The field quiets around us—soft rustling leaves, distant laughter, the occasional bird cutting through the air. The sun is warm, but the breeze keeps everything comfortable.
It’s the perfect day to be outside.
“So…” I glance around. “How much are we getting?”
“As much or as little as we want.”
I look at him, confused.
“Mrs. Gibson will have her sons load the truck with crates while we’re here,” he explains. “I just figured we’d pick some ourselves. Enjoy the experience a little.”
I smile at that. At the thought that he planned this part intentionally.
“Is there anything specific I should look for? I’ve never done this before.”
A grin spreads across his face.
He steps closer, reaching for a low branch and pulling it gently between us. Clusters of berries hang heavy, deep blues mixed with lighter ones not quite ready.
“The juicier the better.” His finger hovers over the darkest cluster. “You want this color right here.”
His fingers roll one berry lightly, showing me the texture.
“Not too soft,” he adds. “Just enough give.”
I watch the way his hands move —careful and practiced—sunlight catching on his forearms, and the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Before I can linger too long in the thought, he takes the picking bucket from my hands and lifts the strap gently over my head, pulling my ponytail free, so it rests comfortably behind it.
Heat lingers where his fingers brush my neck.
“Where should I start?” I ask, my voice sounding just a little thinner than usual.
“Here’s good.” He steps back, nodding toward the bush in front of me. “You’ll do the Berkleys. I’ll start on the Jerseys, right here, next to you.”
We settle into a rhythm of picking, dropping berries into our buckets, moving slowly down the bushes side by side.
The quiet feels easy, but eventually, I glance over at him.
“So… how old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.” He tosses another handful into his bucket. “You?”
“Twenty-five.”
He nods, tucking the information away.
“Did you always want to be a firefighter?” I ask.
“Not really.” He shrugs. “I just wanted to do something that helped people. The fire academy happened to be open when I needed a job.”
He glances at me. “How about you? Always wanted to be a marine biologist?”
“Basically.” I smile. “By the way, you can’t just use my question as your question. You have to come up with your own.”
“Trust me,” Amusement flickers across his face. “I’ve got plenty of questions.”
“Okay,” I reach for another cluster of berries. “Shoot.”
