Chapter Eight #2
She didn’t say any of it. Instead, she picked a playlist of upbeat songs on her phone so they weren’t driving in complete silence.
Jenna was looking super cute, again, and Sawyer now understood that she just always did.
She wore jeans today with a bright blue Buffalo Bills sweatshirt and white sneakers.
She’d brought a jacket, but the sun was shining and the temperature was already in the mid fifties, so she likely wouldn’t need it.
Her honey brown hair was again pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore the barest of makeup.
Sawyer wanted to study her more in depth, the rich brown of her eyes, her soft-looking hands, her jewelry, but there was also this pesky driving thing she had to focus on, so she kept her eyes to herself for the moment.
“There they are,” she said as she pulled her Accord into the grassy parking lot next to a minivan with the hatchback open, three women mingling around it. She heard Jenna take a deep breath, and it was the first time she realized that her neighbor might be a little nervous.
Sawyer parked and got out of the car, only to be immediately enveloped in the warm embrace of her grandmother.
“Hello, sweetheart,” her grandma said close to her ear as they hugged.
“Hi, Grams,” Sawyer said, hugging her tightly, trying not to dwell on how fragile and birdlike her form felt in her arms. When the embrace ended, Sawyer turned to indicate Jenna. “Grams, this is my next-door neighbor, Jenna Murphy. Jenna, my grandmother, Ursula Baker.”
Jenna held out a hand to Sawyer’s grandma, then closed her other on top of it. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.”
Her grandma gave a smile even as she scoffed and waved her free hand. “Please. Call me Ursula.”
Sawyer moved on to the rest of the crew. “And you know my mom. Do you remember my sister, Courtney?”
“I do,” Jenna said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I have a watermelon permanently growing inside my body.” Courtney laughed, but it was sarcastic. Still, she managed a smile for Jenna. “Good to see you again.”
“It’s been years since I did this,” Jenna said, “so I’ll follow your lead.”
“Not to worry,” Courtney said, hooking her hand through Jenna’s arm as they started to walk. “We are old pros.”
It wasn’t as busy at the apple farm as it would have been had they come a few weeks earlier, which they usually did.
Mid to late September was peak time for picking, but every time they tried to set it up, somebody was busy.
Usually Sawyer. So now it was early October and here they finally were.
Sawyer carried two cardboard boxes, and her mom had several reusable shopping bags under her arm.
“Hey, Grams, do you think all the good apples will be gone?” Sawyer asked.
“If they are, I’m blaming you,” her grandmother replied, but then bumped her with a hip to show she was kidding.
“Valid,” Sawyer said with a laugh.
They stopped at the makeshift cash register area and got their carts, dropped the boxes and bags onto them, and hauled them into the orchard.
It wasn’t peak picking time, no, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t busy.
Several groups of people—some clearly families—milled up and down rows of apple trees, dragging their carts, picking apples, filling up boxes and bags, munching on them as they worked.
Sawyer had forgotten how weirdly relaxing it could be, this tradition she had with the women in her family.
“Do you guys do this every year?” Jenna asked, as if privy to her thoughts.
“We try to,” Sawyer said as she read the signs they passed. Empire, McIntosh, HoneyCrisp. “We missed it last year. Well”—she cleared her throat—“I missed it last year.”
“Yeah, you did,” Courtney said as she moved past them, so much more in those three words than just simple agreement.
Sawyer shot her a look.
“Here,” Sawyer’s grandma said. “I want some Cortlands.”
“You got it,” Sawyer said, grabbing a bag and heading down the row. She realized Jenna was following her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Sawyer glanced back at her. “Everybody starts picking right at the beginning of the row. Usually, if I walk down a ways, I can find a tree or two that hasn’t been stripped of all the good fruit yet.”
“Makes sense.”
“Ah, here we go.” Sawyer stopped at a tree that looked to be bursting with shiny red apples. When she turned to look at her neighbor, Jenna had her phone out and was taking photos. She met Sawyer’s gaze and shrugged.
“It’s so pretty, don’t you think?”
Sawyer turned to look at the apple tree. “To be honest, I never really thought about it.”
“Well, think about it.” Jenna’s grin took any sting from the words, and they stood there, simply looking at the gorgeous work of nature, all thick brown trunk and branches, lush green leaves, and bright, shining red apples. “It’s gorgeous,” Jenna said quietly, and Sawyer realized she wasn’t wrong.
“It really is.”
They stood quietly for a moment before Jenna broke the silence. “Okay. Let’s pick these babies.”
A laugh shot out of Sawyer at the sudden change in attitude, and she reached up and grabbed an apple, and the picking began. There were some bright, shiny round ones up higher on the tree, and Jenna pointed to them. “Here. Boost me.”
“What?” Sawyer blinked at her.
“Link your hands. Like this.” Jenna demonstrated how to make a cradle of her hands. “I’m gonna step there so I can reach those four up there.” She pointed to a cluster of big, juicy-looking apples.
“Ah, okay.” Sawyer did as she was told, Jenna put her sneakered foot into her hands and used Sawyer’s shoulder to balance.
For one blissful moment, Jenna’s stomach was at eye level, and her body was so close, Sawyer could smell everything about her—the clean of her laundry detergent, the softness of her lotion, the subtle sweetness of her perfume—and then it was over and Jenna stepped down, one arm cradling the apples.
“See?” Jenna held one up, and she wasn’t wrong. It was big and perfectly round and gorgeous. And Jenna’s satisfied smile outshone them all. She dropped them into the bag and pointed at another tree. “Let’s do this one, too.”
Sawyer swallowed hard before following. When she thought about all the things in life that might be the death of her, apple picking with a pretty girl had not been on her bingo card.
“So, what do you do, Jenna?”
Sawyer’s grandmother, Ursula, was sweet and kind and unexpectedly funny, Jenna had discovered, over the past two hours they’d picked apples.
And while they’d had a chance to banter and tease playfully, they hadn’t really been able to get to know each other.
Now they sat across from one another at a little diner for lunch.
Jenna had driven past this place about a hundred times but had never been inside, and it was just as kitschy as she’d always expected, with its red vinyl booths and red-and-white checked tablecloths.
“I own a bookstore,” she said as she spooned up some of her minestrone.
“A romance-only bookstore,” Ally added. “It’s so cute. I was in there the other day.”
“Oh, I love a good romance,” Ursula said. “I used to read them all the time when I was younger.” She furrowed her brow like she was thinking. “Danielle Steel. Judith Krantz. Barbara Cartland. Nora Roberts.”
“Wow, I’m so impressed you remember all their names,” Jenna said, and she was. “That’s the sign of a true romance fan.” She ate a spoonful of soup and added, “And Nora is the queen.”
“She’s still writing, isn’t she?” Ally asked, and Jenna nodded with enthusiasm.
“She is. She’s written more than two hundred books. Can you believe that?” She gave a laugh. “Don’t get me started on this subject, ’cause I’ll go on and on, and we don’t want to bore poor Sawyer here.” Jenna patted the thigh next to hers as she felt Sawyer’s eyes on her.
“Funny,” Sawyer said, and when her eyes met Jenna’s, there was a weird fluttering that started in Jenna’s stomach and drifted lower.
“Some people just don’t get it,” Ursula said, and Jenna returned her attention to the elderly woman. “They can’t understand what it means to the people who love it.”
Jenna was both impressed and surprised by Ursula’s accurate assessment. “That’s exactly right. They criticize it by calling it formulaic or predictable or”—she turned to Sawyer again—“unrealistic. They don’t get that those are exactly the reasons people love it.”
“Okay.” Sawyer set her fork down and shifted in her seat toward Jenna.
“Here we go,” Courtney said quietly, but she was smiling.
“First of all, romance is formulaic. It is predictable. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back, they live happily ever after. Interchange boy and girl as necessary, but the story is always the same. That, my friend, is a formula.” She pushed her glasses up her nose, picked up her fork, stabbed a cherry tomato, and popped it into her mouth, looking incredibly satisfied as she chewed.
Jenna tipped her head to the side. “Let me ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Have I ever once argued back at you that romance is not formulaic? Have I ever said, ‘No, it is absolutely not predictable, what are you saying?’ Like, ever? Even once?” She picked up her water and took a sip, as if she had all the time in the world, her eyes never leaving Sawyer’s, and she took great pleasure in watching Sawyer furrow her dark brows, as though trying to work out if Jenna was laying a trap for her.
“I…” Sawyer cleared her throat. “No, I don’t think so.”
“No. That’s correct. Do you know why I’ve never argued that point with you?”
Now, Sawyer really looked worried, and her throat moved as she swallowed. Jenna had to make a conscious effort not to grin. “No?”
“Because you’re right. You’re absolutely right. Romance is one hundred percent formulaic. It is absolutely predictable. There is always a happy ending. In fact, there has to be one—or at least an ending that’s hopeful—or it can’t be marketed as a romance. Did you know that?”