Page 41 of Love Lessons

“You know,” Jamie said, clearing her throat. I snapped out of my Mason-induced trance, but my grin remained. “You haven’t stopped smiling ever since James from Twilight kissed you.”

I winced—that might have been her worst nickname for Mason yet. “Jesus, can you just call him by his actual name?”

“Wait, they kissed?” Daya leaned forward so she could see me. “You kissed?”

“It was nothing.”

Jamie crossed her arms. “Who were you just texting?”

“Mom…?”

Jamie and Daya laughed.

“Well, what are you going to do now?” Daya asked. Around us, some of the women were finishing up, cleaning out their brushes and removing their smocks, while others were still working on adding more details to their paintings.

“Nothing,” I answered, pulling my smock over my head. “I’m going to do nothing.”

“Ooh,” Jamie said, perking up. “You could use his dick pic as inspo if we ever take that pottery class.” Without giving it a second thought, I picked up my paintbrush and flicked pale yellow paint at her. Most of it splattered on her smock, but a small speck landed in her hair. “You little—” she started, and she dipped her fingers in her jar of paint water. I covered my face, narrowly escaping her retaliatory splash.

Daya stood up to remove her smock, dropping it onto her chair. “Play nice, you two—I’m going to go talk to the instructor for a minute.”

Jamie watched Daya walk away. “What’s that about?” I asked.

“She said she’s going to sign up for the next few classes.”

“Oh,” I said, pulling my smock over my head. “Are you going to join her?”

“I don’t think so.” Jamie used her smock to wipe the paint from her hair. “Might be good for her to have something to focus on besides work and… me.”

They were only spending four or five evenings together a week as it was. I hoped, if just for Daya’s sake, that whole absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder thing was true.

My sister eyed my painting again, shaking her head. “That monstrosity is going up in our living room.”

**

On Wednesday morning, Mason showed up for the apple orchard field trip in dark denim overalls—cuffed at the hems—and a black t-shirt with black high-top Chuck Taylors. No flannel in sight. I never would’ve guessed a man in overalls could be so sexy, but it was really doing something for me. I kept my flirty thoughts to myself, though, considering he wasn’t the only volunteer that day. Elijah’s mom, Cara, and Trinity’s dad, Noah, were also chaperoning.

Noah Sherman was on the school board, and though he’d been nothing but kind since Meet-the-Teacher night, there was still an aura of authority around him that made me uneasy. It didn’t help that he was wearing a suit that day.

“He’s here to negotiate a contract with Johnny Appleseed,” Mason whispered in my ear while I counted children as they made their way to the bus that morning.

I covered my laughter with a forced cough. “Stop. He’s on the school board,” I warned, my voice low enough no one would overhear. “So be on your best behavior.”

Mason smirked, squeezing Finley’s hand as she pulled him toward the bus. “Hmm.” He rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. “But there’s so much I could tell him about you.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave away my true mood. “Just get on the bus.”

How many kids had I just counted? Once again, I’d let Mason Reed distract me—and I had to completely start over.

The apple orchard was a ten-minute drive east of Woodvale. I kept my eye on the sky as the bus turned off the highway—though it was currently sunny and 70 degrees, the clouds in the eastern sky were dark and ominous. I prayed the storm would hold off.

When we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Howard, the apple orchard owners. They introduced us to their calico cat, Braeburn, who didn’t seem to mind being crowded and petted by a dozen pairs of hands at once. I supposed she was accustomed to this kind of attention. She even rolled onto her back like a dog, allowing the kids to pet her belly.

“We normally start with a slide show inside,” Mr. Howard said, before motioning toward the sky. “But let’s go ahead and start with apple-picking, shall we? See if we can beat the rain.”

The old man went over a few basic rules—each child could pick one apple, only from the designated trees. Don’t touch any tools that might have been left out. Stick together. And so on.

We began our walk up the hill between the rows of trees. I had assigned six children to each chaperone, but we mainly stuck together as a group as we listened to Mr. and Mrs. Howard talk about the different apple varieties and everything they made with them.

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