It didn’t take long to settle into her new routine. Most mornings, Audrey woke before her alarm, courtesy of Ferdinand. She worked her way through the morning farm chores, then drank her coffee on the porch or while chatting with the goats. She went to the cidery on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, leaving Tuesdays and Thursdays open for visits with Ernestine and weekends for knitting group and an all-day trip to Rochester where she could visit Ernestine but also spend an hour or two getting groceries and running errands. If part of her worried that Ernestine didn’t seem to be improving, she shoved those worries aside, reminding herself that these things took time.
She fell into an easy rapport with Rowan and Dylan, even if her interactions with Rowan still seemed to have a trace of something she couldn’t put her finger on. It wasn’t residual tension, at least as far as she could tell. Well, not bad tension. Maybe tension of a whole different sort. The kind of tension that had her staring at Rowan’s hands for longer than she cared to admit. The kind that had her wondering what Rowan’s mouth would feel like on hers. Or the rest of Rowan’s body, for that matter. Unfortunately, Rowan didn’t appear to share in her train of very distracting thoughts.
It was probably for the best, really. She had her hands full. And if she was cognizant of how long it had been since she’d had sex with anyone, well, she was no stranger to dry spells.
So, she did what she did best. She channeled her energy into depreciation schedules and streamlined accounts payable structures, finding places of efficiency and, more often than not, savings. It flexed her brain in all the ways she’d been missing, yet managed to be novel at the same time. More satisfying, if only because it felt more personal.
On this particular Wednesday, she emerged from the office around three, having eaten her salad without leaving her desk, and went in search of either Rowan or Dylan. She found Dylan and the intern, Jamal, loading bottles into cardboard boxes. “Ooh, finished product.”
Jamal raised a bottle for display. “What do you think of the label? I designed it myself.”
The pen and ink drawing had been printed on what looked like parchment. With the Forbidden Fruit logo across the bottom, it looked both artistic and professional. “Did you do the drawing, too?”
His chest puffed up. “I did.”
“It’s really nice.”
Dylan bumped Jamal’s shoulder with hers. “I keep telling him he can come back after college and run our marketing department if he decides not to become a cider maker.”
Jamal rolled his eyes. “Dude, you don’t have a marketing department.”
Dylan shrugged. “Exactly. You could be the marketing department.”
Audrey laughed at the exchange. “If you want to talk with someone who does marketing or graphic design, I have a couple of people I could connect you with. They’re in the city, but I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you.”
Jamal beamed. “Yeah? That would be sick.”
Did sick mean cool again? She hoped so. “Let me send a couple of emails.”
“Thanks.”
“So, how’s the accounting department today?” Dylan shot her a wink, though she couldn’t tell if it was gratitude for offering to hook Jamal up or the reference to her as the accounting department.
“Good, good. I need to do some research, but you might be able to consolidate some of your purchasing and get better volume discounts.”
“Really?”
Dylan’s unabashed delight at the prospect made her smile. “Really.”
“For that, you should take the afternoon off.”
She tried to roll the computer hunch tension from her shoulders. “You know that’s no way to run a business, right?”
“Ha ha. Seriously, though. Work hard, relax hard. It’s a beautiful afternoon. You should spend it outside.”
Audrey shrugged. “I did chores outside this morning and I’ll have more when I get home.”
Jamal shook his head. Dylan did, too. “I mean play outside.”
“Play.” She understood the word, obviously, but it didn’t compute with anything she’d do. “Does sitting on the porch count?”
“Eh? Borderline. Lie in a hammock. Stare at the clouds.”
She had a flash of herself staring at the sky, willing creative frivolity that simply wouldn’t come.
“Okay, you don’t need to make that face. If it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing.”
She let out a sigh. “Sorry. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“If I had a nickel for every time a woman said that to me.” Dylan tutted and gave a slow shake of her head.
Something told her Dylan didn’t find herself on the receiving end of that talk very often. “I have a hard time with idleness.”
“Seriously? You’re one of those workaholic women who can’t relax?” Dylan’s question seemed genuine, which was cute.
“Does this really surprise you?”
Dylan offered a casual shrug. “I forget you’re a city girl at heart.”
She wouldn’t disagree, though it felt jarring to hear it. The city felt so far away, and not just in terms of physical miles. “Well, creature of habit at least.”
Dylan pointed a finger at her. “You should spend the afternoon with Rowan.”
Ignoring her attraction to Rowan was becoming second nature, but it still took effort. The idea of spending the afternoon together might appeal, but it wouldn’t be relaxing. “Why?”
“She’s walking the orchard and could keep you company. It would be like pseudo idleness. Ease you into it.”
“Pseudo idleness.” It sounded both ridiculous and brilliant.
The door to the production room opened and Rowan strode in. Dylan winked again. “Speak of the devil.”
Dylan called out a greeting and Rowan headed their way. Rowan offered hellos but launched into a series of questions for Dylan about a new foraging spot she had a lead on. Audrey took the chance to study them. Dylan flirted with her freely, but it was playful. Innocent. Like they both knew neither of them meant anything by it. Unlike Rowan. With Rowan, things were friendly but then sometimes stilted. Like they couldn’t decide whether or not to flirt. Okay, not entirely accurate. Rowan definitely flirted. And she flirted back, but then caught herself and backed off. And then acted weird. Which made Rowan act weird. She sighed. The whole thing was…awkward.
“What do you say, Audrey? You game?”
“Huh?” Speaking of awkward.
Rowan gave her a curious look. “I said I’d love you to walk the orchard with me. But no pressure. Obviously.”
“Oh. Yes. That would be fantastic.”
Rowan looked from Audrey to Dylan, searching for a clue about why Audrey was saying yes but looking completely disinterested. Or at least distracted. She could think of little she’d enjoy more, but only if Audrey actually wanted to. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’ve been meaning to ask for more of a guided tour anyway.”
She was pretty sure Audrey hadn’t, but it seemed silly to argue. “Great.”
Dylan told them to take their time and enjoy the sunshine. Rowan grabbed her hat and led the way outside. She started toward the orchard, then stopped. “Do you want to go home and change?”
Audrey looked down, then at Rowan. “Depends. Are you going to put me to work?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” But damn if the idea of Audrey on a ladder, reaching to grab a perfectly ripe apple, didn’t get her juices flowing.
“I’m good then. This is pretty casual for me.”
She had a hard time filing anything involving a skirt in the casual category. “If you say so.”
“It’s like the warm weather equivalent of jeans.”
“Pretty sure those are called shorts.”
Audrey folded her arms and her left hip jutted slightly. Rowan reminded herself to find it charming, not sexy. “I don’t wear jeans to work. I’m sure as hell not going to wear shorts.”
“Totally your prerogative. I’m merely arguing the equivalency.” It was one of those arguments that wasn’t really an argument. The kind friends would have. Or people who were flirting.
Audrey let out a dismissive sniff. “Fine. This is the girly warm weather equivalent of jeans.”
Why was she having so much fun with this? Because it felt like flirting more than friendly banter, that’s why. “So, what’s the girly, cool weather equivalent?”
“There isn’t really. You can push jeans a little with tall boots. Or thick tights under a skirt.”
“And that’s still casual?”
“Well, it’s not pantyhose, I can tell you that.”
For some reason, the mention of pantyhose had her imagining Audrey in thigh-high stockings, complete with a garter belt. She cleared her throat. “I’m going to take your word for it.”
Audrey narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue.
Rowan tried for a smile but coughed. And because her thoughts also included what it might be like to slide those stockings down Audrey’s legs, she couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. She angled her head. “Let’s start here, then we can go across to Ernestine’s land.”
Audrey smiled a smile that made it clear she had no idea where Rowan’s mind had gone. “Works for me.”
Rowan opened the gate and waved Audrey through. “There are seven acres currently fenced and about five of them are planted. I have enough grafted scions to plant one more acre next spring and we should be able to do the last acre the year after that.”
“What’s a grafted scion?”
“Sorry. It’s an apple tree, or any fruit tree really. In horticulture, you graft the apple variety you want to grow onto a rootstock that is adapted to your climate and will give you the size of tree you want.”
“So, a Franken-tree?”
“Yes, but it’s not mad science or anything. Fruit trees aren’t true to seed, so that’s how they’re grown.”
“But I thought you were organic.”
“We are. I’ll be happy to wax poetic about the trials and tribulations of that if you’re interested. Grafting is organic, non-GMO, all that. It’s literally sandwiching two trees into one. Quite an ancient practice, really.”
Audrey looked incredulous. “Do you do the sandwiching?”
“Not always, but I enjoy it. I’d be happy to show you sometime.” Though saying it made her realize Audrey wouldn’t likely be around in the early spring when grafting happened.
“I’d like that.”
She couldn’t tell if Audrey’s mind simply hadn’t gone down that path or, perhaps more likely, didn’t have a sense of the growing calendar. Not that it mattered.
“So, tell me about the trees.”
Rowan let her gaze return to Audrey. “Do you really want to know or are you being polite?”
“I want to know. Like, what kinds they are. What makes them different.”
“All right. I’ll warn you I can get carried away, so stop me if it’s too much.”
“You’ve listened to me talk about accounting, so you’ve earned some leeway.”
Rowan grinned. “You might regret that, but okay.”
“Try me.”
There were so many things she wanted to try with Audrey. “We have a mix of species native to New York and traditional European varieties, mostly French and English.”
“Because that’s where cider started?”
“Cider is much older than that, but those climates are similar to ours, even if our winters are harsher.”
Audrey snorted. “I’ll say.”
“It’s nice because we get to select apples for the exact flavor profiles we want—acids, tannins, sugar.” It had been one of the most exciting and most daunting parts of the whole process so far, at least for her.
“I like cider but confess I’ve never given it much thought.”
“It’s okay. Most people don’t.” She didn’t need them to. “I’m hoping more start to think about what kinds they like so they can find and enjoy more of it.”
“Like wine.” Audrey cringed. “Sorry. Is it bad form to compare cider to wine?”
“Not at all. There are a lot of similarities. Way more than between cider and beer. And it’s a nice entry point for a lot of people.”
Audrey nodded. “That makes sense. Common language and all. Will you take me through Ernestine’s orchard, too? I hate that I know so little about it.”
Rowan smiled. See? They could do this. No weirdness, no irrepressible urges to kiss Audrey and ruin everything. “Of course.”
They crossed the street and walked directly into one of the rows. Audrey stopped. She looked back at Rowan’s orchard, then Ernestine’s. “Wait a second.”
“What?”
Audrey pivoted her head back and forth before returning her gaze to Rowan. How had she never noticed that? “Ernestine’s orchard isn’t fenced in.”
“Her trees are tall enough and established enough that the deer can’t do more than steal what’s on the lower branches.”
“Oh.” That made sense. Honestly, it never would have occurred to her to fence in an orchard until she’d seen Rowan’s.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to fence in her orchard. But it’s not worth the cost and Ernestine’s convinced sharing apples makes the deer less inclined to obliterate her veggies.”
She got this flash of Ernestine griping about bunnies and groundhogs stealing her squashes and tomatoes. It had seemed so foreign at the time. Now she knew. “I suppose there’s a certain logic in that?”
Rowan gave her a not you too look, followed by a shake of her head. “I leave it in the category of Ernestine’s prerogative.”
“I’m not going to lie, I love that ‘Ernestine’s prerogative’ makes up an entire category of things in your mind.”
Rowan shrugged. “I’m not stupid.”
She thought about her own spirited debates with Ernestine through the years. Rarely did feelings get hurt, but damn, the woman was stubborn. Especially when it came to something she wanted. Like jumping into hobby farming at nearly sixty, which to Audrey’s mind, had bordered on preposterous. “I learned long ago to pick my battles.”
That got a chuckle out of Rowan.
“So, are the trees in Ernestine’s orchard the same varieties, just older?”
“There’s some overlap. Russets and Pippins, mostly. Ernestine has some that weren’t meant to be cider apples but they’re old enough that the fruit has the complexity to stand up to the process.”
“Does that mean they aren’t good for eating?”
“You could eat a few of them, but they’re quite sharp. Or bitter. Or both. Ernestine sticks with the kitchen orchard for her eating and cooking apples.”
She was familiar with those trees, planted in an octagon around the small yard that held the chicken coop. In addition to apple trees, Ernestine had peach, cherry, quince, and pear. The harvest from those yielded more pies and preserves than Audrey could wrap her head around. “You’ve got me craving pie now.”
“Does that mean you’re baking?”
Things were starting to ripen, and she’d need to do something with all the fruit. “I think it does.”
They walked the rows and Rowan talked about the differences between the trees and the apples they produced. Not just flavor and texture—her two primary considerations—but subtle distinctions in size and ripening time and something called Brix. How all those things affected the cider.
Listening to Rowan talk about the trees drove home how much she loved them. Like, genuinely loved each tree, along with the orchard as a whole. Beyond the monetary value of the apples and the cider those apples would become. She loved them the way Ernestine loved her garden and her animals, the way Ernestine loved the land. Seeing this side of Rowan made her realize how truly wrong she’d been. How similar Rowan and Ernestine were in so many ways. How lucky Ernestine was to have Rowan in her life.
“You okay?”
She looked from the trees to Rowan, who eyed her with concern. “Of course.”
“You looked about a million miles away. I’ve crossed the line into too much information.”
“You haven’t, I promise.”
“No?” Rowan smiled, like she’d be okay even if the answer was yes.
“No.” It only seemed fair to share the trajectory of her thoughts. “I was imagining you doing this with Ernestine, nerding out together about land and agriculture and the weather. I’m sure you two are quite the pair.”
“We’ve definitely lost hours doing that.”
“Not lost.” Though that’s exactly the word she’d have used to describe it only a few weeks ago. “I love that she has you. Not just the business arrangement or even the friendship. You’re kindred spirits.”
Rowan chuckled. “I think we are.”
As close as she and Ernestine might be, she’d never been that. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
Rowan would have been completely within her rights to get in a dig, or at least a gentle poke. But she didn’t. “You’re protective of her. I get it. I’m kind of protective of her myself.”
Audrey laughed. “She’d kill us both if she heard us talking like that.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Deal.”
Rowan offered a decisive nod. “Deal.”
She waited for Rowan to resume the walk, but she remained still. Her gaze went to the trees and her features relaxed into a smile, leaving Audrey with a jumble of feelings. “Would you like to come to dinner tonight?”
Rowan’s focus returned to her. “Really?”
They hadn’t gotten together outside of the cidery since the apology dinner. She missed it, but now that they had their arrangement worked out, dinner seemed to imply something more. She’d held off inviting Rowan for just that reason. Well, that and about a dozen others that all felt insignificant now. “Or tomorrow. Whenever.”
“Tonight is good.”
She couldn’t quite read Rowan’s expression but got the feeling Rowan had been waiting on her to bridge that gap. It made her wonder why she’d waited so long. “Perfect.”