I’m not blind. Sadie in her athletic or coaching attire is attractive, in a way that I can’t tell if she knows it or not. But seeing her now? Her face tilted up to the sky, the sun hitting her cheeks, her hair loose and dancing over her shoulders? She’s remarkable.
And like she can feel me, her eyes open and light up when she sees me.
“Colson, tell me are you ready for your first Cherry Pit experience?” Her hands rest on her hips and I can’t help but stare at her lips shiny and plump.
“I think so?” I nod along. “You... You look–” My words get stuck in my throat.
Sadie tilts her head, eyes like warm honey, and looks down at her dress before catching my eyes again. “Yes?”
I can’t help but laugh at myself at the awkwardness. I am the middle school version of myself with the stumbling and words falling on top of each other. Slowly, I swallow past the unease and say, “You look really pretty. That dress. I like the color.”
When she beams, I know giving the compliment was the right move. There was no question—my mom made it clear that was a non-negotiable. Something she used to tell me was you never know how hard someone’s day was, or how our simplest words could make an impact. I try to carry that through now.
“Let’s go pop your cherry,” Sadie jokes, a blush creeping over her cheeks.
I can’t help the head shake as I follow her inside.
CherryPitisbiggerthan it looks from the street. Once you’re inside, it opens up—long wooden tables, strings of lights overhead, and wide doors pushed open to a patio spilling toward the water. The lake stretches out beyond the railing, blue and endless, like it’s got nowhere better to be.
It seems like Golden Harbor does this a lot—hides the good parts until you’re already in.
Sadie heads straight for the patio, nodding at someone behind the counter who greets her by name. They know her. They tip their head to me, like they know me too—maybe they do, maybe they don’t. Hell, maybe I’m just the random guy out with Sadie tonight. But no one stares. No one whispers. It’s like the town has collectively decided to let me breathe.
I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I do. Part of me wondered what it’d be like when I got here, ventured out into the city, but the people of this lakeside town have done nothing but let me exist. Fuck, the way I needed this.
We grab seats at a high-top table facing the water. The breeze carries the lake air and the smell of sand, in a way that has me itching for a beach day.
“So,” I say, eyeing the paper tasting menu, “you said cherries. You did not say wine.”
Sadie smiles like she’s been waiting for this. “I absolutely implied wine.”
“You absolutely did not. You saidcherries. That could’ve been pie. Jam. Or literally anything that doesn’t involve me pretending to understand tasting notes.”
“Colson,” she says gently, “this is Northern Michigan. If there are cherries involved, wine is never far behind. Plus, it’s basically juice with a college degree. It’s delicious. It’s local. You can’t go wrong.”
She takes my menu, putting it on top of hers on the corner of the table. “Plus, no one knows what the cherry item will be until you get here. It’s a surprise.”
I look around the patio which is almost full. “Wait, you mean to tell me people show up and don’t even know what kind of thing they could be tasting?”
Sadie nods eagerly. “You got it. Unless you have an in with someone who works here and they’re feeling gracious. But, it’s one of the parts of town that feels charmingly old school. No social media posts. Nothing to check. Just show up and see what’s going to happen.”
When our server comes, Sadie immediately orders for us. We each get a full tasting flight and an order of fries to share.
“Anything else for you, Colson?” the server—Birdie, based on her nametag—asks.
Hearing her say my name catches me off guard. “No, that should be good,” I offer with a small smile.
Birdie turns, wearing a kind of lightness which makes me settle into my chair a bit more. I can still see her walking through the restaurant when Sadie says, “Yes. She knows who you are. No. I didn’t tell her.”
“Wow. So different from back home,” I reflect, sitting back in the chair. The word home feels foreign when it rolls from my lips. Like I’m telling a lie.
She notices my shoulders loosen before I do. Her smile is gentle, almost protective. “Golden Harbor’s good like that,” she boasts, and the look she gives me makes it clear she’s never doubted it for a second.
When the first tasting glasses arrive—deep red, lined up neatly—Birdie explains the lineup: Montmorency cherries from Old Mission Peninsula. Balaton cherries grown farther north, closer to Leelanau. Different soils. Different sweetness levels.
Sadie listens like she’s taking mental notes. I pick up my glass and sniff, immediately feeling like an idiot.
She watches me with open amusement. “You look like you’re trying to remember how to parallel park. I promise you, it’s not that deep.”
