I let out a small laugh, remembering the surprised look on her face before we collided. The way her arms flailed out before I could catch her. The sinking feeling in my gut when I realized I was too late.
“You don’t want to talk about the property next door?”
She shakes her head. “We’re wasting our time if we think going over plans together is going to change anything. You’re only as good as your word and I have no idea how to judge your word because I don’t know you from any other big shot business owner who waltzes onto my farm.” She pauses, watching my reaction to her words. “So, tell me about your grandmother’s apple pie.”
I bite my lip. I can feel in my bones that this is a test. The mention of my grandmother’s apple pie is what caused the whole stream fiasco in the first place, so I can only assume that it has an effect on her. Maybe her grandmother made apple pie. Maybe shemadeapple pie with her grandmother. Maybe she hates apple pie except for the one her grandmother made.
With an absurd number of possibilities running through my head, I find it impossible to figure out the right direction to take this. Do I emphasize my relationship with my grandmother? Probably not a bad idea. Apple pie specifically? No clue. Baking with my grandmother? Probably not, because that’s not really something we did, and if this is the test I think it is, the worst thing I could possibly do is lie.
“She makes it for me twice a year. My birthday andChristmas,” I say, then continue, “I honestly think she’d love to make it for me more often—she offers every other time I see her—but I don’t need my grandmother’s kitchen becoming a sweatshop.”
Eve nods slowly, digesting this information, but doesn’t speak.
“It’s not like typical apple pie. Her crust is really thin—the crispy kind that you know is basically just butter”—Eve smiles, and I think for a second that I might have her—“and she does the whole filling herself, none of the goopy store-bought stuff. She does, like, almost full apples sliced really thin, and the filling she makes with chunks of the apples mixed with oats I think and apple sauce that she makes from scratch to be extra smooth and sweet.” I shake my head. “I’m not even a pie guy, but I’ll eat a whole thing of hers given the chance.”
Eve’s smile widens to a grin. “That sounds really amazing.”
I nod. “If I like you enough come Christmas, I will give you half a slice to try on your own.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Wow, you really want me on your side, huh?”
I can’t help the laugh that jumps from my throat as I take another sip of my wine. “Okay, I think I’m finally learning how to speak your language.”
“Took you long enough,” she says, reaching for her wine. “So you and your grandmother are close?”
I nod. “She lives across the street actually.”
Eve stops, wine glass halfway to her lips. “At the senior community?”
“Yeah. She loves it there. Pretty sure she’s the ringleader of a little grandmother gang. Tons of friends, always getting into trouble, never listens to a word anyone says. She justgot her hips replaced and she’s running around like nothing ever happened.” I let out a long breath. “She’s why I’m here, to tell you the truth.”
She cocks her head to the side. “I can’t wait to see how you plan on spinningthis.”
I roll my eyes. “Give me the benefit of the doubt for five seconds.”
She gives me a flat smile. “You’re still on my couch, aren’t you?”
I laugh. “Man, if this is giving someone the benefit of the doubt, I’d hate to see how you’d treat someone who’s already wronged you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I pause. “I wouldn’t?”
“See them. Again, at least.”
I snort as I shake my head. “They’d probably make good fertilizer.”
“’The darker the soul, the brighter the sunflower,’ I always say.”
“Is that what you’d call an inspirational farming quote?”
She shrugs. “Just a recipe. Regular water, full sun, pinch of soul. And voila, sunflower.”
“Some call it a sunflower farm, others call it a graveyard.”
She grins. “Better hold your breath.”
I can’t help but throw a smile right back at her. This girl is not all sunshine and daisies—sunflowersand daisies—like she presents to the world with her wide smiles and fierce defense of the sunflower farm. She’s funny. Quirky. Not scared of a little dirty work or a mental challenge.
