He brushed paint carefully on the floor. “There’s a thing? Does it have a name?”
What a dolt I was. “Yes, it does. It’s an apple-picking contest, and it’s tomorrow at Dooley Hutto’s orchard—the apple part of the orchard, not the peach part. Not that you would know the peach part, but you know what I’m talking about, right?”
He stopped painting to glance up at me. A wry smile curled on his lips. I assumed Rufus thought my nervousness was funny. It was not. It was utterly annoying.
“Let me get this straight—there’s an apple-picking contest.”
I ran my roller down the side of the house, making sure not to look at him. This made me seem much less invested in his answer. It also made me appear casually interested, not over-the-moon interested.
There was a difference.
“Right, and there are apple-picking teams. The winning team gets to be driven around town in the back of Dooley’s old truck. It’s not much of a prize, but it suits folks around here.”
“Ah, prestigeandapples. It sounds like an intriguing time.”
There was a long pause, and I sneaked a glance at Rufus, who simply watched me, waiting.
For what?
Then it hit me—to be asked along! I cleared my throat. “Would you like to come with me? And be on my team, I mean? To pick apples and maybe win a not-so-stellar prize?”
He chuckled and rose. Rufus crossed to me, and my heart drummed loudly.
When he was a hair’s breadth away, he picked up a strand of my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “Clementine Cooke,” he said in the most. Seductive. Voice. Ever. “I would love to pick apples with you at Dooley Hutto’s farm.”
“Oh,” was my brilliant response.
“I’ll consider it a date.”
“Oh.Yes, I mean. It could be. Wait. Am I asking you out on a date?”
Humor glinted in his eyes. “I asked you on one, and you said yes. It’s only natural for you to return the favor.”
“I’m not returning the favor,” I clarified.
He leaned over, closing in on my ear. The fine hairs on my neck pricked to attention. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I won’t tell anyone that you’ve asked me. It can be our secret.”
My belly stirred, and my mouth dried to a desert. All I could think to say was, “Okay.”
His lips grazed my ear as he pulled away.
“John.”
Eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
His phone rang obnoxiously. He waited for me to talk.
Terrified of revealing the truth, I said, “Go ahead and answer the call.”
He paused, but when I gestured for him to take it, he complied. “Hello?” He listened for a few moments. His expression transformed from neutral to amazed in a matter of seconds. “Are you joking? No? Do you need me to come now? All right.” He hung up and explained, “Willard Gandy told me that there’s someone who wants to meet me.”
My stomach clenched. “There is?”
“Says they may know about my past—who I am.”
I exhaled a shot of air. “They may know who you are?”
