Page 108 of Small Town Firsts
She lifted the box and left me there vibrating. She was cool as a fall breeze and crisp with it while I was ready to leap out of my skin.
I scooped up the ingredients, reading the jar names.
Blackberry.
Honey.
The flavors were tart and earthy.
Just like us.
I circled my bench, situated in the center of the room. I liked room to spread out while I was thinking. And now the carnage of failed experiments and a very healthy bout of sex taunted me.
Instead of organizing like I usually would, I chucked all the extras I didn’t need into a box and went back to basics.
Jug of cider, glass, and the sweetening agents.
Old school.
I gripped the edge of the scarred bench and stared at the ingredients until my blood stopped boiling in my veins. I twisted the edge of my ring and popped the vacuum on the honey jar and lifted it to my nose. My mouth watered at the notes of lavender and lemon within the viscous fluid.
I dragged my torch over and set it to low under a stainless steel bowl. I only needed to warm the honey so it would dissolve in the cold cider. As I poured the rich, dark honey into the bowl it took on a fragile amber cast.
Like Kira’s eyes.
I dabbed the tip of my finger into it and tasted it. The sharpness was a surprise, but then it was warm comfort. I dug for a dropper and added blackberry in and the tart was too much at first.
“Cherries,” I said absently.
She went to the shelves she’d already ruthlessly organized within the time I’d been messing with the honey. I’d probably never be able to find anything again.
But my Kira was organization where I lived in creative chaos.
She came back to the bench and stood across from me with two jars. I took the North Star cherries and added two drops. Then more honey until it tasted right to me.
I could never quite describe why combinations worked. It was just something I’d always done. But the hum in my brain replaced the wildfire anger and I found my center once more.
I lined up glasses and tried to answer questions when she asked them of me, but the narrowed focus left me muttering more than making sense. I wasn’t sure when she wandered away from me, but I discarded and started over a half dozen times before I got the right mix of cider and sweetener.
“Got it. Holy shit, I got it.” I turned with the glass and found myself alone.
She’d opened up the back door to the workshop and I hadn’t even noticed. But my body certainly appreciated the cross breeze. My back was screaming from standing all damn evening. Not to mention losing myself in Sunshine for a while earlier tonight.
I double checked that I had the formula written down. It might fluctuate when I did a larger batch for pasteurizing, but for now I was happy with it.
Learning about the honey trick made the excitement fizz inside me like a bottle of champagne. I’d have to research that aspect of flavor now that she’d given me my first lesson.
But for the pears and apples, it had hit all the right flavor profiles.
And it was the first time I’d been able to line up the orchard and my own style of flavor combinations to match.
And of course it was because of Kira.
It was always Kira’s taste that brought me around to my center.
Even when she was infuriating.
I took a glass out with me—after I’d tasted it again, because damn, I was good—and followed the path to where I knew she’d be. She was always looking out on the orchard. It was why I’d put the damn swing there, so she always had a perfect seat for the stunning view.
