Page 48 of Love Off-Limits
“There is one, actually. The bridal party is arriving as we speak. But this is a client Perry knows personally, so he and Calista are handling it. Which gives me a rare Saturday off.”
Longing pulsed low in my gut. I’d be done with my work responsibilities as soon as I’d stored the milk and hauled a few cans of it up to Mrs. Hawthorne’s studio. At least until the evening milking. That was a lot of hours I could spend with Olivia. Maybe she’d want to hike with me. The views of the Blue Ridge mountains that surrounded the farm were gorgeous, but I’d heard Isaac talk about the hiking up here, about the view from Mount Pisgah. I’d been itching to get off-site and see for myself.
But the invitation died on my tongue. Two friends could go hiking. And if I framed it that way, I could probably convince Olivia to say yes. But I wasn’t sure I was open to that kind of torture.Just friends?Nothing about that sounded fun.
Olivia’s phone chimed with a notification, and she shifted so she could pull it out without disrupting Penelope’s breakfast. “My mom,” she said. “She’s actually at her studio now. I was going to head over to the house to check on them, but I guess I’ll head there instead.”
“Want a ride? Once I load up the milk, that’s where I’m headed.”
She hesitated almost long enough for me to regret asking, but then she finally nodded. “Sure. That’d be great, actually. But only if we take Penelope.”
I grinned. “Really?”
“I think Mom would like to see her.”
I loaded up a few cans of milk while Olivia waited, then she climbed into the passenger side of the gator, Penelope in her lap, while I cranked it up. Her shoulder pressed against mine, and I willed myself to focus on driving, to ignore the warmth of her closeness, the way the sun caught on her copper hair and made her green eyes sparkle. “This way, right?”
She nodded, bracing herself with the grab bar as I eased through the turn, careful not to jostle the milk. The drive was paved and smooth, winding past the strawberry and blueberry fields and through the west half of the apple orchards. The sun was bright, the morning sky a vibrant blue, blending into the blue-green of the mountains in the distance. Unlike Charleston, nothing up here was flat; everything was rolling, hills and slopes in every direction.
“How much of this do you sell commercially?” I asked, motioning to the surrounding farmland.
“Most everything gets sold, if we don’t use it in the kitchen, but the apples are the only thing we sell wholesale,” Olivia said. “The strawberries we sell at the farm store and use in the kitchen. Same with the rest of the produce; we’re part of a farmer’s co-op that provides weekly produce boxes through a subscription service with whatever is in season. And Mom sells her soap in the store and online.”
I looked across the orchards. “It’s amazing. That your family has built all of this.”
“Honestly, the business is mostly about the events. That’s where the money is. Farming is expensive, labor is expensive. It works, but if all we did was grow produce and run a farm store?” She shot me a knowing look. “It wouldn’t.”
“Have you always been open for events?”
“For the past twenty years. Mom and Dad ran the farm for ten before they expanded the farmhouse and built the pavilion. It was the best decision they ever made. We stay booked months in advance.”
“I’d get married here,” I said, almost without thinking. “In a heartbeat.”
“Me, too,” she said, her tone light. “I think people love the setting. The experience of being outside, of getting a small taste of farm life without having to do any actual farm work. We have women who put deposits down for dates two years in the future just in case they meet someone and get engaged before then.”
“Like...single women?”
She reached over and touched my arm. “Stop right here for a sec.”
I shifted into park and looked at her expectantly.
“Follow me,” she said, climbing out of the gator. “But cut the engine. This’ll take a minute.”
I looked behind me. “Long enough that I should worry about the milk?”
“Not that long. It’ll be fine.”
She put Penelope on the ground at her feet and headed off into the apple orchard. I followed her, and Penelope followed me, bleating and kicking her back legs as if to say she was enjoying the adventure.
We walked through a long row of apple trees, heavy with new fruit. The apples, I’d been told, weren’t ready to harvest until late August or September, so they still had some growing to do. At the edge of the orchard, Olivia ducked into the trees and followed a narrow path up a steep ledge. I followed behind, nearly bumping into her when, after fifty yards or so, she stopped on a wide, flat rock, the scrubby rhododendron trees around us opening up into a small clearing.
“This way,” she said. “Actually, close your eyes. And here.” She scooped Penelope up. “Hold her, so she doesn’t fall.”
“What? Fall where?” I held onto the goat, keeping her close against my chest.
“Just trust me.” Olivia moved behind me and placed her hands on my arms. “Are they closed?”
I sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “Fine. Yes. They’re closed.”
