Dylan angled her head. “Why do you look first date nervous to meet with our new accountant?”
Rowan mirrored the movement to drive home how obnoxious Dylan was being. “Because someone who knows what they’re doing is about to look at our books. What if they’re worse than we think they are? What if we’re doing something illegal?”
“Dude, chill. I was yanking your chain.”
“Well, don’t, maybe. This is a big deal.”
“I don’t see why. We’re not professionals, but we aren’t stupid. She’s a math nerd accountant and she knows we aren’t. Are you afraid she’s going to think less of you?”
That was part of it, but a less problematic part than how much Audrey had been occupying her thoughts. And her dreams. “She only just decided I’m not a two-bit swindler. I want her to take me—us—this—seriously.”
Dylan watched her indicate their surroundings and didn’t say anything. Funny how silence could imply all sorts of things.
“I want her to like us.” A cheesy thing to admit, but not unreasonable, right?
Dylan’s eyes got big. “You want her to like you.”
The almost comical emphasis Dylan put on the you conveyed all the things she was doing her best to ignore. “Of course I do. I’m pretty sure her opinion carries a lot of weight with Ernestine and I don’t want to be on either of their bad sides.”
“Yeah, but you already sorted that out. This isn’t about good sides or bad sides. It’s about wanting to get underneath, or maybe on top of, our new accountant.”
She wasn’t drinking but managed to choke anyway. “Christ, Dylan. You’re so crass. Also, I’m not an idiot.”
Dylan grinned. “We’re all idiots in love.”
“Love?” She wanted to sound dismissive, but the word came out as a squeak. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“I’m not being a jerk. And I don’t mean love.” This time, the emphasis was on love and she threw in air quotes for good measure.
Ribbing each other had been part of their friendship since college, so she didn’t really have grounds to be irritated. Or at least not more irritated than usual. She tried to play it cool instead. “Then what do you mean?”
“I mean, being attracted to someone can mess with your head even if there’s nothing to it. Basic physiological response. Nothing to get your boxers in a bunch over.”
She could feel the scowl form on her face. “I’m not some horny teenage boy who only thinks with his dick.”
“I never said you were. And to be fair, most grown men only think with their dicks, too.”
She didn’t want to crack a smile but did. “I’m still offended.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll lay off. I don’t want you all worked up before she even gets here.”
She didn’t deny being worked up, but only because it would make her sound petulant. And worked up. “So, you’re going to give her a tour of the operations, then I’m going to show her the space for the tasting room.”
“And then we’ll do a tasting.” Dylan didn’t hide her amusement over Rowan’s reviewing the plan again. “And then she’ll be tipsy and less likely to judge our bookkeeping practices.”
“Stop. We’re not getting her tipsy.” Even if a tiny part of her wanted to see Audrey softened by a couple of drinks.
“Dude.”
Dylan didn’t need to finish. “I know. I’ll fucking relax.”
Whether she managed to or not became irrelevant. Audrey walked in, dressed in a skirt and blouse that reminded Rowan of the day they met. Her hair was done up in a twist and she had on these heels that made the whole package somehow prim and sexy as hell at the same time.
While she collected her tongue from where it had landed on the floor, Dylan stepped forward and extended a hand. “Audrey. Dylan. Thank you so much for coming today.”
Audrey shook Dylan’s hand. All business, but Rowan couldn’t help the twinge of envy over the moment of physical contact. “It’s my pleasure. I’m looking forward to working with you both.”
If she hadn’t been so busy drooling over Audrey, she might have laughed at how they were both pretending Audrey hadn’t stormed in, yelling and swearing, little more than a week ago.
“I hope you didn’t dress for us. I confess we’re a bit rough and tumble even on our good days around here.” Dylan’s smile was easy. Borderline flirtatious.
Audrey waved a hand. “This is business light for me.”
Dylan bowed slightly. “I did iron my shirt this morning. I guess that means we’re meeting in the middle.”
She’d been so preoccupied fending off Dylan’s teasing, she hadn’t even noticed. The twinge of envy took on an edge of something closer to jealousy. Completely unwarranted and completely ludicrous, but there all the same. She cleared her throat. “We were hoping you’d indulge us in a brief tour and tasting before talking business.”
“Yes, we never get the chance to show off,” Dylan said.
“And we figured seeing the operations firsthand would help the vocabulary in the books make a little more sense.” Why did she suddenly feel like an eager suitor, competing for the attention of the girl everyone wanted?
Audrey smiled, either not noticing or used to such shenanigans and therefore unfazed. “I’d love a tour and I’ll never say no to a tasting.”
Dylan made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Excellent. Right this way.”
Audrey followed Dylan, taking the opportunity to study the differences and similarities between her and Rowan. Dylan was a bit lankier, and her brown hair had the unruliness of natural curl compared to Rowan’s sleeker, albeit still casual, style. And huge relief, Dylan seemed to be ignoring their initial pseudo-meeting when she’d stormed in and given Rowan a piece of her mind. She hadn’t really noticed her surroundings then, so she paid extra attention now. And did her best not to glance back at Rowan, who brought up the rear of their little group.
“It’s smaller than I imagined,” she said, more out of wonder than anything negative. “I mean, it’s impressive what you do with the space you have.”
Dylan turned and flashed her a thousand-watt smile. “Nice recovery.”
“I really did mean it as a compliment.”
“I believe you.” Dylan stopped and indicated a very scary looking machine. “This is the grinder. It turns the apples to pulp so we can press the juice from them.”
“Remind me to stay on your good side.”
Dylan chuckled and Rowan looked uncomfortable. Was Rowan not glad she was there?
“I promise we only use it for apples,” Dylan said.
“And the occasional pear.” Rowan smiled and seemed almost relieved to have contributed to the conversation.
Dylan tipped her head. “Or quince.” Dylan moved them toward a row of large metal tanks, flanked by what appeared to be wine barrels. “The cider is allowed to settle and is fermented with various yeast strains before being aged.”
Next came the bottling area. Dylan showed off the way champagne-style ciders were stored upside-down so the sediment could be removed—disgorged—and the bottles could be topped off before their final corking. It reminded her a lot of the winery tours she and Ernestine had done on some of her visits. This seemed scrappier, though. A smaller operation, but also more playful. It made her wonder if that had to do with size, with cider making in general, or with the proprietors of Forbidden Fruit.
After looping the production area, Rowan led them into what they hoped would be the retail space and tasting room within the next few years. Rowan took over the talking, making her think maybe they’d sorted—if not rehearsed—it ahead of time. Their pride was evident, along with what felt like a trace of nerves.
Like they were trying to impress her.
Something about it made her warm to both of them. Not that Rowan didn’t already leave her a little hot and bothered when she let her guard down. This was different, though. They were clearly passionate about what they did. And she might be getting swept up in the moment, but they seemed to be doing it with integrity and care.
“It’s really quite impressive.”
Dylan beamed. “High praise before the tasting. I like it.”
She returned the smile. “To be fair, I’ve tried a few of your ciders already. And loved them.”
“Have you now? Rowan, you didn’t tell me our guest was a fan.”
“I shared a couple of last year’s favorites when we first met.”
Given the ups and downs of the few weeks they’d known each other, she appreciated the generosity of the broad strokes Rowan used to describe things. It made her wonder how much Dylan knew. Or perhaps more accurately, how Rowan would frame it. “I’m looking forward to tasting more.”
Just like in the production area, Dylan took the lead. It made sense, really. Rowan had mentioned being more focused on the growing and the sourcing. An orchardist, she’d said. That would logically make Dylan the expert at making and explaining the cider. Dylan poured three samples, a still and two sparkling, and talked her through the apples that went into making them and the process used.
She’d always enjoyed wine tastings. And though she was far from an expert, she enjoyed learning some of the science behind it. Dylan’s explanations managed to straddle the line perfectly—teaching her something without venturing too far over her head. It helped that everything she tried was delicious.
“This has been lovely. If I was an investor and you were looking for one, I’d be all in.”
Dylan elbowed Rowan in the ribs. “We need to get us one of them.”
Rowan lifted her chin at Audrey. “If you know anyone, send them our way.”
She sort of wished she did. One, because then they could buy Ernestine’s land for what it was worth and she wouldn’t have to deal with any residual ickiness over that. Two, because businesses like theirs deserved to thrive. “Alas, you’ve found yourself an accountant not a venture capitalist.”
Rowan smiled. “It’s okay. We’re pretty thrilled at the prospect of having an accountant. Even for a few hours.”
“Speaking of, why don’t we get to it?”
Both Dylan and Rowan sat up a bit straighter. Rowan cleared her throat. “We have an office, but it’s basically a closet with a computer and a file cabinet. Do you want me to grab you the computer?”
She wondered if Rowan forgot that’s where she’d done some of her yelling or was generously pretending it didn’t happen. “Actually, I thought we could agree to parameters. What you’re willing to give me access to, the scope of advice you’re looking for. That sort of thing.”
Rowan glanced at Dylan before continuing. “We admit we’re a little clumsy but have nothing to hide. You can have access to whatever you’d find useful, and we’re open to any help or suggestions you have.”
Dylan lifted a finger. “Ideally something we can maintain when left to our own devices. Hiring a professional is still a few years out, probably.”
She nodded. “I get it. I will say, though, you don’t need a fancy accountant. A lot of good bookkeepers take small jobs on the side. And because they haven’t jumped through the educational and licensure hoops of a CPA, they can be quite affordable.”
Both Rowan and Dylan gave her a curious look.
“I’m not going to say I’m overpaid for what I do, but if you were paying me, you’d be paying for a skill set you don’t entirely need. Especially after I overhaul your system.”
“I promise we’ll take that under advisement.” Rowan nodded. “We want to get it right.”
“So, let’s talk about what you want.”
“Um.” Rowan looked startled by the question.
Dylan cleared her throat. “Seriously. We want whatever you’re willing to give us.”
Since Rowan appeared at a loss for words still, she focused her attention on Dylan. “I understand you’re still using cash basis.”
Dylan cringed. “Yeah.”
“It’s okay. A lot of startups do. But I get the feeling you’re more than ready to convert.”
“We are,” Rowan said.
“Excellent. We’ll start with that. I’ll want to look at your current year balance sheet and your taxes from the last two years, if you’re okay with that.”
“Of course.” Rowan and Dylan answering in unison was kind of adorable.
“Do you have preferences for whether I work in the morning or afternoon? I’d like at least one of you around to answer questions.”
“I’m here pretty much all day, every day,” Dylan said.
“And I’m rarely far away at this time of year,” Rowan added.
It would be unlike any work she’d done before, not to mention unlike any work environment. But she was looking forward to putting that part of her brain back to work. “Then I’ll plan to see you tomorrow morning.”
Both Rowan and Dylan nodded with enthusiasm.
“I’d say eight but I’m kind of running a farm right now, so how’s nine?”
“Whenever,” Rowan said. “Nine, ten, eleven.”
“Nine should work. It’s not like Ferdinand lets me sleep past five these days.”
Rowan laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“I feel like I should apologize for that.” They’d joked about it before, but still.
Rowan waved her off. “He did it long before you showed up.”
Right. Because Rowan’s life was here and she was merely a guest. An extended guest, perhaps, but a guest nonetheless. She would have expected that little reminder to bring relief, and maybe a moment of longing for her quiet apartment and courteous neighbors. But for some reason, she couldn’t shake the thought of being in bed—stretching and rolling over as Ferdinand did his thing and the sun crept above the line of trees in the orchard—knowing Rowan was doing the same.