Page 19 of Sweater Weather (Sapphire Falls Orchard #1)

NINETEEN

Bells

“ W here are you headed?” Tilly asks, standing by the tractor. Her arms are exposed, glistening in the sun with a few beads of sweat.

“Oh, I was going to pick some apples. I haven’t actually done that yet,” I admit.

“You haven’t picked apples this season, or ever?”

“Well, if you count the summer I stayed here, I did. But since then, not so much,” I say shyly.

“Get up here, we’re going now.” Tilly commands and climbs up on the tractor. It’s not attached to the trailer, but there’s enough room for me to sit too. She takes my hand and helps me climb up. Thankfully, I thought to wear my boots today.

“What’s your favorite kind of apple?” she asks.

It’s one of the first times I’ve talked to her since our night together.

We see each other every day, but it’s not like we have a lot of chances to talk about anything with people around.

Plus, I kind of get the feeling she doesn’t want to talk when she had Lina return my phone to me. Like that wasn’t awkward as fuck.

“I don’t know.” I furrow my brows together. Even though I know the names of all the apples now, I don’t know if I could tell the difference between most.

“Then we’ll start at the beginning and do a taste test,” she decides.

“You’re coming along?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.” She smiles.

“Of course.” My stomach turns to butterflies as I think about spending the day with her.

“Okay, we’ll start here and make our way down,” she decides.

“Do you have a favorite apple?” I ask.

“Of course I do. I’m partial to Pink Lady apples.” She winks.

“What do those taste like?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” She reaches into the tree and pulls down a perfectly round apple. She rubs it on the edge of her shirt and hands it to me.

“Shouldn’t we clean it first?” I wrinkle my nose.

Tilly tilts her head to look at me. “You’re kidding, right? I picked it fresh from the tree. I’ll take a bite first if you need convincing.”

I nod, so she laughs and takes a bite out of one side of the pink apple.

“Satisfied?” The juice from the apple runs down her chin, and it gives me a flashback to the last time I was dripping down her chin.

“Mmm.” I mumble and take the apple from her. She wipes her arm on her mouth, and I take a small bite of the apple. It’s extra sweet and juicy—it’s really good.

“So?” she prompts.

“I like it a lot. It’s really sweet.” I smile.

“Pink Lady apples are always the first to blossom and last to be harvested, each one soaks up about 200 days of sunshine,” she explains.

“Wow. Do you know a lot of random apple facts?”

“A hazard of the job.” She shrugs. “John Cripps is the plant breeder who naturally cross-bred the first-ever Cripps Pink apple in Australia in 1973. The best of these apples were then branded Pink Lady.”

“I should have you send me some of these facts for the Instagram. Maybe we can do a weekly ‘Did you know?’ about apples?” I suggest.

“That would be cool. I used to suggest to Benny that during the week we could have a guided tour of the orchard, but she didn’t think anyone would come to that.” She sighs.

“Wait, that’s a great idea. We could do it on Wednesdays, since that’s our slow day. It can be run by you, and eventually you can train one or two others to do the same. Everyone gets a taste of each apple on the tour and all the facts in your brain,” I say excitedly.

“Really?” She looks at me, surprised.

“Yeah, it’s a great idea.” I smile. “We’ll have to get together to talk specifics, but it definitely sounds great.” I nod.

“Awesome.” Tilly smiles. “Don’t eat the whole thing. Toss the apple by the stump and follow me.”

I follow her direction. It feels weird throwing away a perfectly good apple, but she’s right—I can’t eat entire apples of each one we try. So I follow her to the next row, and she hands me a dark red apple. This time she doesn’t take a bite first, and I look at her warily.

“It’s still safe, but I don’t like Red Delicious apples. To me, they’re bitter.”

I take a bite, and sure enough, my mouth puckers right up. I spit out the small bite and toss the apple to the side. Frowning, I look at Tilly as she starts laughing.

“That was disgusting!” I wish I had water or something to clean out my mouth.

“I know. They’re popular because they’re one of the oldest apples, but that was mainly because they’re the most durable to transport—not because they’re the most delicious. We always get people asking for them, but I don’t get it.” Tilly laughs.

“Well, I never want one of those again.” I frown.

“Good to know. Let’s head to the next row—I think you’ll like them.”

“Which ones are these?” I ask, looking at the reddish apples with a hint of yellow streaks.

“These are Fuji apples. They’re very sweet, often compared to apple juice, so I think you may enjoy them.” She smiles and takes a bite before handing me one.

I take a bite, and it’s much better than the Red Delicious—but that’s not really saying anything. It does remind me of apple juice, and it’s a little crunchier than the Pink Lady apple.

“The Fuji apple was created in Fujisaki, Aomori, Japan. They crossed Red Delicious apples and Ralls Janet apples to create it back in the 1960s,” Tilly says.

“I like this one, but Pink Lady is still my favorite so far,” I say.

“Got it.” She nods, moving us along to the next aisle.

We try four more kinds of apples, including Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, and Gala.

By the end, I’m sure that Pink Lady is my favorite, but I’m definitely appled-out.

I feel like I’ve eaten fifty apples when, in reality, I probably didn’t even have one full one.

All the different tastes and tartness are an interesting change.

“So how do you feel now that you’ve officially gone apple picking?” Tilly asks.

“Good. I feel like I know a lot more about apples, at least—which is probably good information to have.” I laugh.

“Are you doing anything the rest of the day?” she asks, and my heart skips a beat. Is she going to ask me out?

“Uh, no?”

“You should come over, and I can teach you how to make apple pie. Lina, Hattie, and I are making them for the pie-eating contest next week.”

My heart sinks, realizing it’s a friendly invite. I mean, of course it is—I’m her boss. She doesn’t want to cross that line again and is trying to make things less awkward between us.

“Oh, sure. Should I bring anything?”

“Nah, just clothes you don’t mind baking in. It can get a little messy, and I don’t have any aprons,” Tilly says.

“I think I have some. I’ll swing by my house before I stop by later. What time are you starting?”

“Around six.” Tilly checks her watch. “I can text you if the time changes.”

“Perfect.” I smile.

It’s quiet as she gives me a ride back to the main side of the orchard on the tractor.

All you can hear is the motor, and we don’t make small talk.

I don’t know if she’s nervous or just ran out of things to say.

I’m too busy overthinking. The way she smells like apples and fresh-cut grass is intoxicating.

I’ve never been someone who wanted to be with someone so nature-y or outdoorsy, but fuck—just smelling her, I can’t imagine anything else.

There’s something hot about a woman who works with her hands and takes care of business.

I mean, like literally. Of course, my body is a little confused, and a shiver runs down my spine thinking of the last time she took care of my business.

“You okay?” Tilly asks as she helps me off the tractor.

“Of course,” I say quickly.

“Okay—you just look a little flushed, is all.” She tilts her head.

“Must be the heat! These boots are quite hot,” I lie.

“Definitely a change from those heels of yours.” She winks. Before I have a chance to respond, I’m sneaking toward my house to get ready for later.