Page 19 of Another Round
At least she remembers to pause for me to do a quick inspection across the pasture. Acting as if I’m stretching out my back while I scan all the other guests around us. Mainly families with children shrieking and running and crushing the plants under their tiny feet while their parents attempt to protect the harvest from their unintentional mistreatment.
“Come on slow poke.”
Well then I guess she’s not very patient after all. Almost as bad as the little kids. “Strawberries aren’t going anywhere trouble.”
She’s beautiful when she pretends to pout. Almost glowing in the abundant morning light. Sun glistening on the caramel—not blond as she so sternly corrected me—streaks in her hair.
After we walk about sixty feet, she crouches down. Tugging an enormous berry from a dense cluster of bushes and shoving the fruit between her lips.
“I’ve never eaten anything right off the vine before. They’re so sweet.”
Two in the basket, one in her mouth. The same pattern over and over until an old man, worn from work and weather, hustles over as fast as his stooped body allows.
“No eating before paying.”
Wagging his spindly finger, he grunts and points to a small white sign. Tucked next to the hay bales, framed by shepherd’s hooks adorned with hanging plants overflowing with purple and pink flowers, to designate a photo opportunity.
We kindly ask no sampling.
Nothing kind about his request, yet she takes his brusque reprimand in stride. Nodding and owning up to her mistake.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Another grumble reverberates under his breath, but he seems satisfied with her compliance and lumbers back to his bench. Once he drops down to the planks, marred by flaking red paint, I stoop beside her and give her a needling elbow to the ribs. “You almost got us arrested, trouble.”
She giggles but keeps her focus on her job. Precise fingers nimbly parting the drooping leaves and harvesting the abundant crop clustered underneath.
“I’m pretty sure we could outrun the farm police.”
“You could, but I don’t know about me.”
“I’d never leave you behind.” Her hand gingerly pats my knee a few inches from her leg while she meets my gaze. Serious and sincere despite my teasing tone. “I swear.”
“Thanks. You either.” I lean sideways, gently bumping into her shoulder and placing a quick peck on her forehead, before I stand again. Too much risk for me to be in that vulnerable position. Or even worse for me to be distracted by her. Any more than I already am.
“I saw a sign at the entrance that said blueberries and peaches will be in next. We’ll have to come back and get those too. Then I’m going to make you a pie.”
Now I really am a wanker from the emotion her remark stirs in me. Something so comfortable and enticing about the idea of her baking for me. Of wanting to feed me. “Do you even know how to make pie?”
“Nope, but I’m going to learn, and it’s going to be awesome.”
I love how definitive she is. Nothing wrong with hard work or confidence. “I’m sure it will be.”
“Do you think that’s enough?” She slowly rises, sliding her palms down her thighs to release the tightness from squatting for so long. Reminding me how much I despise the short white dress she wears that shows off way too much of her magnificent legs. “The lady said this holds about four quarts.”
Heaped well above the rim, strawberries roll down the mound and drop over the sides when she lifts the carrier for me to see her bounty. “I think that’s plenty.”
She frowns in uncertainty but finally nods. “I guess we can always come back. I don’t…”
Deep guitar chords resonate from the direction of the winery, stealing her words and quashing her debate as she listens. “Oh! The band is starting.” Small fingers curl around mine, and she tugs me forward. Enthusiasm making up for her lack of strength in moving my body. “Let’s go check it out.”
I allow her to pull me along. Smiling to myself from the trail of fruit she leaves in her wake as she hurries back to the wagon. Luckily the old man is distracted chastising someone else and fails to notice her transgression. We’re safe a little longer.
Forced to release me to climb up, I make sure she can’t hold my hand again. Situating her with the container on her lap and my arm resting behind her. Reminding myself we’re not on a date. We’re not a couple. We’re not anything more than employee and boss.
She doesn’t seem to notice the distance I try to build between us. Tucking herself into my side like always. Her delicate body pulsing in time to the notes wafting through the breeze.
“I know it’s retro, but this is one of my favorite songs.”
