boys’ club, so I won’t be surprised if I’m passed up—again.

But I didn’t want to face my parents’ disappointment over it.

The more pressure they put on me, the more anxious I feel.

It isn’t like I can tell them I’ll be fine if I don’t get the promotion; they want to see me constantly social climbing.

Just like they did. Now they have multiple houses, millions of dollars they’ll never spend…

and they’re still as unhappy as they were when they had nothing.

“Another round, Bill,” a woman says, breaking through my thoughts.

She has slicked back blonde hair, a sharp jawline, and piercing blue eyes. She’s thin, but her build is muscular—like she spends a lot of time at the gym. I can see her arms through the red flannel she’s wearing. Who is this woman?

“Hey, I’m sorry again—” Bill starts, but the woman holds up a hand.

“Don’t mention it,” she says firmly.

I’m intrigued by this mystery woman, so just as she’s about to head back to her friends, I move my purse—which causes her to bump into my drink. It splatters across the floor, and her eyes meet mine in a panic.

She’s right where I want her.

“I’m so sorry!” we both say at the same time.

“I should’ve looked before moving,” I add.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was so close.” She frowns.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Bill says, already walking around the bar.

“Can I make it up to you?” she asks with a slight smile.

“Maybe buy me a drink?” I bat my dark eyelashes at her, hoping my gaydar is working correctly tonight.

“Sure, let me get these to my friends, and I’ll be right back.” She disappears and is back moments later, asking Bill for two drinks—one for her and one for me.

She slides onto the stool next to me, and I take in her muscular hands.

Am I weird for being attracted to hands?

Is that a lesbian thing, or do straight people love hands too?

Her fingernails are short and clean, but it’s the veins running across the backs of her hands that get me.

She grips her beer can, and my brain immediately wonders what else she could do with those hands.

It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid.

“You don’t seem like a local. I definitely would’ve noticed you before,” she says with a wink.

“I’m just here for the weekend, hoping to blow off some steam.” I twirl my fingers around the stem of my martini glass.

“I think I might be able to help with that. Do you have a name?”

I open my mouth to tell her but stop myself. It’s a small town, and chances are my aunt is well known here. The last thing I want is for someone to recognize me and ruin my chances of getting laid tonight.

“What if we don’t exchange names?”

“You on the run or something?” She chuckles.

“I just don’t plan on being here long,” I say with a shrug.

“All right, well I have to call you something. How about City Girl?” Now she’s the one batting her eyelashes.

“What will I call you?”

“How about Mac?”

“Sure, that’s cute.” I laugh.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

“I’m staying a few minutes away. Wanna come over?” I ask, finishing my drink.

“Yeah. Let me just tell my friends, and I’ll meet you outside.”

She tips back the last of her beer while I gather my things.

Outside, it’s gotten darker, the night air cooler.

I pull my sweater off my shoulders and actually put it on this time.

Part of me wishes I’d taken a shower before coming out, but I’m not gross or anything.

A moment later, Mac—yes, that’s what I’m calling her now—steps outside, looking even hotter in the moonlight.

Is that cliché? Probably. But I’m a little tipsy and she really is beautiful.

“Ready, City Girl?” she asks, smiling, her perfectly white teeth dazzling me.

“Y-yes.” I nod.

Mac stills, stepping closer until we’re only inches apart. She presses a hand to my cheek, and I freeze at the sudden intimacy of her touch. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so nervous. It’s not like I’ve never had a one-night stand before. But when Mac leans in to kiss me, everything shifts.

Her lips touch mine, and my body moves toward hers like a magnet. We’re kissing, her hands tangling in my hair while mine wrap around her neck. It feels like we’ve kissed a million times before.

Familiarity washes over me as her tongue slips into my mouth. I know I won’t forget this hookup—hell, I’m suddenly sure I never could. She pulls back and takes my hand.

“I always kiss a woman before bringing her home—or, in this case, going home with her,” Mac says, blushing.

I clear my throat. “Why?”

“Because the kiss usually tells you how good everything is going to be.”

“Oh yeah? Then how’s everything else going to be?” I ask, teasing her with a raised eyebrow.

“Amazing. I have a feeling it’s going to be hard to leave your bed.”

She’s such a smooth talker I almost believe her—but I’ve heard my fair share of one-liners meant to get someone into bed.

“I guess we should go find out.” I wink, and she laces her fingers with mine.

“You lead the way.”

Though honestly, I bet she could find my place in a heartbeat if I just gave her the address.