“Yes, but it’s more of a sideline, for the farm shop. We mainly sell apples to supermarkets through Wisconsin and Illinois.”
They strolled through an orchard of Comstocks, and she explained about the “June-drop”, when the trees naturally shed fruit, and then how they had to thin again in July, to make sure the apples remaining were healthy and of a good size.
“Do you love it?” he asked seriously as they paused beneath the sheltering branches of a tree, and Bailey flopped at their feet for a rest. “Do you love what you do?”
He looked so serious that Abby paused. “Yes,” she said at last. “I do. I really do.” She meant it absolutely, but it still felt too simple an answer for what she knew was a complicated question, a complicated life. Yes, she loved it, but as Simon already suspected, she’d never really had the opportunity to choose anything else—college at Wisconsin State, studying a language she’d once loved, a career in a city. Old dreams that had barely begun to take shape before she’d abandoned them for other ones formed by duty and grief.
“Abby.” Simon’s voice had gentled, and when she turned to look at him, he was smiling in a sleepy way that made her mouth dry. She knew that look, even if she’d never actually seen it before. She felt its response in herself.
Simon reached for her hand, and it was easy to let him take it, let him pull her towards him so their bodies brushed and their mouths touched, and, yes, they were kissing again, and it felt even better than last time.
Abby leaned back against a tree, the leafy branches a canopy overhead, the bark hard against her back. Yet, after just a few seconds, she felt her brain going into hyperdrive. What does this mean? Is Simon serious?
The answers came hard and fast—It means nothing! Of course he isn’t. This is a fling, you idiot, that’s all. And Abby had no experience whatsoever of flings. Simon, she realized as she started to tense, had to know that.
He broke the kiss first, a slight frown gathered between his brows as he gazed down at her. “All right?” he asked gently, and for some reason that annoyed her, as if he knew she was fragile, as if she needed handling after just one simple kiss.
“I’m fine,” she replied, a touch aggressively. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Honestly? Because you seemed… a bit removed, towards the end.”
“You could tell?”
A smile curved his mouth. “Yes, I could, actually. You went stiff as a board, Abby, which generally isn’t a good sign when you’re kissing someone.”
“Ah.” She managed a laugh. “Sorry. I suppose I was wondering what this is.” She gestured to the small space between them. “Not to turn all serious on you, but you are going back to England soon, and I’m… I’m not a fling kind of person, if that’s what you had in mind.”
He raised his eyebrows, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he rocked back on his heels. “And you think I am?”
“I have no idea what you are.”
He flinched slightly, and she realized she’d hurt him with her words. Simon, who seemed so light-hearted, so easy-going, had a woundedness of his own. She forgot that, because of his carefree friendliness. But he was divorced, after all. He’d said he was emotionally unavailable, even if she’d never seen that herself.
“I don’t mean that unkindly,” she said. “It’s just that we barely know each other. And if you’re thinking of an actual relationship, considering the distance, I can’t see it going anywhere.”
Simon was silent, and Abby wished she hadn’t said anything.
Why had she? She’d been enjoying it all—the flirting, the kiss, the feeling of expectation, that something was finally happening to her. Why did she have to go and ruin it before it had barely begun? And yet, even so, she didn’t regret stating the obvious; maybe they both needed reminding.
“I must confess I hadn’t thought through things as much as that,” Simon said finally. “I like you. I wanted to kiss you. That’s about as far as I’d got, to be honest.”
“Okay.” She tried to keep her expression neutral. It shouldn’t hurt her, that his mind hadn’t leapfrogged ahead the way hers had. Most people’s probably didn’t, or maybe here was the emotional reserve he’d told her about. “Well, this is probably a good time to tell you that I don’t want you digging into Matthew Lawson or Tom Reese anymore.” Actually, it probably wasn’t a good time at all. It seemed she was in self-destruct mode now, but she couldn’t help it. She had a weird urge to push him away, as strongly as if she’d placed her hands flat on his chest and shoved. This was all getting a bit too much, a bit too close.
“You don’t?” Simon looked surprised, more surprised than Abby had expected him to be. Surely he’d understood her reluctance all along, even though she’d brought him the medal?
“No, I don’t. I spoke to my father after I came back from the lake, and he was pretty upset. He really doesn’t want either of us digging into either of their histories, and he definitely doesn’t want you to write a book.”
“And he has the final word?” Simon’s voice wasn’t cool, but almost.
“It’s his family.”
“It’s my family, too.” Simon’s eyes had narrowed, and Abby lifted her chin.
“I respect his wishes, and I hope you will, too.”
Simon stared at her for a long moment while Abby waited, her heart starting to thud. She didn’t like the look on his face, and already their kiss felt like a million years ago.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” he finally said quietly. “But I can’t do that.”