15. Harlow
Harlow
I shrugged on a cropped cardigan as we ventured into the orchards. It wasn’t frosty in the mornings yet, but the fall weather was well and truly upon Autumn Creek.
“Those are our empire and dolgo trees over there.” Jude gestured toward one of the green rows as we walked by. “They’re earlier season varieties, so they’re already picked.”
I followed him as he turned into a corridor of trees with bright red apples hanging from the trees like gems. The air smelled like a candle I’d gladly pay way too much for—fresh morning breeze, a hint of grass, and crisp apples.
I sighed and relaxed into my knitted cardigan. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this calm. Certainly not while I had been living in London.
The city had endless opportunity and movement, but I often felt swept away with it all.
After work I’d escape to my apartment, or to the quiet oasis of my grandma’s flat.
I hadn’t wanted to socialize more than that, after being wrung out and exhausted every day.
But I didn’t feel like that here. I had the energy to add more to my days.
Work, like this, didn’t leave me feeling empty.
I’d even caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the ciderhouse window on the way to the orchard.
I looked well rested. Eyes almost a brighter brown and my dark hair was glossy after a hot shower last night.
The guest bathroom felt like it belonged in a hotel, and I had to admit that the large walk-in was much more comfortable than my shower-tub combo.
But of course, I had only slept this well because I’d found a pile of bags outside my door last night, filled with soft blankets and things to keep me warm, with a note attached.
Stay warm.
- Jude
Nothing more, and he hadn’t even mentioned it today.
“We grow some eating and baking varieties, but a lot of our orchard is made up of cider apples—bittersharps and bittersweets—you wouldn’t want to eat some of those. But they make great cider.”
“Well…” I stepped closer to the trees. “These ones look delicious.”
“Yeah, they’re good for eating. We use them in our soft cider.” He rested his hand on a wooden ladder that was propped up on a nearby tree. “Do you want to try one?”
“Can I?”
“Of course.” He reached up, not needing the ladder, but then quickly paused. “Do you want to pick it?”
“I would love that.”
He stepped back, but kept one hand resting on the wood. I climbed up a step, then another. The apple tree wasn’t too tall, but I had my eye on a bright red, sun-ripened fruit on a top branch.
I leaned up onto my toes to reach it, stretching out my arm, and Jude’s hand quickly jumped to my side. He steadied me as I laughed. But the way his fingers gripped my waist was anything but funny.
“I’m not going to fall. Don’t worry.” I plucked the apple and spun around to meet his gaze.
“Just instincts,” he murmured.
We were basically eye level now, and I don’t think I had ever looked this closely at him before.
His eyes might have technically been hazel, but that was an injustice to their true colour.
They were molten gold, autumn leaves caught in the afternoon light, the colour of sparkling cider in a glass.
Like a golden delicious apple. And his hair curled over the tips of his ears with an effortless perfection.
It was a rich coffee brown with sun lightened streaks from the summer just past.
I took a bite of the apple just to break the tension.
It was sweet with just a touch of acidity. My tongue darted out to swipe some juice off my lip and Jude’s eyes followed.
“Honeycrisp,” he said, his gaze lagging behind.
His hands weren’t on my waist anymore, but I felt the ghost of them. Now, they framed my body, holding tightly onto the ladder.
What will Jude Bramley taste like if I kiss him?
Like warm cider and pine, just like he smelled? Or sweet like the honeycrisp still dancing on my tongue?
I shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. I wasn’t touring the orchards for fun, I was learning about Autumn Creek to make this festival the best it could be. This place was Jude’s livelihood; it wasn’t some dreamscape where nothing mattered.
This was real.
And I couldn’t kiss my co-worker and roommate just because his eyes kept dipping back to my lips. Or because he was so tall that I had to reach him on a ladder.
I took a step down and broke the silence, hanging heavily between us. “I forgot to say thanks for the blankets earlier.”
He cleared his throat, stepping back. “It’s the least I could do. I couldn’t have you suffering down there like that.”
I barked out a laugh. “Suffering? Barely. But thank you.”
He turned to look down the row of trees. But I was still caught up in that moment. Maybe I’d imagined the intensity, the way it felt like time had slowed, so I shook my head to clear it. In reality it could have been one glance. A second of tension, and he was moving on.
I should too.
So, I started walking and joked, “There better not be anything else, though. You’ll spoil me.”
“Well, I did call the plumber. He’s just…” Jude made a noise that was half sigh, half groan. “Busy with burst pipes on another farm. There’s really only one guy around here. It’s just—”
A laugh escaped me. “Small town problems?”
“Yeah.” Then I swore I caught him smirk. “And maybe I got just one other thing.”
“No.”
“I’ve already ordered it,” he protested. “It’s for the apartment, not you. Don’t flatter yourself. Just something to keep the draft out of the doorway.”
“Fine.” A soft smile crept over my lips. I’d been living alone for a long time and hadn’t had anyone else there to do things for me. I was there for myself. If I was sick I made myself soup. And if I wanted a blanket I’d buy it.
I wouldn’t let myself get used to this feeling, but for now it felt nice.
“These are where the original crabapple trees on the property were.” Jude paused his steps waiting for me to catch up.
“That’s why my great-grandparents decided to start making cider here.
They made drinks and jellies out of the fruit, and my grandma loved to sit out here and paint the blossoms in the spring. You’ll have to see it, it’s beautiful.”
I hummed affirmatively. “It’s pretty nice now, too.” But we both knew I wouldn’t be here to see the flowers. “So these trees have always been here?”
“They’re descendants of the originals.” He peered over my head at the leaves. “They stop producing fruit at around forty years. These ones are grafted from them. But they make great cider so we had to plant more.”
I examined the small buds of fruit that looked unlike any apples I’d seen before. Much smaller and greener.
“Amazing.” I reached for my phone to snap a few photos for the Autumn Creek social media accounts.
“There’s more to see.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Never ending.”
He led me away from the crabapples, back toward the dirt road.
“That’s why I love it. I could never be bored here, there’s so much to see and take care of.
There’s stories and history everywhere, and not just on the farm.
” He shook his head and a few curls fell over his sun-touched skin.
“Anyway, I’ve already praised the town. You know I love it here. ”
I leaned into his arm, bumping his bicep with my shoulder. “I like hearing you talk about it. You’re…” I bit my lip as I tried to find the right word. “Passionate.”
It didn’t fully encompass the enthusiasm and connection I’d seen, but it worked for now. He was Autumn Creek, an integral part of it. So well intertwined that it was hard to describe.
“The town has always been there for me, even when it felt like I could lose everything.” He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it more firmly than usual.
“My family started this farm, but for a time they almost ruined it. Colt and I worked hard to turn it around after what happened. But the town held us upright, so we like to give back.”
“What happened?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, especially with my own touchiness about my past, but the words were already out of my mouth by the time my thoughts caught up. “Sorry, you don’t have to—”
“It’s all right, Harlow. I trust you.”
As we stood in the middle of the orchard, our eyes caught, and I nodded.
“My father Darren inherited the farm from my grandparents when they retired. It’s hard work, and as much as they loved it, they couldn’t keep up with it all anymore.
And, from what they’ve told me, they hoped their son would love it as much as they did.
” He sighed. “He lived here his whole life, but as soon as he was in control he got greedy, and it only got worse with time.”
My brows furrowed together.
“My mom loved the farm, though. She married into the family, but she cared more for it than he did on any day. She’d grown up buying apples from these trees and cartons of cider from the market, and they’d become high school sweethearts.
That’s how they met. Clearly, people change as they grow up, but she stayed and tried to balance him out, keep his narcissism contained.
After she passed away, he had no one to stop him. ”
Without realizing it, my hand reached for Jude’s. I squeezed it, but didn’t dare interrupt.
“Colt was thirteen and I was ten when it happened. He realized before I did how Darren was running the farm into the ground—making shortcuts on our recipes and firing anyone who questioned him, even if they’d been working here for longer than he had.
He cheapened our process that had taken years to perfect.
So many hardworking people lost their jobs because he didn’t want to pay their rates.
And he hid it all from our grandparents. ”
“But you’re good now?” I asked carefully. There was a tightness in my chest as I looked up at him. Every question I’d had about Jude Bramley suddenly clicked together. I completely understood why Autumn Creek loved him so much.