Page 3 of Patch Perfect

“I almost came back Tuesday,” he says as we settle onto the bench. “I couldn't tell whether you wanted to see me again.”

“I did.” I look at the glowing orchard as it slips behind us while the wagon bumps along the trail. Last Thursday, I walked away to protect myself from rejection. He doesn't ask me to explain. Instead, he holds my hand tighter, and for the first time, I let my shoulder rest against his.

“What do you like most about this place?” he asks.

I turn to look at the moonlit fields. “I love the quiet after closing. During the day, everyone asks me for directions or about the difference between carving and pie pumpkins. At night, I can stand here and listen.”

“Sounds nice.” His gaze drops to my lips, then back to my face. “I like you, Kate,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I've liked you since you threatened the fog machine.”

“I like you too.” I trace the edge of his palm. “Ever since you fixed it and didn't laugh at me.” The tractor turns beneath an arch of branches, and I breathe in the cold air. “You’re almost too good at saying the right thing.”

“I usually take a long time to tell people things.” He tips his head toward me. “With you, I want to try.”

I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve never even stood close enough to someone I wanted to kiss for it to feel real. But it’s real now. He’s sitting next to me in his leather jacket, watching my mouth with a gentle look that makes me brave. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He squeezes my hand.

“Why the motorcycle?”

He laughs. “I thought you were going to ask something hard.”

“I might.” I shrug. “I'm just warming up.”

“I bought it when I was twenty-four—everywhere I lived before felt temporary.” He looks at the moon. “The bike let me leave without feeling like I was running away. It made me feel like I was on an adventure.”

Adventure. That’s something I’ve been looking for myself.

“Roan.” I turn until our knees touch. “Here's the hard question. Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes.” He swallows. “I want to—is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He leans in slowly, giving me time to change my mind—I don't. His free hand rests against my cheek, and his lips brush mine, soft and careful. I make a small sound I've never made before, and he pulls back to study my face.

“I liked that,” I tell him.

“So did I.” His ears turn pink. “More than is probably wise.”

“Then be unwise again.”

His lips find mine again, his tongue tracing the seam. I part my lips and let him in. The first touch of our tongues ignites something in me, and I press closer to him.

When I pull away, my heart races. “That was my first kiss.”

He turns toward me. “Kate, I wish you'd told me.”

“Would you have refused?”

“No.” His eyes soften. “I would have worried even more.”

I place his hand over my heart. “It's doing this because I wanted you to kiss me.”

He looks at our hands. “I've never kissed anyone either.”

“Really?”

“Really. I can fix an engine, keep a job, and order dinner without panicking. But this is all new to me.” He lets out a short, embarrassed breath. “All of it.”