Chapter Twenty-Five
Everett
I wake up to three messages from her.
Mila: Hi. I’m really sorry I didn’t see your texts last night. I came in the house, fell face down on my bed, and passed out.
Mila: We have an extra set of keys for the car, so don’t worry about bringing them over. If you want to leave them at the register at the farm store, I can pick them up later.
Mila: I’m also sorry about the way I acted. I really need to stop humiliating myself around you.
Still in bed, I prop myself up on one elbow and text her back.
Everett: I don’t know, I kinda like it.
Everett: At least there was no fire this time.
Mila: Only the towering inferno that was my dignity.
Everett: How’s your head?
Mila: I would like to trade it for someone else’s. Preferably someone who made better decisions last night.
Everett: Did you have fun with Yasmine?
Mila: Yes. That part of the night was lovely.
Everett: Good. I have some work to do this morning, but I can swing by your house this afternoon with your keys.
Mila: I really don’t mind coming to get them. It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the house for a few minutes. Just leave them at the store.
Everett: Let’s compromise. Text me when you get here. I’ll come and meet you.
Mila: You don’t seem to understand that I’m trying to avoid seeing you.
Everett: I understand. But I guess if you want those keys back, you’ve got no choice.
Mila: This is mean.
Everett: I’ll show you my tractor.
Mila: OMG
Everett: I might even give you a ride on it.
Mila: Please stop.
Everett: Just don’t shoot any whiskey before you get here.
Mila: I’m never shooting whiskey again.
I chuckle and type one final message.
Everett: See you this afternoon, Fireball.
Mila: SWEET JESUS, WHAT HAVE I DONE?
?? axe gods ??
Ripley Wilder: Good morning, Snuggle Bear.
Ben Hart: The fuck?
Hunter Gannon: He’s talking to Everett.
Ben Hart: Is there bromance in the air?
Ripley Wilder: No. I didn’t stand a chance once that redhead came back to town. Now he’s her Snuggle Bear and I’m just the substitute axe thrower.
Ben Hart: What the hell did I miss?
Hunter Gannon: The redhead got drunk, and the mayor got a new nickname.
The Fucking Mayor: ??
I planned to spend the day doing equipment maintenance, but before I leave the cabin, I get an emergency text that we’re short-staffed and wind up playing tour guide all day long.
With Merlin at my side, I give tractor-pulled wagon rides, describe life on a cherry farm, and—my personal favorite—conduct cherry-pit-spitting contests with the kids.
In between tour groups, I check my phone for messages from Mila, only to be disappointed each time.
I grab a snack in the general store, where my mother is at the register. “I got the nicest thank-you note from Mila Ferguson yesterday. Did I tell you?”
“No.”
“Handwritten,” she gushes. “And the notecard had little flowers drawn on the front of it. I bet she did it herself.”
“She probably did.”
Mom’s smile is somehow angelic and devilish at the same time. “So sweet. Maybe I’ll invite her for Sunday dinner tomorrow.”
“Mom, stop.”
“What, you can invite her to dinner, but I can’t?”
I give her a look that says You don’t fool me one bit and head back outside.
By four o’clock, I still haven’t heard from her, so I decide to reach out. Maybe she can’t get away from her house.
Everett: Hey, just checking in. You still want to come by?
Mila: Yes. Sorry. My mother has been extra needy today. But I’ll be there in twenty minutes!
Everett: No problem. I’ll meet you by the big cherry in front of the general store.
Since I smell like sweat and fertilizer, I run back to the cabin and take a quick shower. Afterward, I apologize to Merlin for leaving him behind, jump into my truck, and take the long, winding road up to the front of the farm.
As soon as I spot Mila sitting on the boulder-sized resin cherry showing off the farm’s logo, my pulse quickens. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a gray zip-up sweatshirt, and her red hair is loose and windblown. I park next to the store and walk over to her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She slides off the big cherry and stands up.
I hold out the key fob. “As promised.”
“Thank you.” She takes it from me and tucks it into the pocket of her hoodie. Up close, her eyes appear pink and puffy. Is it from a hangover, or has she been crying?
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She isn’t fine. Not even close. “Do you have to get back right away? Can you go for a walk?”
“I don’t know,” she says hesitantly. “I told my mom I wouldn’t be gone long.”
“No pressure. You just look like you could use some fresh air and sunshine. Maybe a friend.”
She wavers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “That does sound nice. Let me call her real quick.”
She taps her screen and puts the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom. Would it be okay if I was gone another hour?”
She glances at me. “Just taking a walk at the farm, getting a little fresh air. But I don’t have to. I can come right home.”
She turns away. “Mom, you’re not a bother. I can—”
She looks up at the sky and listens for a minute. “Okay. I won’t be long. Thanks.” Ending the call, she faces me again. “She said it’s okay.”
“Good. Let’s go.” As we start wandering down the road that meanders through the property from front to back, I try to think of something that will make her smile.
And damn if Ripley Wilder’s advice doesn’t pop into my head.