“Are you kidding?” she says, trying to sound huffy. “My mom worked on these all morning.”
“Here, give that to me. You’re going to drop it, butterfingers,” her mother says. She takes the pie from Winona – and whams it right in my face.
I just stand there, blinded, gluey peach pie running down my face, dripping onto my suit. I reach up, swipe at my face, and wipe off enough pie that I can see – sort of. I’m peering through an orange, gluey haze. Then I stick my tongue out and lap up a chunk of peach. It melts on my tongue, tasting like a sun-warmed orchard.
“So sorry about that, son! Here, let me help,” her father calls out. He hurries over – and picks up a pie from the counter. He also splats me in the face.
I’m blinded by pie, but I’m not deaf. Winona’s howls of laughter rise up through the air, joined by both her parents.
“Here, let’s get you cleaned up.” Winona grabs me by the arm and guides me to the sink.
We spend the next several minutes cleaning most of the pie off me. I strip off my jacket and tie and lay them on top of my suitcase. Winona’s parents just stand there, arms folded over their chests, smirking at each other.
“I see where you get it from,” I say to Winona. “I mean that as a compliment, of course. Could I please, pretty please, make my apology now?”
She chews her lower lip. “We’ve gotten your messages already. I get it. I just have some thinking to do.”
“Maybe this will help?” I bring over the gift-wrapped box.
She shakes her head. “I guarantee you that all the jewels from your jewelry department will not affect my decision in the slightest.”
“It’s not a fancy present, I swear. It’s something very personal.”
Reluctantly, she takes the box and rips open the wrapping, then lifts the lid off.
“Well, what in the Sam Hill?” her mother says, peering into the box, baffled.
Winona’s eyes go all misty as she stares into the box. It contains my watch and cell phone and planner – smashed to glittery little shards.
“This is the most over-scheduled man in Manhattan, turning over a new leaf. This is everything I use to schedule my day.” I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. It’s very important that I get this right. “My minutes and my hours are empty without you, Winona. If you come back to New York, if you come back to me, I promise you that I will make you my priority. I will make time for you, and time for me, and time for our life together.”
Winona’s eyes sparkle brightly with tears.
“I’m not asking you to make up your mind right this minute,” I say to her. “This is a big decision. I’m asking you for the rest of your life, Winona Jeffers. I’m asking you to do me the honor of marrying me. I mean, I’m going to ask you again, with a ring and down on one knee, when I’m not dripping with pie shards, but I just wanted you to know where this is going.”
“I…” Tears run down her face. She closes up the box. “This means a lot, Blake. Thank you.”
It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no.
“One more thing,” I continue. “I am still planning on taking the company public, but I have new plans. And I know you’re going to love them.” Winona looks at me doubtfully. “I’m right about this,” I insist. “This is a very Winona plan.”
“What is it? Please don’t say it’s a surprise. You’ve got an iffy track record when it comes to me and surprises.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to make promises until everything is in place. “It’s…something that you will love, I swear on a stack of Fashion Forward magazines. But right this minute, I want to help your parents out on the farm. I want to get to know them, and you, and where you came from. If I can just change into some work clothes, I’d be happy to pick some peaches or whatever else you need from me.”
Her father scowls at me. “No more ordering peach jam from us.”
“About that. I actually would like to order more from you, but it’s not charity. It’s good business.” He shakes his head, but I plow on. “I bought a small test batch of your product a few weeks ago, under one of my sub-corporation names, and I placed it in our gourmet department, in the Taste of the South section. We gave out samples, and our stock sold out within hours.”
Bo shrugs, lips pursed, but Winona’s mother looks interested.
“I can show you the spreadsheets. This is not charity. I don’t use my company’s money like that, because it’s not just my money, it’s the store’s money. I would like to order more product from you. We could start small. I can prove to you that your peach products are a big seller. Five thousand dollars’ worth?”
“Two thousand,” he grumps. “And we’ll see. Now are you going to stand around jawing all day, or wash your face and change out of those fancy duds? Bathroom’s that way.” He points impatiently.
Winona flashes me a small, amused smile. And I hurry to the bathroom to change into jeans and work boots.
Six hours later, I’m drenched in sweat, flushed with the heat, aching all over, and I’ve gained a new appreciation for the hard work of farmers.
We don’t eat until late in the evening. Winona’s mother serves us a pot roast and seats Winona and me next to each other. I’m so tired that I just make polite conversation, then let Winona’s father show me to the guest bedroom at the opposite end of the hall from Winona.
I wake up in the dark, and for a moment I can’t remember where I am. Lumpy mattress, humid room, the sound of a window unit air conditioner humming and rattling in its valiant battle against the heat…
Ah, yes. Winona’s house. And I have to answer an urgent call of nature. And maybe a visit to Winona’s room afterwards. Or first. I’m not going to try strip off those sexy, funky pajamas, although God knows I’ve suffered from agonizing blue balls for weeks. I just want the chance to talk to her without her parents hovering directly over us.
I pad quietly out of the room in slippered feet, clad only in my pajamas. The hallway is pitch dark, and I carefully feel my way towards Winona’s room, patting the wall.
An explosion of light blinds me. I squint, blinking frantically, until finally my vision clears and I see Winona’s father sitting on a chair outside her bedroom. There’s a shotgun resting crosswise on his lap, and a high-intensity flashlight pointed right at my face.
“Going somewhere?” he growls, lowering the flashlight to point it at the floor by my feet.
“Bathroom!” I splutter, when I’ve regained the ability to speak. He points down the hall, away from Winona’s room.
“Bathroom’s that way.”
Winona’s door flies open, and she staggers out, blinking in the light. Pajamas, cream facemask, bunny slippers, curlers. Still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“What the hell?” she screams.
“Language!” Her father glares at her, fingering the shotgun barrel. “You’re not too old for me to ground you, young lady.”
“Ground me? Are you insane?”
“No, young lady, I am not. And watch your tone with me.”
“You… You… I am twenty-five!” she shrieks.