19 BEN
BEN
“Right. So is the goal to get the most apples or the best-looking ones?” I ask.
“Boss, for the millionth time, this one isn’t a contest. We just pick apples.”
“Why?” I frown.
“For fun, of course,” she says, with zero enthusiasm. I mirror her disgruntled expression as she goes on. “I know, it’s a weird tradition but they’re supposed to be super fresh right off the tree. Plus, when we see them at home we can think, ‘look, I picked that.’”
“And that is supposed to be superior to ‘look, I DoorDashed that?’” I ask.
She laughs.
Hell, yes. Score another one for me.
She laughed all night long last night at stupid Ameri-Mart.
I cannot believe we bought out the entire women’s section of that store for so few dollars.
But I suppose I can. Not exactly the finest quality.
Still, Janie was happy and the press ate up every moment of us shopping, quote, Like real people.
After our experience at what’s called Self-Checkout I’m not sure I want to be “real people.”
I went along with it at Janie’s insistence but also had Samantha pick some designer clothes for her as an “early Christmas gift.” The woman needs a real winter coat, for one thing. And real boots with Italian leather.
Honestly.
She laughed over dinner too. Only called me gross once.
Only rolled her eyes twice. I was starting to think maybe she’s growing friendly, fond of me even.
But when we arrived home after our shopping she said she was tired and disappeared into the guest bedroom without so much as a “Goodnight.” And this morning she only appeared downstairs in time for one grunt over coffee before it was time for this activity.
Two steps forward and a few back, I suppose.
And, I don’t need her to be fond of me, right? Right.
I just want to be a good friend. I’m keeping up my end.
“Eh, we’ll just do it for the photos,” she says, handing me a big basket.
“Speaking of,” I start, wagging my eyebrows.
She just glares at me, clearly not looking forward to our planned kiss.
We agreed we needed to get at least one mouth-on-mouth image in circulation.
Even Dad asked me about some sort of trouble in paradise after the neck incident. “Come on, let’s find the best spot.”
“I mean, there are a few of those,” she points to a photo backdrop set up for families and those Instagram influencer people.
“No, not that,” I say.
“Okay, then where?”
I smirk at her, “I’ll know it when I see it. Something that will look real.”
“Can you see it sooner rather than later?” And before I can tease her about being eager, she adds, “ To get it over with. Please.”
“Pff,” I huff back, “I’m a bit infamous for my moves, you should be thrilled. It’s me that’s concerned. What if you’re a crap kisser?”
“A risk you’ll have to take,” she sighs, not letting me goad her even a little bit.
We walk for a few steps then get started, picking apples from a line of trees near the entrance.
I wasn’t charmed about this activity out in the trees for a couple hours when we could be inside having a coffee.
But now, as I’m watching Janie in front of me, I realize Apple picking is a lot of reaching and bending over.
And below our newly-purchased matching dark flannel jackets, she’s wearing possibly the world’s tightest leggings.
So. I rather like apple picking after all.
“These trees up front are all pretty bare,” she says.
I nod and follow her further into the tree farm.
Under a huge willow tree outside of the grove, she pauses, drawn to the trunk. She reaches out her hand, admiring what looks like a very old carving of initials. She’s so damn gorgeous.
I quietly step up behind her. “Here.”
“Wha—” she turns and realizes how close I am. I drop my basket and grab hers. My left hand covers her right on the big basket handle.
“This is where, if this were real, I’d drop my basket, and pull you to me,” I put my right hand on her waist and tug. She falls into me easily. “Because you look so unbearably lovely here in the shade, this tree around you like a canopy, it’s like a painting. I would just have to stop.”
I dip my face closer to hers, slowly. She’s frozen, just breathing, watching. I have to be careful, gentle. I don’t know if I’ve ever been with a woman who spooks so easily. One quick move that she’s not ready for, and she’ll grimace for all the cameras.
“I’d tell you how delicious your mouth always looks, even when it’s frowning at me, how badly I wish we were alone, so I could do what I want to do to you, here under this tree.”
“Wh-what do you want to do to me?” She whispers.
“Dirty, filthy things. But we’re not alone. So, I’m only going to kiss you now.” I say the words onto her lips, feeling her fast breaths mingling with mine. And I hesitate. Which I never do. But she…I just…I should just check…“Okay?”
“Ok—”
Thank God.
I press my mouth to hers.
She melts. She’s soft and smooth and warm and she’s…responding. I can feel her fingers gripping my shirt in her fist.
Yes.
Janie Janie Janie yes yes more more
I open my lips just a tiny bit, just to suck on her, push down her walls.
She…
She just moaned.
Thank you God, again!
I moan back and push into her even more, until she’s backed against the tree trunk. I move my hand from her lower back, up to her jaw. And, like I would’ve asked her to, begged her to, she arches her back like she wants more.
And hell, I want to give her more. I keep kissing her over and over, barely resisting the urge to lick her lips, to open her up to me.
My hand starts to travel back down of its own volition, ready to grip her glorious backside, but I manage to stop it.
I can hear the creepy paps walking in the leaves nearby.
If I’m going to take her mouth with my tongue like I want to, squeeze her ass and…other things, it’s not going to be for an audience.
I pull away, eyes still closed, mouth still on her, I say, “Like that.”
“Uh huh,” she says. I open my eyes and hers are still closed. I’m so relieved I could kiss her again. Relieved that it’s not just me. That she’s…affected. Finally. She’s feeling something too.
I mean, not that I’m…feeling… shit.
“Well, yeah, right. If this were real,” she says, opening her eyes and throwing up all her emotional shields. She tries to flee but I still hold her head.
“Don’t run away.”
She recoils, defiant, “I’m not.”
I motion my chin over her shoulder and she looks.
“You can run away in disgust when no one’s looking, love. Remember, this is to redeem that sexy neck of yours.” She rolls her eyes and almost smiles. “Come on, tell me it wasn’t totally gross.”
“It was fine.”
“Ah, fine. The stuff of sonnets.”
“You said it yourself, you’re world-renowned.” She pats my arm with a big fake smile and breaks out of my hold. “You don’t need praise from me.”
I nod and clench my jaw to keep myself from begging her for exactly that. She starts walking and I follow. I shake myself.
Come on, Ben, chin up. You saw her body reacted, she can’t fake that. Even if she doesn’t like you, she’s attracted to you. None of it’s real anyway. Get a grip, man! Honestly!
We reach a section of larger trees and Janie says something about the best apples being up high. I’m too focused on reliving the way she arched her body into me to really hear what she’s saying.
“W-wait,” I finally sputter, when I realize what she’s about to do. “You’re not climbing up that thing.”
“The ladder? Here for that exact purpose?”
“That’s not a ladder, that’s a scrap of old wood pieces.”
She waves me off, “It’s fine, just hold the bottom.”
“You’ll break one of your absolutely fantastic legs. I can’t bear it.” I say, but she’s started to climb the rickety thing anyway. I jump forward to grab hold of the bottom.
“It’s so weird the way you do that,” she says.
“Do what?”
“Just say compliments like that, like…earlier. You can’t genuinely mean all the nice stuff you say but somehow, a lot of the time, I actually believe you.”
I frown, “Why would I bother saying something I don’t mean?”
“Uhhh…to get people to like you?”
I chuckle, “Darling, don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people like me just fine.”
“Right and it couldn’t possibly be the darlings and the loves and the compliments all the time.”
I pause and consider that. “I don’t know, in my world, everyone calls everyone love and darling. Mate, angel, those names are just the norm.”
She stretches high into the tree and I want to appreciate the view but I’m too worried about the bloody ladder. She gives up on a bright red apple out of reach. She looks down at me, “And all the fake compliments?”
“Trust me,” I make a show of looking at her legs, “I meant every word about your legs. They will be the death of me. And I’ve meant everything else I said. Why would I lie? I have a good thought, I say it out loud. I feel good, you feel good, everyone’s grand. Am I missing something?”
“Huh,” she says as she climbs down. “I guess not. It’s just so different. Most people don’t just say the nice stuff out loud. Not without a reason, a motive, you know?” She hops down off the last two rungs, making me flinch. She grins, like she did it on purpose.
Cheeky.
I smile down at her, “Nice is good.”
“Eh, not always. Sometimes nice is fake as hell,” she steps away, back to being as distant as ever. “I’ve got to find a restroom, I’ll be right back.”
“Alright,” I say. She walks out of sight, probably aware I’m watching her go and maybe even swaying her hips a bit more as she walks. When she’s gone, I look up the ladder. That big red apple she couldn’t reach taunts me. I’m taller, I could easily reach it.
I start to climb.
_____
“I’m fine,” I tell a group of concerned townsfolk who, unfortunately, saw the ladder take its plunge. Or maybe they heard me scream. It was a very deep, manly scream, though, so probably not. Nigel rushed out of the shadows and so did one of his men.
Aunt Kim is here with a gaggle of little old ladies, two of whom claim to be retired nurses.
Steven, half of the gay couple from the scarecrow contest, says they’re lying just to get their hands on my leg.
While he claims up and down that he’s a paramedic.
“I’m fine,” I say again. If anything, it’s a little ankle sprain. It barely even hurts.
“Ben? Move, Excuse me!” A voice that sounds similar to Janie’s cuts through the hubbub.
“I said excuse me! Ben? Ben! What the hell!” It is her.
She reaches me and…if she’s feeling concerned about me, she’s masking those feelings as, based on her scowl, blind rage.
“So, I can’t get on the ladder but you can?
What did you do, go and break your leg? What if I like your legs, you big dummy?
“Steven, get your pervy hands off of him, one year of nursing school does not make you an EMT! Did the paparazzi see? This is just great, now we have to go to the ER and they are going to have a field day with this, Benedict. A FIELD DAY. Ugh, seriously. If the ladder is not safe for me then it’s also not safe for you! What is wrong with men?”
She continues ranting as she helps me up. And as she barks orders for people to get ice and a post to use as a crutch. And as she yells directions to the hospital for Nigel while she climbs into the backseat with me.
She’s rambling and mean and quite unhinged.
But I’m struggling not to smile. Trying not to beam with delight like a fool, really. Because she is genuinely worried about me.
And she called me Ben.