I should probably ask more questions, but curiosity and his playful side get the better of me. I slide my unopened beer into my jacket pocket and climb onto the four-wheeler behind him. He hands the helmet back to me and I put it on.
There isn’t space to leave a lot of room between us, and the warmth from his body beckons me closer anyway.
He starts it up and then instructs me to hold on before hitting the accelerator. My arms wrap around his middle loosely, but as he increases the speed, my grip tightens.
We move away from the party and into the forest. It’s dark, but the headlights provide enough light to see the worn path. When we reach a hill, his left hand comes off the handlebar to cover my hands like he’s ensuring my hands won’t slip away from him.
I wonder if he can feel my heart racing through the fabric of our coats?
Without him looking at me, I’m free to let the smile loosen on my lips. The wind whips my hair around, and everything is cold except for him.
He eventually removes his hand from on top of mine, but my fingers still tingle.
When the four-wheeler comes to a stop, I pull back and look around.
“Where are we?” I ask as he cuts the engine.
“Number two,” he says.
I can’t see his face, but I swear there’s a hint of a smile in his tone.
Vaughn slides off and then holds a hand out to me. Twice now he’s offered it up so freely, like this is a regular thing we do. My pulse spiking at the contact is the kick in the butt reminder that we don’t.We are just friends.Friends who hold hands. No big deal.
“What’s number two?” I ask as he walks toward an old, wooden fence that looks like it’s seen better days. The white paint is worn and peeling, and the boards are loose. “And where are we?”
“We’re still on Doyle’s property. That fence is the dividing line. The road cuts it off in the other direction.”
He stops at the fence, still holding my hand.
“You didn’t answer the first question,” I remind him.
He glances over at me. His lips are curved up and his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. His cheeks are red from the cold, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Look up.”
Confusion tugs my brows together and makes me slow to do what he says. When I do take my eyes off him and tilt my head up, I’m still not sure what we’re doing here.
He leans closer, which only serves to make it harder for me to focus. His cheek brushes against mine, and I suck in a breath of cold air.
“They’re apple trees,” he says.
“Apple trees?”
“Number two on your list.” He moves away from me and my brain finally locks this information into place.
He lifts a hand over his head and plucks one of the apples off, then holds it out to me for inspection. I take it,not sure what to say but touched by the gesture. I roll the red apple around in my gloved palm.
“Number two, apple picking at Annie’s Farm,” I repeat more to myself than him.
“I looked it up. That place is closed, but I remembered riding four-wheelers out here and stopping for apples. There are pear trees too.”
“You brought me out here for my list?”
Somehow that seems more surprising than anything else that’s happened in the past twenty minutes.
“Well, yeah. It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve done for me.” He faces me but shoves both hands in his pockets. “I know how important it is to you.”
“Thank you.” Without thinking, I step forward and wrap both arms around his waist. His body is hard, but when he hugs me back, it’s as cozy as a blanket.
“You’re welcome.” His voice comes out gruff and quiet.
