Inside a log cabin at the edge of a small gravel parking lot, I’m bagging apples, pies, caramel dip, and knickknacks after Jake rings them up. We’ve been inside working since I got here two hours ago, and honestly, it hasn’t been half bad.
“Thirty dollars and ninety-five cents,” Jake says to me as a middle-aged lady approaches with a basket full of items.
I eye the items in the basket, assessing. “Higher. Thirty-four twenty-five.”
Jake shakes his head at me and greets the lady. He rings up her items while I lean over him, watching the total go up, up, up—until it stops at thirty-three dollars even.
Jake shoots me a smirk. “I win. Again.”
“But I’m closer!” I whine.
“But you went over. Sorry, loser.”
I give him a shove and he laughs.
“That’s no way to talk to a girl, Jake,” the lady scolds him with a tsk.
I lift my chin and try not to laugh. “Yeah, Jake, you’re hurting my feelings.”
He turns to face me, his expression faux serious. “I’m sorry, Ellis. I didn’t mean to offend you.” The corner of his mouth slides up. “But the runner-up in a two-person competitionisin fact a loser. I didn’t write the dictionary.”
The lady grabs her bag and walks away, shaking her head.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Miller!” Jake calls after her.
“She hates you,” I laugh.
“Meh, Mrs. Miller has hated me since I was eight and she caught me eating the huckleberries she planted in her backyard.”
“Wow, such a menace,” I say as a new customer steps up to the counter.
“Eight fifty,” Jake mutters under his breath.
“Six seventy-five.”
Jake rings up the items, but a commotion behind me steals my attention. I turn around to find a short, elderly woman, probably in her eighties, blushing as she tries to keep a small but wild child from opening a package of caramel apples. She has short, bouncy curls that make her head look like a cotton ball, and her lips are painted a bright pink.
“I’ll be back,” I tell Jake. Then I approach the woman. “Can I help you with anything?”
She seems to hesitate before taking her eyes off the boy. “Oh no, dear. I’m just waiting for one of the volunteers to finish in the orchard. I’m not as nimble as I once was, especially on uneven ground or ladders.” She points to the living tornado. “Harley struggles with patience, so I thought if I let him walk around in here while we waited…” She trails off. “Well, you can see how that’s going.”
Behind me, Harley is tossing peaches into the air. “Look, Grandma! I can juggle!”
A peach lands with a dull thud on the ground, undoubtedly now bruised. The woman sighs.
“Why don’t I take you guys so you’re not stuck waiting in here?” I offer.
“You don’t have to do that. I know you have another job to do,” she says. “I’ll just take him back outside so he stops destroying the place.”
“I really don’t mind,” I assure her. “Harley,” I call, motioning him over, “put those peaches back and come on. We’re going to pick some apples.” The boy jogs over, his tiny feet nearly tripping over themselves.
We’re about to exit the shop when Aunt Naomi stops us.
“You’re taking them through the orchard?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, is that okay?”
“Sure, yeah. It’s just that you don’t know your way around….”
