Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Corvus…
Her room was a time capsule of her life, and honestly, just what I expected. The wallpaper was outdated, light pink and white stripes, with big pink cabbage roses. A little girl’s room, and likely had been the wallpaper since she was a small child.
Layered over it was well crafted white furniture, a couple of dressers and a queen-sized canopy bed with a quilt in a pattern similar enough to match the wallpaper and tie the room together.
Pictures were tacked to a cork board mounted to the wall above one of the dressers in here. A mirror above the other, and there was a small vanity table, likewise with a mirror scattered with old makeup and perfumes that had accumulated a light layer of dust.
There was a bookshelf, the top decorated with trophies and accolades, several medals for her swim accomplishments dangling from one or more of the trophies to one side.
“Is it strange that this is exactly what I expected a childhood room of yours to look like?” I asked and she laughed.
“Oh, is it now?” she asked.
“Right down to the pink everything and white furniture,” I said.
She hugged me around my waist and let me pull her in.
“How about it?” I growled in her ear. “Going to let me fuck you on your old bed?”
“Absolutely,” she breathed. “Only if we’re quiet though, it can and does squeak.”
I snorted and laughed and she giggled with me, and we kissed.
“Come on, I want to show you the rest of the farm before it gets dark,” she said, and she took my hand and after depositing our pack by the bed, took me back downstairs.
We went back through the kitchen, and she pulled down a set of keys off the hook by the back door, and led me out to the pool deck back here.
I gave a low whistle. “Nice,” I said.
“I’ve got a suit here,” she said, and I grinned.
“Really?” I asked. “I think I can come up with a pair of shorts that’ll work.”
“Pfft! Chance has a million – I’ll make him lend you a pair of proper trunks.”
“Deal,” I said, and she led me past the pool and out the surrounding enclosure, down the way until we spilled out of the trail through the thicket by the house and I had to stop.
“Wow,” I said impressed. We were at the top of a rise, overlooking the rows upon rows of carefully cultivated fruit trees down below.
“Impressive, right?” she asked.
“Hell yeah,” I said.
She led me down among the trees and toward the big red barn that no doubt held the equipment required to maintain the orchards.
“You can’t see it from here, it’s on the other side of the barn, but we’re headed for the farm stand,” she said.
“Yeah?” I queried.
“I want to put together a box of things to take back with us; perks of being the owner’s daughter,” she laughed and said, “Besides. I’ve missed this place. I need to stock my kitchen for nostalgia purposes.”
I laughed at that, and said, “Torment would probably have a field day.”
“Oh, trust. I’ll get him all the things come season.”
“I think he’d like that,” I said. “He’s always said that South Carolina peaches are superior to Georgia peaches.”
“Okay,” I said. “My respect for him has gone up a notch.”
I laughed at that again, and asked, “How many varieties do you grow?”
She smiled and said, “Good question,” and told me all about which trees were which and grew what fruits, and how the perfect ones went to market, and the imperfect ones that were deemed un-pretty enough for grocery stores, they kept here and made into jams, jellies, and other sundry peach things for the farm stand.
We reached the barn and rounded the corner and I had to say – the farm stand and giftshop was impressive.
She keyed our way in, and turned on the lights, locking the door behind us.
“Here,” she handed me an old-fashioned peach flat crate with a leather handle attached.
“Nice re-purpose!” I said, and she giggled.
“Thanks. My pop-pop, Chance, and I spent a whole summer making them for the farm stand and you wouldn’t believe how many people try to take them home or buy them from us.”
“They’re well made,” I said.
“Over a decade and still going. We have to replace the handles every once in a while, but they’re sturdy. Yeah. They don’t make them like they used to. Everything is plastic nowadays.”
We wandered the aisles, shopping together, and she told me all about how recipes were made, and how far back they went in the family line.
There were jellies, jams, and even chutneys on the shelves, and I picked up the latter and said, “Now this is Torment’s speed.
I bet he could come up with something amazing using this,” I said.
“Put it in the basket,” she said, and I raised an eyebrow.
“You know he would need like six to feed the whole club,” I said.
“We can order online for that,” she said. “Or come and pick it up. I’m sure he’ll want to try a recipe on a smaller scale first.”
“Hua,” I said and put the single jar in with the others in our little shopping crate.
We loaded the thing, and I kept tabs on what we’d picked up, adding it up in my brain.
We finished our little spree and she set it on the counter up front and said, “We’ll come down and get it tomorrow, I want to make sure we don’t throw off the stock numbers.”
“Good call,” I said, and we went out and she turned out the lights and locked up.
It was getting past dusk and deepening into night, so we stopped to take in the light breeze and insect song.
She tilted her head back and breathed in deeply, sighing out in utter contentment, and God, she was beautiful.
“Homefield advantage,” she said with a smile on her lips.
“What?” I asked. Her smile spread into a grin and she cracked the eye closest to me.
“Catch me if you can,” she said and she took off running.
“Oh! Oh, ho, ho, ho!” I laughed, and gave her a head start.
Challenge accepted.