All grown up, she said. I wish my father believed it.
The thought sticks in my chest longer than I want it to. No matter how many invoices I sign or decisions I make, no matter that the orchard is technically mine now, he still talks to me like I’m a kid playing pretend. Like I’ll mess it all up if he’s not constantly peering over my shoulder, critiquing my every move.
The line never really dies down. Tourists roll in thick by midmorning—sunburned already, smelling like sunscreen and lake water, talking excitedly about beach plans and boat rentals. They buycherries in bulk, asking for recommendations on where to swim, where to eat, where to get ice cream afterward. The market buzzes with laughter and live music.
The sun is relentless today, beating down on the back of my neck. Heat radiates off the asphalt, shimmering in the distance. Just beyond the stalls, Lake Michigan sits calm and inviting, its cool blue surface a sharp contrast to the sweltering air. I catch glimpses of it between buildings when I shift my weight, and for a moment, I wish I were out there instead—floating, weightless, quiet.
But the work keeps coming, steady and familiar, carrying me through the morning before I realize how much time has passed.
Then, I see him.
Across the street, near the burst of color from the flower stand, Troy is leaning close to a beautiful woman surrounded by cut flowers. He’s smiling—that easy, crooked smirk I know too well now—one hand braced casually on the edge of the table. She’s blushing hard, twirling a strand of auburn hair around her finger, laughing at something he’s just said like it’s the most charming thing she’s ever heard.
My jaw tightens.
A sour, ugly feeling curls in my gut, sharp and unwelcome. I tell myself it’s nothing. That it doesn’t matter. That Troy can flirt with whoever he wants—he always does. I have no claim on him. No right to feel anything at all.
But the feeling doesn’t loosen. It festers.
It’s not jealousy, I decide, grinding my teeth. It’s irritation. Anger. Something hot and restless that makes my hands itch at my sides. Rage, maybe—at him, at myself, at the way my chest feels too tight all of a sudden.
I tear my gaze away and turn to Olivia. “I, um… need to go take care of something. I’ll be right back,” I mutter.
She doesn’t even lift her gaze, dismissing me with a flick of her wrist as she restocks the display.
I step out from behind the booth and head down the sidewalk, my pace brisk as I weave through the crowd, my eyes narrowed atTroy. He laughs at something the florist says, his attention fully on her. When he finally looks up and notices me standing there, arms folded tight across my chest, his expression shifts.
That smirk appears.
It infuriates me.
“Hey, Ashton,” he says easily. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You knew I’d be here,” I bite back.
He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Did I?” He nods toward the flower stand. “I didn’t come to see you. I came to buy some flowers from this beautiful woman, Stephanie.”
Stephanie blushes even harder, clearly delighted by the attention. She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut in before she can.
“Troy. I need to talk to you. In private. About business.”
His brow creases, skepticism written across his face as his gaze flicks between me and Stephanie. “Business?” he echoes.
“Yes,” I say sharply. “Now.”
There’s a beat of hesitation. Then Troy sighs, apologetic, and flashes Stephanie one last charming smile. “I’ll text you later, alright?”
She nods, still glowing, and I don’t wait another second. I turn and start walking, carving a path through the crowd without looking back. I can hear his boots behind me, unhurried, like he’s enjoying this far more than he should be.
Beyond the market, I veer onto a narrow footpath that cuts toward the sand dunes, flanked by swaying beach grass. The noise fades quickly—the chatter, the music, the clatter of footsteps—replaced by the steady hush of waves and the distant cry of gulls overhead. The air feels heavier out here, charged with everything we haven’t said.
I pace toward a tall dune tucked away from the public beach—a pocket of privacy, shielded on all sides by trees and towering drifts of sand. At the base of the rise, I dig my boots into the ground and whirl around, folding my arms across my chest. Troy stops a few feet away, studying me with that infuriating smirk. His tongue nudges the silver ring in his bottom lip, brows tipped up with amusement.
“What did you want to discuss, Ashton?” he asks, his voice poised and practiced, professionalism laid on a little too thick.
My shoulders lock tight. “What the fuck was that back there?” I snap. “Were you trying to get a rise out of me?”
He tilts his head. “What are you talking about?”
