“Yeah.”
She grabs an overnight bag with a grin, and I lead her out the door and to my car.
Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling up to a large property. She squints at the sign.
“A farm?” she asks, unsure.
“It’s a farm-to-table restaurant,” I say, trying not to reveal too much as I move into a parking spot in the empty gravel parking lot before parking the car and turning it off. “Stay.”
She smiles, and I know it’s a shot in the dark of whether or not she’ll listen, but when I get to the passenger side, she’s still waiting patiently. I put out a hand to her, and she takes it, letting me help her out of the car. I give her one quick press of my lips to hers, unable not to, before twining my fingers with hers and moving to the small building to the left I was told to go to.
“What are we doing here?” she asks, walking at my side, eyes scanning the area, excitement clear in her words.
I grin as we approach the building, the sign becoming clear. She squeals, readingPeach picking—Please check in here!on a small building, but I answer regardless.
“We’re going peach picking, then going to look at some animals, then we’re having dinner at the restaurant.”
“Peach picking?” she asks, looking up at me, eyes wide and hopeful. “We’re going peach picking?”
“You’ve never been, right?” I ask, as if I haven’t had her drunken rant from weeks ago playing in a loop on my mind since that night, reminding me of all the things she’s never done. As if I haven’t been slowly categorizing any other additional mentions in passing. There’s a sweet older woman at the stand who smiles at Willa and me before handing us a basket and a map to show us which orchards are ripe before Willa and I set off. She holds the basket, I hold the small stepstool we were given, and Willa nearly gallops through the fields, excitedly pointing out cute signs or different fruits.
“We should come in the fall for apples!” she says, pointing to a sign for the fruit. I smile and nod, instantly trying to think of how to make that happen, knowing that the fall will be much busier than the summer, but determined to do it regardless.
Eventually, we find the peach trees, and Willa sets the basket down, grabs a low-hanging fruit, and gently places it in the bin. I set the stool down, unfolding it and locking it in place beneath the tree. She grins at me before standing on the top step. Herlegs are smooth and at eye level, and I can’t resist the urge to place my hand on the side of her knee, then up, just an inch beneath the flowy hem of her dress, still filled with my desire to have my skin on hers at every viable moment. She looks down at me over her shoulder, a mock-glare on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes. It melts away in a moment when she rolls her eyes and then grabs the fruit, twisting to pull it off.
She hands it to me, and I accept, that familiar jolt moving through me when her fingers brush mine before I set it into the basket. We move like that for an hour or so, moving from tree to tree as Willa finds the perfect fruits and hands them off to me until the basket is nearly overflowing. I have absolutely no idea what we’re going to do with all of these peaches, but I don’t argue.
Afterward, we bring the basket to the front for safekeeping, and I tug her towards our next destination, a small area with animals for us to feed. She squeals with excitement, cooing at each animal, snapping pictures, and chatting with each one. Warmth spreads in my chest as I realize this was clearly the right call. She’s feeding a horse a carrot when she looks around as if realizing something.
“Why is there no one here?” she asks, brows furrowed. I’m surprised that she didn’t notice earlier, but I bite back a smile.
“They’re normally closed in the afternoon on Sundays,” I tell her.
“Normally?”
“I may have made a couple of calls yesterday, pulled some strings.”
She turns to me, her eyes wide.
“You pulled some strings?”
I lift a shoulder, suddenly wondering if it was the wrong call.
“I want our first day to be for us. Perfect. You’re lying low right now, and, for a while, you and I are going to have to lielow as well. I wanted your first real date to be perfect.” Her eyes soften.
“Our first date,” she whispers. “And it is perfect. But you didn’t have to do all of this, Leo. Really. It’s…it’s too much.” I stop our movement and tug her into me. My hand slides into the hair at the back of her head, the strands silky soft.
“I see you’re still not getting it, Willa. I’ll give you everything.” Her eyes water with the words, her breath hitching. “No, no. Willa. No. What’s wrong?”
“I always thought it was a myth,” she whispers, and I can hear the tears scratching at her throat, but I continue to stare at her, confused and worried. “I thought it was a myth, some lie we’re told as kids so we don’t just give up and get comfortable.”
My brows furrow. I don’t know what the hell she’s going on about.
“What was?”
“Having it all.”
My heart begins to beat faster, and the hand not in her hair slides down her back, pulling her in closer to me.
