“Moonshine with apple slices—a cocktail and a snack all in one.”
“I know what you had, I was asking how many.” His sigh is rather loud.
“You’re not my boyfriend, so don’t sound disappointment.”
“Disappointed.”
“That’s what I said.” I take a blind step back and the heel of my boot sinks into the soft dirt, causing my balance to shift.
“Okay, let’s get you home before you fall and hurt yourself.” He extends his arms to catch my shoulders. Gently facing me in the opposite direction, he begins marching us forward.
I’m disappointed—no, relieved he didn’t decide to carry me.
“You act all mean and cynical, but you’re a big softie, Odin Hill.” I attempt to crane my neck to look at his face, but he adjusts his grip.
“Eyes forward, Ranger Baum.” He’s all Mister Stern and Bossy. I hate how much I love him—hate how much I love it, that is. No, actually, I think I was right the first time.
“Oh, we’re using formal titles now, Chef?” My smirk is triumphant even if he can’t see it.
His huff of warm air sweeps across my shoulders, causing me to shiver.
He pauses mid-step. “Damn it. Where’s your coat?”
“Didn’t have one.”
“You did. It was dark green with a collar and black buttons.”
“Sounds like mine.” I attempt to keep walking, but I’m held in place by his grip. How many people does it take to qualify as a conga line? Maybe if I step to the left and then to the right, I can trick him into dancing our way out of here.
With a resigned sigh, he releases me. “Let’s get you to the truck. Can you promise to stay put while I go back inside and search for it?”
“For what?”
“Your coat. Jesus, I want to punch those idiots and their moonshine.”
“You can’t punch a liquid. I mean, you could, but it wouldn’t be very unsatisfying. Have you thought about freezing it instead? Depending on alcohol level, it might never freeze solid. Could be similar to punching a Jell-O mold. Slightly more therapeutic than water, but again, I doubt it’s going to give you any satisfaction. And another thing, you shouldn’t resort to violence to express your emotions. Boy howdy is that unhealthy. Almost as bad as bottling everything up. Did you know—”
His hand covering the lower half of my face interrupts my word flow. “Will you please stop talking for a minute?”
I open my mouth, forgetting for a second I can’t verbalize my answer with his palm against my lips. I nod instead.
“Have you ever had moonshine before?” His voice is full of genuine concern.
“Nope.”
“Didn’t think so.” With a gentle touch, he brushes my hair away from my face before kissing me softly on the lips.
His beard tickles and makes me giggle. “This might be the grain alcohol speaking, but it wants me to tell you we love you.”
I swear he says it back, but the words are too quiet for me to hear clearly.
“What did you say?” Trying to read his lips this time, I squint at him in the darkness.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” He settles me inside the cab of his truck and then disappears into the night.
I rest my head on the window, imagining Odin telling me he loves me.
Despite my initial best efforts to see the bad in him, I know he’s a good man, a decent and kind person.
And I love him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Odin
If an “I love you” is said for the first time but not remembered, does it still count?
What if the words come not only from the woman you’re falling in love with but are also expressed on behalf of an inanimate object—are they negated?
No and yes.
This is how I reason away Daphne’s declaration from last night, because I sure as hell don’t love moonshine back. I’m still pissed at my cousins. Bunch of idiot noggin-knockers with their apple pie moonshine.
By the time I got back to my truck last night, she was sound asleep. Rousing her enough to buckle her seatbelt, I tucked the wool coat around her like a blanket.
I didn’t want to take her to the ranger cabins in case she got sick in the night, so I brought her home with me, carried her inside and switched out her dress for my T-shirt before tucking her under the covers.
At first light, I’m out of bed and dressed, quietly sneaking out of the room so I don’t disturb her. I have a pint jar of Ida’s cure-all in the fridge for when Daphne wakes up. I suspect she’s going to have one mean hangover.
Keeping to my morning routine, I let Roman out and check on Patsy while he does his business. She comes out of her house to greet me, eats her breakfast, and then the three of us wander around the yard and gardens while I drink my first cup of coffee of the day.
Behind the greenhouse is my new project. I’ve taken grafts from the hidden trees and given some to Lena for preservation. Eventually the old orchard will stop producing and I don’t want to lose those varieties. It will be a couple of years before any of these saplings produce fruit, but I’m here for the long haul.
Coffee finished, I whistle for the animals and they follow me back to the house. Roman gets his breakfast while Patsy claims her bed on the porch for a post-meal nap. After refilling my cup, I join her, sitting in my favorite chair.
For countless mornings, we’ve followed this same routine. Like the post office, we don’t let snow, sleet, or rain deter us.
Today is different. Daphne’s presence changes everything. I listen for sounds of her stirring, curious to know how she slept and if she has a headache. Images of her in my bed, wearing only my T-shirt leave me with a different kind of wanting.
Time has a funny way of contracting and expanding. August seems like years ago, and the last month has also seemed to last only a few days. When it comes to Daphne, I either feel like I’ve known her forever or like our meeting at the farmers’ market was yesterday.
Do I believe in love at first sight? No.
Do I believe two people are fated to be together? No.
However, I know it is possible to wake up one morning and know with absolute certainty you’re in love with someone.
Impatient for her to wake up so I can tell her that, I make my way to the bedroom and discover the bed empty.
“Daphne?” I call out, a weird dread pooling in my chest as I think she might’ve left while I was in the orchard. Logically I know it isn’t possible. I would’ve seen or heard a car coming up the road, and Roman would’ve reacted, barking to alert me to the invasion.
Her dress still lies on the chair where I put it last night—she couldn’t have gotten far in an old T-shirt.
“Bathroom,” she responds from down the hall.
Lifting my gaze to the ceiling, I roll my eyes at my worry.
While I stand in the middle of my bedroom, she dashes past me and leaps into the bed, pulling the thick quilt and blankets up to her chin.
“Brr,” she mumbles into the covers. “Why is winter a thing?”
I refrain from pointing out we’re in the middle of fall. Instead I ask, “How are you feeling?”
She shifts the sheets to expose her mouth. “Rough around the edges, but I think I’ll live.”