Harvest of Love: Insta-Spark Collection

“But, Mom,” I protested. “I’m your favorite.”

“Not really.” She waved her hand. “I always preferred your sister. But you were so homely, I let you think that.”

I sputtered a little, and Dani started laughing.

“Dani thinks I’m good-looking.”

“Well then, she’s a keeper, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is,” I agreed, my voice soft. “A definite keeper.”

My mom winked and linked arms with Dani. “You can leave now, Noah. Dani is going to show me how she makes the infamous apple crisp Gabe has been going on about all week.” She fixed me with a stern look. “And we’ll be joining you for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll tell Callie.”

“She knows. I already told her what I want you to make. And your father was pretty ticked you ate the second piece of dessert last week instead of saving it for him. You better make it good.”

“Oh.” I’d inherited my sweet tooth from my father, who constantly lamented that neither his wife nor daughter could bake. He was going to adore Dani—and her baking skills.

“You better listen to your mother, Noah,” Dani teased. “I guess you’ll have to forgo your piece tonight.”

I sidled up to her, burying my face into her neck, kissing and swirling my tongue over her soft skin. “Or maybe, you could make extra? I can make my mom peel more apples.” I lowered my voice, pressing my mouth to her ear. “I’d make sure you were well rewarded, Sprout.” I nibbled the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Very well rewarded.”

She shivered. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Grinning, I walked to the door, glancing behind me. My two favorite women stood together, smiling at me. My chest warmed at seeing them together, and lifting my hand, I blew them both a kiss, beaming as I left, knowing I’d see them both in just a few hours.

Chapter Thirteen

Dani

A few hours later, I was at Noah’s parents’ house. Kris had insisted we go there once I was done and we had cleaned up. Their place was older, a large farmhouse with a screened-in porch. The house was nestled on a hill that overlooked the farm. Inside, overhead fans cooled the air, and the wide, well-worn planks squeaked underfoot in the living room. It was homey and warm, with comfortable furniture, tons of pictures, and a huge table with a dozen chairs. I could only imagine the family dinners that happened around it.

We had spent the morning baking together. Well, Kris helped and I baked. She was a great assistant, but Noah was right; she couldn’t follow a recipe and bake something sweet. She had baked bread for so long, she didn’t use recipes, going by touch and smell. I had to stop her from adding twice the amount of baking powder to the cake mixture as the recipe called for. I watched in horror as she turned a ball of pie crust into cement with just a few rolls of her hands. She looked at me askance.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” She held up her hands. “Weapons of destruction, Noah would say.”

I laughed. “Maybe I’ll handle the dough.”

“Good idea.”

My plan had been to make baked apple dumplings for the family with the leftover apples we didn’t use. I thought we’d serve them with caramel sauce.

“What do they do for dessert other nights?” I asked her.

“They offer a cheese board, or we have homemade ice cream. Noah gets organic oatmeal cookies brought in to serve with it, but he liked having something special to offer on Saturdays,” she explained. “He thinks he’s hit the jackpot with your skills.”

I blushed at her words. I thought I was the lucky one and hit the jackpot with him, but I refrained from telling her that.

After the pastry disaster, she simply handed me the ingredients I asked for. She was droll and funny, and she shared lots of stories about her kids, especially Noah, with me. He was obviously a handful growing up and was spoiled by everyone. Some of the antics she shared made me laugh so hard, I had tears in my eyes. Yet, he had become an amazing man, and she didn’t hide how proud she was of him, or any of her kids. She adored her grandchildren, loving the fact that she got to spend so much time with them.

I peered at a framed portrait on the wall. “Is this Noah?” I asked, shocked, studying the picture closely.

She looked over my shoulder. “Yes. We’d convinced him to come for a family photo when the kids were still young. Hardly looks like him, doesn’t it?”

I shook my head. He was thinner, his shoulders not as broad. His hair was short and slicked away from his face. He looked serious, and the rigid set of his shoulders was out of place with the rest of his family. Even though he was younger, he seemed older, somber, and unhappy. His eyes were dull, his pallor evident, and his smile forced. His suit and tie were at odds with the more casual look of his family. He stood to one side, as if unsure where he belonged.