25
(Garrett)
“You like her.”
Here we go. I probably should have followed Cooper and Cara out into the orchard rows. But my favorite apple farmer is fighting a bout of morning sickness that’s got her looking peaked and keeps her from trekking about too much, so I decided to stay back at the house with Whitney while Cooper shows Cara the new wind machines.
Cooper’s investment in the enormous portable fan contraptions couldn’t have been more timely. A cold front rolled through a few nights ago, and this time of year their apple and pear trees’ tender buds are beginning to bloom, so any dip below freezing means they could lose yield for the year. Cooper’s been up every two hours for the past week, checking the temperature and turning on the fans when needed. By mixing the cold air with the warm air that rises naturally off the trees and ground, the fans can help retain a few of those critical degrees.
But seems I’m about to find myself at the mercy of a woman who’s at least a foot shorter than me, sports a nose ring, and just spent the last ten minutes looking like she might faint or puke—and while she shouldn’t be a formidable opponent, I’m considering bolting off the porch step to avoid this conversation.
Whitney made some herbal tea that smells like mushrooms and pinecones, but thankfully tastes like almost nothing. I accepted because she offered, while knowing I hate tea. So the fact that it tastes like water is a good thing.
“Look, Johnny Appleseed. I know I’m sitting here holding this mug of herbal tea and we just talked about getting your first ultrasound and whether or not you can find organic prenatal vitamins, but make no mistake, if you follow that statement up with anything that includes the words like-like, I’m leaving. I have to keep my man dignity intact, no matter the cost.”
Whitney laughs, bumps her elbow into mine. “Don’t fret. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything that might put your masculinity in jeopardy. I’m just saying, you like her. Not a commentary, not even a question. A statement of the obvious.”
Inside, I admit to the truth. I like Cara. A lot. I like her too much. A hell of a lot more than I expected to when we started out and way more than I should since she’s leaving in less than two weeks. In fact, if I did let the herbal tea and all the new-baby banter take hold, the idea that I’m well past like and nearer to something way more fucking complicated, isn’t a stretch.
I decide to take the easy way out. “It’s kind of impossible not to. She’s very likable.”
Whitney takes a sip of her tea. “Well, I think it’s great. I was worried you might end up on one of those farmer dating sites at some point. Not that there’s anything particularly wrong with that, I just prefer it if my love stories don’t involve selfie profile pictures and computer algorithms.”
I set my mug off to the side, then scratch the back of my neck and fidget with the bill of my ball cap.
“You can drop it with the love-story stuff, Johnny, because there’s still a damn good possibility of my ending up with a profile on FarmersOnly.com at some point. Assuming that I hit the lottery and somehow end up farming again. But either way, Cara will be back home. In Chicago.”
Whitney protests quietly, but I cut her off before she can say more. Because if I let her push forward with that thread, she might somehow convince me there’s hope for more with Cara, and I know better. I keep my sights set on the trees that fan out in front of Whitney’s house, enjoying the view and forcing down the ache in my chest. Cooper and Cara emerge from one of the far rows in the distance, ambling slowly back in our direction but still well out of earshot.
“Garrett.” My name comes out of Whitney’s mouth like she’s harping and consoling me.
“Whitney.” I parrot back her name in the same tone, then exhale sharply. “Look. I knew she was only here for eight weeks. Has it been great? Yes. Does it suck that she’s leaving? Fuck yes. But that’s the way it is. What am I going to do? Ask her if she wants to move into my modular with me? I don’t even have a garage for her to park her fancy SUV in. You think if I promise to scrape the frost off the windshield for her in the winter, that would be enough for her? Because that’s about fuck-all I have to offer.”
By the time I’m done, I’ve raised my voice too much, revealing how much it kills me that I have so little to give Cara. So far all I’ve provided is some directions, a few introductions, and orgasms.
And my cold. I did give her that. But even there, I came up short. She made me the magic soup, and when I asked her what she needed to feel better she croaked out something about mango Popsicles and footie pajamas. I ended up bringing home a box of shitty store-brand Popsicles in a variety pack because that’s all I could find, tossing out all the ones that weren’t orange and prayed mangoes tasted similar. As for footie pajamas, I lent her a pair of my sweatpants, then put a pair of my wool hunting socks on her feet and tugged them up over the sweatpants and proclaimed them to be redneck footie pj’s. Next thing I know, she’s teary-eyed and covering her face with a pillow. Talk about fucking up the simplest of things.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Whitney’s mouth has dropped open a little. She draws it closed and skirts her gaze back toward Cooper and Cara, where they’re inspecting a low branch on a pear tree.
“See that guy over there? The stubborn, grouchy, brawny, handsome one?” Whitney asks. I grunt like the asshole I’ve suddenly become.
“He happens to be the Cooper Lowry, former NFL player and all-around high achiever type. He has a plan for his plans. I, on the other hand, have on occasion slept in my vehicle because I was either too broke or feeling too flighty to do otherwise.”
Whitney tilts her head to rest on my shoulder, her eyes still on Cooper.
“But when it comes to the two of us making a life together? Doesn’t matter. Not one bit.”
A few hours later, the four of us shuffle out of Whitney and Cooper’s farmhouse, fat and drowsy from dinner. We stop in the driveway to say goodbye, Cara and Whitney doing the girl-hug thing while Cooper and I do the guy-handshake thing. Once the girls separate, Cooper steps in behind Whitney and puts his arms around her waist, hands to her belly, and the protectiveness in that gesture is hard to miss. They’re starting a family together. Jesus. My head goes a little fuzzy at the thought of kids, the way they need you for everything and how not knowing if you’re going to be able to give it to them must be scary as hell.
Cara spies my expression and flops her hand out. In addition to the fuzziness of considering the reality of kids, the craft beer shit Cooper likes packs a wallop, and I’m definitely feeling the two I drank with dinner. With Cara being a wine girl and Whitney not drinking, it’s a good thing Cara became the de facto DD for the night.
“Keys, please.”
I fish them out of my pocket and set them in her palm. Whitney’s eyes go wide and she twitches a finger our direction, gesturing at the exchange.
“Oh my God. Is she driving your truck?”
I tilt my head back, trying to process Whitney’s question and why she sounds so surprised. Then Cooper smirks and my buzzed brain puts it all together. And it’s true, Cara is the first woman, ever, to drive my truck. Tonight isn’t even the first time, either. The first time she ended up behind the wheel it was because I lost a bet.
She asked to drive my truck, sweetly, claiming it was on her Grand Valley to-do list, along with driving a tractor, which she managed to tick off her list with Brooke. I flinched but was smart enough not to launch into all the reasons I’ve never let a woman drive my truck. Cara would think they sounded sexist, and she’d be right, but she also isn’t from a world where your truck matters.
Cara proposed a wager. She said I couldn’t watch her do a thirty-minute Pilates reformer workout without eventually dragging her off the contraption and putting her through another type of workout. I accepted, knowing my truck was at stake.
I lost. Ten minutes in and I couldn’t stand another second of Cara in those tiny shorts, her ass in the air, her mile-long legs outstretched. She claimed her prize. And she looked damn good sitting behind the wheel of my truck, enough that I snapped a picture of her with my phone as she drove, because not only was it cute and sexy—it was like she belonged there.
Tonight, though, Cara at the wheel is a purely practical decision. “I’m a little buzzed. Better to play it safe.”
“But she’s driving your truck. And you are going to ride shotgun while she does it. Screw our like-like discussion. I’ve never been granted the pleasure of driving Cooper’s truck. Never. I’m currently spawning his offspring, which he’s fine with, but driving his stupid beast of a truck? That I can’t be trusted with.”
I give up a long groan and Cooper snorts, wraps his arms tighter to Whitney.
“Babe. Let it go.”
“But maybe she doesn’t understand the significance here.” Whitney gestures toward Cara. “I mean, I didn’t know the whole guy-and-his-truck-shall-never-be-parted thing before I met you. Cara should know what this meammdfph—”
Cara starts to twirl my key ring around her index finger, a smugly amused smile on her face because without even spelling out the details, she knows the score here: Garrett, zero. Cara, truck keys. And my balls.
One of Cooper’s big hands gently slides over Whitney’s mouth. “Babe, you’re killing him here. Seriously.”
He kisses the top of her head, pretends to growl angrily when Whitney nips his hand with her teeth, before turning his attention back to us.
“We’re glad you guys stayed for dinner. Now I’m going to take my girl in the house and try to convince her for the one thousandth time to marry me. And after this whole truck-driving conversation, I think she’s totally going to be up for it this time. Things could get crazy. And loud. You two should bail while you can.”
Cooper starts to walk a playfully squirming Whitney back toward the house while I open the driver’s door for Cara so she can crawl in. Once I’m loaded in on the passenger side, Cara pauses before putting the keys in the ignition, distracted by Cooper hauling a loudly giggling Whitney up into his arms.
Cara lets out a quiet laugh. “On a scale of one to ten, those two make zero sense.”
“Pretty much.”
Cara’s hand drops to her thigh, keys still clutched in her fingers. “I bet this place is gorgeous come fall.”
“It is. Late summer and all the way through to Thanksgiving. Too bad you won’t be around to see it. But Cooper’s been ramping up their social media stuff, I’m sure he’ll post pictures come harvest time.”
Cara doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, only stares straight ahead, gaze settled on nothing in particular. Just Cara staring blankly.
“I could come back.”
The words are almost monotone, nearly emotionless. But underneath, I know that’s not the case, something else is happening here.
She’s baiting me.
Cara’s waiting for me to say something dramatic, tell her how much I want her to come back. Or, better yet, tell her not to go in the first place. Drag her onto my lap and confess exactly how much these weeks have meant to me, the way they’ve cracked open parts of myself I’ve kept locked tight for years. The parts of me that want more than what’s good enough. The part that still wants some land to make my own, a first planting and a first harvest—and someone exactly like her to share all those moments with. She wants me to admit that I’m falling in love with her.
And the fact that I am doesn’t count for shit. Because loving her won’t change the truth of our situation. A country guy and a city girl who live in very different worlds.
We still have time to unravel this thing. Enough days and nights to cut ties and do what’s best for both of us. And if I do it right, then someday Cara will just be the woman in the expensive SUV on the side of a county road—a beautiful stranger and nothing more.
I’ll start tonight, using the greatest emotional war tactic known to man: almighty silence.
After a few moments of weighted quiet, Cara seems to take the hint. Her face falls and the sight of that alone is almost enough to make me break, let everything that’s in my heart spill out onto the floor of this truck. Almost.
Cara sets the keys into the ignition and mumbles under her breath. “Or not.”