He nods slowly. “I’ll try to land first so I cushion your fall.”
I peer at his face, unsure if he’s being serious or not. He meets and holds my gaze. After a few seconds, his earnest expression cracks and he lets out a quiet laugh. If I were braver, I’d make a joke about falling for Jasper to see how he reacts.
The ride is a bumpy one. If I cling to Jasper a little tighter than necessary, I doubt he notices since we both nearly bounce from our seats on more than one occasion. We’re all laughing dizzily by the time Mr. Nansom stops in the apple orchard.
“The ride’ll be smoother after we hit the pumpkin patch,” he promises as he hops down from the tractor and comes around to kick a hay bale into place as a step. He explains that each of us can pick one or two apples to eat or take with us, and we can buy different varieties of apples back at the market in quantities from small bags to bushels.
I whip out my phone and follow the others, snapping pictures of them striking poses and climbing the ladders to pick apples. I manage to get a few adorable candid shots of Evan and Gwen being all lovey, which gives me the idea to make them a special photo album as a wedding gift. After a few minutes, I wander through the trees, smiling to myself at the sounds of my friends’ laughter paired with the buzzing of insects and the far-off hum of another tractor.
I don’t stray far before turning back, continuing to take pictures of the trees, the vivid blue sky, and the group when they come into view. A flash of dark blue draws my eye to where Jasper is climbing a ladder and perusing the branches of a tree. After several moments of careful consideration, he chooses an apple and gently plucks it free.
I approach the ladder as he descends. I’m quiet, not wanting to startle him, but he must know I’m here because he says, “You haven’t picked an apple yet, have you?”
“No, I was wandering.” I wave my phone and tell him about my idea to make Gwen and Evan a photo album.
“I’d love to help if I can,” he says.
“That would be great. I’ll be staying with you this weekend for Thanksgiving, so maybe we can find time to go through our pictures and choose the best ones.” I hand him my phone so he can see the pictures I’ve taken so far today, and then I start climbing the ladder. A quiet click makes me turn to see the camera aimed at me.
“There needs to be some pictures of you too,” Jasper says, smiling slightly from behind my phone. He snaps another picture when I smile in return, and then I hear a few more clicks as I select my apple and pluck it from the tree.
On my way back down, I grip the ladder with one hand and turn so I’m facing outward. “Snap a selfie of us together,” I tell him. I’m still a couple of rungs up, making me taller than him, but from this angle, the picture captures both of us and some of the lower-hanging branches. As I take another step down so we can get a shot of us side by side, my hand slides over a rough patch of wood, and a splinter lodges in my pointer finger. A small gasp escapes me, followed by a hiss and a whispered curse.
“What is it?” Jasper asks, moving around the ladder to face me.
“A splinter.” I shake my hand in an attempt to distract myself from the pain. Jasper grips my wrist gently to stop me as he inches even closer, examining my hand. My position on the ladder brings me eye level with him. For just a second, I’m distracted from the pain by his adorable frown of concern.
“It’s lodged in quite deep,” he says. “I’ll see if Mr. Nansom has a First Aid kit or something similar in the tractor. We need tweezers and an antibacterial cream or spray. If you’ll climb down the rest of the way and wait here, I’ll go see what I can do.”
I bet Jasper is a barrel of laughs on Perry family vacations. I have a sudden image of him carrying his own First Aid kit with him everywhere. Probably in a fanny pack so he can keep it on him at all times. I remember Evan telling me once that when Jasper became his and Hadley’s guardian after their parents’ death, there were times when he half expected Jasper to wrap them both in bubble wrap and refuse to let them leave home. I laughed at the time, but now that I know Jasper better, it’s less funny. He really does have a habit of taking the weight of the world onto his shoulders.
“That won’t be necessary. I think I can—” I bring my hand to my mouth and attempt to pull the splinter free with my teeth.
“Oh, but that’s so—” Jasper watches in horror as I pull the splinter out and turn the other way to discreetly spit it out. I fish my hand sanitizer from my purse and slather it on my hands.
When Jasper continues to stare at me with wide eyes and his lips slightly parted, I hold up my hand. “There. It’s like it never happened. I’ll let you kiss it better if it’ll ease your mind, though.”
When Jasper’s eyes widen further, I realize how flirty the words sounded. I was only kidding, and yet something flickers across his face that tells me he’s considering it. I hold my breath as he leans in closer. His warm breath brushes my hand, making me suddenly aware of the throbbing in my finger where the splinter was. It’s like my heart is reaching out through the part of me that’s closest to him, begging for contact. I imagine his lips pressing against my finger, the pressure easing the pain, slowing the steady pulse beneath my skin.
And then I nearly tumble off the ladder when Mr. Nansom calls to the group that it’s time to carry on with the hayride.
Jasper grips my elbow while I maneuver the last couple rungs of the ladder. I expect him to release me the second my feet hit the ground, but his hand moves from my elbow to the small of my back and stays there until we reach the wagon. The others are all talking, laughing, and chomping away on the apples they picked, so none of them notice our silence as we get settled in the wagon.
Jasper pulls a dark purple handkerchief from a pocket inside his jacket—becauseof coursehe carries a hanky—and wipes off his apple. When he’s finished, he balances the apple in his lap, covers his palm with the square of material, and holds it out. “It’s clean. I always keep one with me just in case, much to my siblings’ amusement.”
“I’m sure it comes in handy,” I say, depositing my apple in his cloth-covered hand. He polishes it to a glossy shine before holding it out again. I take it from him with a murmured thanks and bite into it, letting out a squeal when juice spurts down my chin.
“I believe you were being at leastslightlysarcastic when you said you were sure this comes in handy…” Jasper says, waving the hanky.
“I’m sorry I underestimated the usefulness of what used to be carried around by old men and used as snot rags.” I take another bite of the apple; I’m already covered in juice, what difference will a bit more make?
Jasper laughs under his breath. I turn my head to look at him—I can never get enough of those short glimpses of humor from him—and he reaches out, gently wiping at my chin with the hanky. I go very still, studying the way his brows draw together in concentration. His eyes meet mine and he freezes, then all but tosses the cloth at me. “I’m sorry, I should have let you—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I say hastily, taking the cloth and giving my face a good, hard swipe. “I would have drawn the line at you spitting on it to wipe my face the way my mom did when I was little.”
We’re saved from this odd little dance we’ve been doing the last few minutes by the wagon coming to a jarring halt. I rock to the side and bump into Gwen, the motion making my half-eaten apple fly from my hand and into the hay at my feet.
“Ready to pick some pumpkins?” Gwen asks, gripping my hand to pull me to my feet and then frowning down at the stickiness that’s transferred from my hand to hers. I fish my hand sanitizer from my purse once more and, as she squirts some on, I realize I’m still holding Jasper’s handkerchief. He’s already in the pumpkin patch talking to Hugh, so I tuck the hanky in my pocket before following Gwen off the wagon.
