Page 15 of Falling for Cocky Cole
I can't say I don't like it.
"This stew is incredible, Mrs. Walker," Cole says, sopping up gravy with a piece of bread.
Mom actually blushes. "It's just a simple recipe. Been making it for thirty years."
"Some things get better with age," Cole replies with a wink, and I roll my eyes, though I'm smiling.
As we're finishing up, I decide to bring up what Grant mentioned earlier.
"Mom, Dad, Grant Carter asked me today about how steady our farm could supply apple products to Carter Ridge." I glance at Cole. "He said you had mentioned making some deals?"
Cole nods, setting down his glass. "My brother did bring that up during our discussion. I was planning to ask you both about it."
Dad wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Well, we can supply fresh apples from August through October, and after that, we'll have fruits in cold storage until about February."
Mom leans forward, her eyes bright with interest. "But we could supply other products year-round—apple jam, cider, apple butter. Those are shelf-stable or can be frozen."
Cole nods thoughtfully. "That sounds good. I'll definitely tell my brothers about it." He looks at me, and there's something in his expression I can't quite read. "This could work out well for everyone."
I can't help but smile, feeling a strange mix of surprise and respect. Maybe there's more to Cole Carter than I've given him credit for.
8
COLE
"We'd better finish up that cider," Tom says, pushing away from the table after we've demolished the apple pie his wife brought out for dessert. I've eaten more than I should have, but everything was so damn good I couldn't help myself. Maggie glances at the clock on the wall and makes a little sound.
"Our show starts in ten minutes, Tom," she says, and I can tell this is a ritual for them—dinner, then evening television.
"I can take care of the cider myself, Mr. Walker," I offer, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "You've already shown me the basics."
Tom looks at me, considering. "You sure about that? It's a bit of a process for your first time solo."
"Tom, our show," Maggie reminds him gently.
Tom nods. "Right. Well..." He turns to Ivy, who's stacking plates. "Ivy, you mind helping Cole out? You know the press better than anyone."
Ivy pauses, her eyes meeting mine briefly before looking back at her father. "Sure," she says, though I detect a hint of reluctance.
I try not to smile too much.
We walk in silence toward the barn, the crickets chirping around us in the early evening. The air has that crispness to it that only comes in mid-September—not quite summer anymore, not quite fall yet. The perfect in-between.
"Beautiful night," I say, glancing up at the darkening sky where stars are just beginning to appear.
"Mm-hmm," Ivy murmurs. Her arms are crossed, and she's walking a careful distance from me.
"Are the evenings always this nice here? I mean, at the orchard specifically?" I'm making small talk, and we both know it.
Ivy looks at me sideways. "You grew up fifteen minutes away, Cole. The weather's the same here as at Carter Ridge."
I laugh. "Fair point. Just trying to break the ice."
We reach the barn, and Ivy pushes the door open, flipping on the lights. The old building looks different now—warmer, more intimate in the yellow glow of the overhead bulbs. Half-processed apples wait for us by the press, and Ivy immediately moves toward them, rolling up her sleeves.
"Let's get this done," she says, but there's less edge to her voice now.
I follow her lead, picking up where her father and I left off. We work side by side, rinsing and quartering the apples before dropping the pieces into the press. The air fills with that sharp, fresh scent—clean and sweet all at once. I watch Ivy's hands asshe works, her fingers smeared with bits of apple. She's done this a thousand times before, her movements quick and efficient.
