Sin and Cider (Sweet Sinners Book 1)

by Kimberly Reese

  Lawson

  “Lawson, when are you gonna let me ask your sister out?” Jude asks, his eyes and tone pleading for a chance.

  “Never, man. Ever. Even if I gave my blessing, she’d eat you up and spit you out alive. You know how she is. She won’t date anyone.” I say this in a joking manner, but my coworker knows I’m not kidding. There’s no way this guy is getting near my baby sister.

  “That’s just cause she hasn’t gone out with me yet. I’d change her mind.”

  “The answer is still no,” I say a little more seriously.

  He relents with a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll leave it alone. For now. Maybe I’ll ask out the pretty thing talking to her. Do you know who she is?”

  I turn and try to find my sister’s booth. It takes a second to locate her, and once I do my eyes zero in on the woman in question.

  “Not sure, never seen her before. Maybe she’s new in town,” I murmur as we both stare.

  I can’t see her face since she’s standing with her side to us, but judging solely off of her profile, I really like what I see. A lot. Tall and slender, mystery woman has curves in all the right places. Not overly curvy, but definitely not thin, her body is showcased in a tight t-shirt and jeans. My gaze travels up her body starting at her toes, and I decide this is a body I wouldn’t mind getting to know intimately. As I stare, I take in hair that looks long, smooth, and is the color of rich milk chocolate. I wish I could see her face.

  Before either of us can say anything else, mystery woman wraps up her conversation with my sister. As she turns and walks in the opposite direction, hair swishing and hips swaying gently with each step, I make a decision. Somehow, I’m going to find out who this woman is and introduce myself.

  2

  I’m pathetic. Day two back home on my self-discovery hiatus and I can’t relax. I wasn’t entirely sure what my plan would be once I got here, but I thought I’d start my day extra early with some yoga or meditation. Yeah, not happening. Not only am I more inflexible than I imagined, my attempts at meditation are laughable at best. I guess it’ll take some time to drop Chicago’s go-go-go mentality and adjust to the slower-paced lifestyle I grew up with. My failed relaxation attempts have resulted in me lying in my childhood bedroom, staring up at the Robert Downey Jr. poster above my bed. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with staring at some eye candy, but right now I have the overwhelming urge to do something. At the very least, I should probably eat.

  I decide to do something about my restlessness and head downstairs for a bowl of cereal before I see if my parents need help with anything. I figure they’ll need some assistance around the orchard. After all, apple season starts at the end of the month, and things will inevitably be hectic around here until just before the holidays.

  As I enter the kitchen the scents of homemade French toast, country potatoes, and bacon assaults my senses in the best possible way. This is much better than a bowl of cereal, and the familiar sight warms my heart. I didn’t realize how much I missed home until I got here.

  Walking around the kitchen island, I plant a kiss on my father’s cheek and snag a piece of bacon that’s still sizzling on the serving dish. Mmm. Easily falling into our old routine, I grab a carton of eggs from the fridge and start prepping them for scrambled eggs.

  “How many eggs, Papa? Half a dozen, so we each get two?” I ask.

  “No, sweetie. You better do a whole dozen. I called your brother over for breakfast this morning, and you know how he eats,” he chuckles.

  A smile lights up my face as I laugh along with my father. “Oh, I know how he gets. He’s lucky he has the metabolism of a five-year-old, or else I think he’d be the size of the house.”

  “Don’t you know it,” he agrees. “Shoot, that boy moved out years ago, and he still comes over almost every night for dinner. We’re not complaining because we love seeing you kids, but any day now I’m gonna tell him he needs to start buying the groceries.” This sets off a peal of laughter and leads into us reminiscing about my childhood.

  We continue to talk as we cook, and just as we finish setting the table, the sound of the screen door opening carries through to us.

  “I hope y’all didn’t get started without me!” my brother shouts from the hall.

  Squealing in delight, I tear out of the kitchen like a whirlwind and launch myself into my brother’s arms. “Granny! I’ve missed you!” I giggle into his shoulder.

  “I’ve missed you too Mac, although I can’t say I miss that old nickname,” he says as he returns my fierce hug.

  I pull away and tilt my head up to get a good look at him. Tall and lanky, he looks every bit the outdoorsman with his sun-kissed skin and light brown hair. The laugh lines around his eyes have grown a little more prominent with age, but the mischievous glint he’s had in them since we were children hasn’t changed a bit.

  “You’re lookin’ good...for an old man,” I tease as I ruffle his hair.

  With a laugh he picks me up and swings me around before setting me back down. “At least someone here looks good. You look like you just woke up and are wearing the largest set of pajamas I’ve ever seen.”

  “Hey now, don’t knock my style. You’re still dressin’ like one of those hipsters. Where’s your book of poetry and your fake pair of glasses?”

  “You stop that right now, or I’m gonna go dunk you in the pond. Actually, I’m just gonna go dunk you in the pond,” he says as he pretends to pick me up again.

  I laugh heartily at his antics. Just as I open my mouth to retort, the screen door opens again. Turning, my laugh dies in my throat as I get a look at who just walked into the house: Lawson Westbrook.

  What did I do to deserve this? Of course the man looks incredible, standing there in a worn flannel shirt and faded jeans that showcase his muscular thighs to perfection. He could be a walking ad for a line of lumberjack clothing and here I am, standing in taco-print leggings and an oversized t-shirt that does nothing for my figure. To make matters worse, I’m not wearing a stitch of makeup and my hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun. I feel like I’m a teenager again. My plan was to avoid seeing him, but now that I have I wish I looked more put together. I discreetly try and tuck any loose strands of hair behind my ears, and after seconds pass that feel like hours, he says something.

  “Mornin’, Mac. It’s been a long time.” His words are accompanied by a lazy, lopsided grin. I can feel my cheeks burn as I become a victim of his effortless charm. His gaze travels down my figure so quickly I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. I can feel hope spark from his discreet perusal, the tiny flame trying to come to life from the long-forgotten torch I carried for so long.

  When his eyes meet mine again he says, “It’s like you haven’t aged a day. What’s it been? Four, five years?”

  “Six,” I breathe.

  “Wow, time sure does fly. You look exactly the same.”

  “Thanks,” I choke out. “You look older. I need to make juice. See ya.” My words are awkward and stilted. Doing an about-face, I head back into the kitchen.

  I’m sure most people would be elated to hear they look the same as when they were eighteen. Me? Not so much. My little spark of hope effectively dies. It figures the man I was infatuated with for years would think I still look like a kid. I take out my frustration on some oranges I’m juicing, the smell of fresh citrus eventually calming me. I just have to get through breakfast, and then I can deliver on my plan to avoid Lawson for the rest of summer. Ignore him now, and completely avoid him later. This will be easy. I can do this.

  Five Minutes Later

  I can’t do this. So much for easy. Everyone is seated around the table and Lawson is directly across from me, his hotness trying to lure me in like a cowboy with a lasso. In between bites I sneak peeks at him, amazed that he still has the power to affect me. I’m fascinated by his shadowed jawline covered in neat scruff as he chews and the hypnotic way his adam’s apple bobs in his strong th
roat when he speaks. I wonder what other parts of his anatomy would look like bobbing up and down, like his—

  “Sweetie, did you hear me?” My mother’s gentle voice draws me out of my budding fantasy.

  “Sorry, Mama. I sort of spaced out there for a bit. I was thinking about some unfinished business I have in the city,” I lie.

  “Everything okay, baby?” Her voice is filled with concern.

  “Yes, nothing to worry about. What were you saying earlier?”

  “We were wonderin’ what you were going to be doing during your stay. If you need anything you just let us know and we’ll help you any way we can.”

  “I had planned on relaxing, but I think I’d like to stay busy. I actually miss working on the orchard. I’d love to get involved again, especially since business is about to pick up.”

  “Baby, we’d love that!” my father says with a huge smile that warms my heart. “We could always use a helpin’ hand, and it means we get to spend even more time with you.”

  “Great! I was also hoping I could help make cider this year. Will you be needing help with that, too?” I ask hopefully.

  A silence falls over the table as my parents share a look with one another.

  “What’s with the weird looks?” I ask.

  “Well, sweetie,” my father hedges, “we decided to not make cider this year...or possibly any other year.”

  I’m shocked beyond belief. “What? Why? The cider is a bestseller leading up to the holidays. Why stop doing something so successful?” I’m genuinely confused.

  “Business has slowed down a bit. Not to mention the barn isn’t fit for making anything at the moment.”

  “I just saw the barn. It looks like all it needs is a fresh coat of paint.”

  “That’s what it looks like, but there was a huge storm earlier this year and the roof was damaged. It’s just a lot of work when your Mama and I are getting up there in age. We’re lucky Lawson agreed to fix the barn, even though he’s got a lot of other projects going on this summer.”

  I look at Lawson and find that he’s staring intently at my face. Trying to keep my expression and voice neutral I ask, “You’re fixing the barn? By yourself?” I know I sound skeptical, but I don’t care.

  Not taking his eyes off my face he responds, a small smirk tilting his mouth up higher on one side, “Yep. I run my own construction company. I still have a full list of projects I manage and work on from time to time, but I come here to work on the barn if my team doesn’t need me. It’s slow work, but it’s still progress. The barn should be done by October.”

  October? That’s a whole month later than when we used to start making cider. I’m surprised by how disappointed I feel that I won’t get to help this year. It was one of my favorite things to do growing up, and I feel like summer won’t be the same without it. Before I can think about this even more, Lawson continues talking.

  “If you’d really like to make cider this year, you can put yourself to work and help me with the repairs so we’re done by early September. You help me with the clean-up inside the barn and with painting the outside—I’ll still take care of the roof—and I’ll help ya’ll with making cider. Whatever you need help with, I’ll do it.”

  I stare at him.

  He stares at me.

  My family stares at both of us.

  Finally, Smith speaks. Lawson and I don’t break eye contact.

  “That’s a pretty sweet deal, Mac. You want something to do. He needs help. You want to make cider. He’ll help you make cider. I say y’all partner up and do this.”

  He has a point.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal. When do I start?” I ask, determination in my voice.

  Lawson’s smirk grows into a full-fledged smile. Be still my heart. “How’s tomorrow morning sound?”

  “Let me check my schedule.” With barely any pause I continue, “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

  As I say this, Lawson leans forward in his chair and extends his hand to me. I hesitate a moment before reciprocating. It makes sense that we’d shake on this. I watch my hand as I reach out and have to stop a gasp from escaping my lips when our hands touch. I feel his warm grip all the way down to my toes, the callouses rubbing against my palm a reminder that he works hard and with his hands. His large, capable hands. Knowing where my thoughts could lead, I pull my hand back quickly and steer the conversation away from the existing topic.

  “So tell me Smith, what are you up to nowadays? Any fun stories from the Starwood Game and Fish Department?” I ask, knowing this is all it takes to set my brother off on a tangent.

  My brother, true to form, launches into an entertaining round of storytelling. As he talks, I try to sneak some more glances at Lawson but can see him looking at me out of the corner of my eye. He looks intent like he did earlier, but now his expression is tinged with what I think is confusion. I’m not sure what it means and, from experience, I’m sure I don’t want to find out. Although I’m excited to make cider, I’m rather nervous knowing I’ll be working in close proximity with Lawson all summer. So much for my plans.

  The rest of breakfast is uneventful, and eventually everyone goes their separate ways for the day: my parents to an appointment, Lawson and Smith to work, and me lounging with a book in a rocking chair on the front porch. As I gently rock and read, I hear my phone ping and excitedly text back when I see who it is.

  Langley: Hey girlie! You free Friday night?

  Me: Yep, no plans for this girl. What do ya have in mind?

  Langley: I’m thinkin’ we can go to Smokey's Bar.

  Me: That sounds fun. What’s it like?

  Langley: Good music, good drinks, and good-lookin’ guys. ;)

  Me: Count me in. What time should we meet?

  Langley: I’ll pick you up at 8 and we can head over at 9. It’ll give us time to catch up.

  Me: Sounds like a plan. Thanks for inviting me!

  Langley: Perfect! And girl don’t thank me, it’ll be fun. I’ll see you then!

  Me: See ya then! :)

  Finally, something I can look forward to. My new goal: survive the rest of the week working with Lawson.

  3

  Lawson

  Using my forearm to wipe the sweat off my brow, I survey my progress on the barn’s roof. The process has been slower than I would like since it’s a solo project, but I’m still pleased with how things are coming along. I should be done after a few more trips, which is just enough time to meet my internal timeline and help Mac with painting.

  Making my way down the ladder, I stretch to my full height once my feet hit solid ground. I raise my arms over my head, the incredible feeling of extending my muscles bringing relief after being hunched over for so long. I grab my canteen and take a long, cool drink of water before dumping the rest over my head. Damn, that feels good. I shake the excess off and start to gather my tools, ready to go home for the day. It’s still fairly early, just past six o’clock, and the sinking sun sets the fields and trees around me ablaze in fiery oranges and warm golds.

  I’m drinking in the scenery when I hear a soft grunt off to my right. Turning, I see Mac is carrying an armful of debris to the dumpster. Judging by the small pile that’s left over, it looks like she’s almost done for the day, too. We’ve worked together three days this week, and I’m impressed by her work ethic. On days when I’m not able to make it, I can tell she’s been hard at work because the areas in and around the barn, which have been sadly neglected for months, are looking better each time I see them.

  I head over to the small pile of leftover rubbish and hoist it into my arms, following in Mac’s wake. As I walk I think about our interactions since Sunday. When I first saw her I was awestruck by her face; it is really the only part of her that looks like it has aged. I remember I had walked up to the house per usual and was caught by surprise when I heard the sweet, feminine voice drifting out onto the porch. Smith had mentioned that Mac was in town, but I hadn’t expected her voice to be a little deep
er and a whole lot sexy. I headed up the porch steps slowly and silently watched her reunion with Smith through the screen door before I was overcome with the urge to move closer.

  She was so at ease with her brother, and her happiness was so obvious it was like staring at the sun. Her breathtaking smile momentarily stunned me. When I couldn’t stand waiting outside any longer and entered the house, her shock at having another visitor was almost comical. Her brown hair was in a messy pile on top of her head, and even though it was obvious she had just woken up, all I could see were wide, hazel eyes and full, pink lips. Free of all the crap women put on their faces, her skin looked soft and the flush on her cheeks made my cock twitch in my jeans. I gave her a quick once-over and was disappointed to see that she was as skinny as she was when she was a teenager. No matter how beautiful the face, I prefer to only touch women who have some curves. I’m a big man and don’t like the feeling that I could potentially break someone in bed if I’m not careful.

  I look ahead to Mac as she tosses the armful of trash away. Every day I see her she looks the same: hair up in a ponytail, dark blue coveralls that look like they could drown her thin frame, and sturdy work books. As she turns around her eyes find mine, her long lashes sweeping down as she visibly takes a breath before looking back up.

  “I brought the last of it,” I say as I throw away my small armful.

  She seems a little awkward as she shuffles her weight from foot to foot, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coveralls. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to.”

  “I know, but I’m done for the day. It’s no biggie,” I explain.

  “Oh. Okay. Well then I guess I’m done, too. Thanks, Lawson. See ya,” she replies as she heads off toward the house.