Page 30 of Postmarked December

The waiter left, and she could feel them both scrambling to regain the moment.

“How about you?” Nick asked. “What were you like when you were young?”

So whatever was on his mind, he was effectively avoiding? But she could understand. Perhaps there was something in his past he didn’t want to bring up. And, fair enough, given they’d only just met. In a way, both of them having unsaid pasts strengthened the bond she was building with him.

“I was quiet mostly. I read every free moment I got,” she finally said.

He nodded, his gaze swallowing her. “It’s pretty obvious you have a lot of thoughts in that head of yours that don’t make it out of your mouth.”

“You can see that?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll tell you some of them.”

He brightened. “One day? As in, we’ll still be talking in the future?”

Happiness fluttered through her. “You never know.”

Chapter Twelve

After a long, meandering drive on the fringes of the city, they pulled up at Windy Rock Orchard.

“Let me know how much I owe you for the trip,” she said as the car drove away.

“I got it.”

“You got lunch as well,” she noted. “And the ride to the restaurant.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice having a travel companion. I wouldn’t have done any of these things if you hadn’t come with me. I’d have been holed up in my hotel room, tapping away on my computer.”

“I’m infringing on your work time,” she worried again.

“I was mostly here this weekend for the meeting. I can manage.”

The orchard hummed quietly but steadily with visitors. Nick and Heather walked the long path past the ordered rows of apple trees, their branches bare and dark against the pale sky, lightly dusted with frost. Workers moved between them in heavy coats and gloves, pruning limbs, shaping the trees for spring.

They meandered through public conversational areas of metal firepits encircled by rustic chairs, while tractors crunched slowly along dirt paths, hauling stacks of cut branches down the aisles between the trees. Even without leaves or fruit, the orchard felt alive—resting, preparing, and quietly at work beneath the frozen ground.

The cozy atmosphere, the scents of spiced apple and burning wood, and the crisp chill in the air made walking next to Nick feel like a date, as if she wanted to find a chair next to a fire and snuggle into his coat.

When they’d made it into the barn, the heat hit her, giving her a residual shiver as it pushed the cold out of her body. What, on the outside, had appeared to be an unassuming, red-painted clapboard barn was transformed into an upscale eatery with light fare. The tables had red-and-white gingham tablecloths, there was a stone fireplace with a roaring fire, and shelves of handcrafted jams, apple butters, wines, and pies. A Christmas tree, decked out in rustic plaid bows and white lights, glittered in the corner, and a mismatched row of knitted stockings hung from the fireplace.

Heather and Nick walked up to the counter at the back. A woman in a flannel coat, fingerless knitted gloves, and a well-worn pair of jeans shifted and stacked crates while others tended cider barrels along the wall.

“Hey, y’all.” She brushed her fingers on her thighs. “Welcome in.”

“Thank you,” Heather said, peering up at the menu. “I’ll have a cup of your apple cider.” She looked over at Nick. “I’ll get this. What do you feel like?”

“I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Two apple ciders. Anything else?” the woman asked, punching keys on the register.

“That’ll be it.” Heather could have given her name and asked if there was a note waiting for her, but she chickened out with Nick standing there.

She swore the woman stared at her for a tick longer than she should have and then nodded. “I’ll bring them out to ya.”

With a feeble smile, Heather paid for the drinks, and then she and Nick settled at a table for two next to the fire.