by Marina Adair
“You made a spreadsheet?” Hawk said, not impressed.
“It might not have all the color-coded girly shit you do, but it makes sense, and the numbers are right.”
While Luke handled the production and partnership, his friend was the numbers guy. Hawk was shrewd, discerning, and so tight his shoes squeaked when he walked. A side effect of living with a father who blew rent and groceries at the track. Not that Luke was complaining. Hawk’s penny-pinching ways had allowed them to turn a barn-house hobby into a verifiable business.
“Apple supply will be tight, but we have just enough produce hanging on the trees to fill the first order.” Luke pointed to the bottom column. “Then we use the money from that to buy more apples for the California rollout in December.”
Hawk studied the numbers, and when he came to the same conclusion as Luke had, he gave a big sigh. “I see how this can work, I do.” Hawk looked up and Luke could sense the big but that was coming. It was in his friend’s eyes. “But I don’t see where these apples are that you plan on buying for the second shipment. Every hard cider company in the country is scrambling to find enough apples to keep up with the sudden upward demand.”
Heirloom apple shortage was the biggest concern facing the cider industry. There just weren’t enough cider apples to keep up with the new consumer trend. With four hundred percent growth over the past five years, the few apples that weren’t spoken for were selling for double their value. Which made expanding expensive.
Luke pulled out a stool and sat down. “I put in a call last week to Bay View Orchards. I knew that the father passed away over the summer, and it turns out his family is looking to sell the property before harvest ends.”
Hawk let out a low whistle. “Fifty acres of Yarlington Mill and Kingston Black apples would be a game changer for us.”
It was also the key to fulfilling a promise Luke made to his dad right before he passed.
Bay View Orchards wasn’t just home to some of the most sought-after apples in the country; it had once belonged to Paula and Orin Callahan. His mom used to say that she could spend a lifetime sitting on the front porch swing, looking out at the bay, and sipping cider with Luke’s dad. Although the latter part was impossible, Luke was determined to grant her the first wish.
“The family doesn’t want to deal with the harvest, which makes them motivated sellers.” Luke rattled off the price the family was asking and Hawk laughed in disbelief.
“The bidding might start there, but once word gets out about that many heirloom apples coming on the market, a war will start and drive the price way up.”
Luke rested his elbows on the bar top. “Good thing I have a first right of refusal.”
“Go on.”
“When we originally sold the property to Old Man Stark, I insisted that one be put in. He knew how hard it was for me to sell, how much this property meant to my family, and agreed to a sixty-day period. After that, the Starks are free to put it on the market.”
Luke knew enough about contract law from his time in corporate development to ensure that if there ever was a chance to get his mom’s home back, then he would work the contract in their favor.
“And you’re okay with Two Bad Apples owning the property?” Hawk asked, but Luke knew he was really asking if Luke wanted him to be a part of the deal.
It was his dad’s dream to make a high-end cider that could rival reserve wines. He’d perfected his recipe, too. Then cancer struck, and struck hard, robbing Orin of his dream, his family of their legacy, and Luke of his father.
The loss in itself was almost unbearable. That Luke had been living in Seattle, pursuing a career and life as far away from the farm as he could be, and not there for his dad when he needed him most still burned. The memory alone brought that deep, dull ache of regret back, as fresh as if the funeral had been yesterday. He remembered the call, how frantic his mom had sounded, but by the time Luke made it home, his dad was gone and the family business nearly bankrupt.
Luke made a vow that night never to let his family down again. “That’s how my dad would have wanted it,” Luke said to the man who had been more like a brother to him than a friend. “You are as much a part of the Callahan family as anyone.”
Emotion thick in the air, Hawk gave a tight nod, then took a moment to study the numbers a second time. Even though he took another pass, Luke knew his friend was in. Knew the moment Hawk saw the same promise Luke did, saw what this deal could mean for their company, and what this land could mean for his family.
Hawk cleared his throat. “So you think Rogers will go for a later release in the California market?”
“I know he will.” Luke smiled—he knew it was smug, but he didn’t care. His trip had been enormously successful, and it felt good to see how the end would play out. “I told him it would be a reserve label hard cider, specially crafted from some of the most sought-after apples. Nothing but the best for his premiere locations in San Francisco, Beverly Hills, Hollywood, and Tahoe. It was what he needed to hear.”
“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?”
“When you have the skills to back it up, it’s called confidence. And with the money that we get from the first rollout, we can buy Bay View.”
Hawk filled up two frosted mugs and handed one to Luke. “To that one stupid decision that changes everything.” It was the same thing Hawk had said that fateful day after school when they’d broken into Old Man Whittaker’s garage to steal his vintage Playboy collection. They managed to find a copy that was post-1969 when Old Man Whittaker surprised them. Whittaker had been looking for his December 1953 issue, Luke wound up grounded for the rest of the semester, and Hawk showed up for school the next day with a black eye.
But their friendship had been cemented.
Luke lifted his mug. “No regrets. Just forward movement.”
They both took a hearty drink.
Hawk laughed and shook his head. “Man, I wish I could have seen the look on your mom’s face when you told her she was getting Bay View back. I guess that’s why she and Fi sold the shop.”
Confusion hit hard, followed by an uncomfortable twisting in his gut that left Luke slightly off balance. “My mom’s on a cruise and I’ve only been gone a few weeks. When the hell did they have the time to sell the shop?”
“The new owner moved to town a few days after you left,” Hawk said, his smile missing as well. “They sold it to some big city cutie with a sweet little smile. I thought you knew.”
Oh, Luke knew exactly the cutie in question. Understood now why she’d been so skeptical.
What he didn’t understand was why his aunt had sold Sweetie Pies. To an outsider. Without consulting him first.
“Jesus,” he said, the knot in his gut tightening to the point of suffocation. He didn’t have a clue as to the nature of the contract, which, if created by Fi, was probably written on a pie tin in lipstick. What if she granted the new owner the accompanying three acres of apples to go with it?
Three acres that could cost him his mom’s land.
Chapter 4
Saturday morning, Kennedy flipped the sign to OPEN and walked behind the counter. The sun had yet to show itself, but a soft yellow glow touched the rooftops of Main Street, illuminating the historic clock tower that sat in the middle of the town square and reflecting off the light dusting of frost that had settled throughout the night.
She had already been awake for over four hours, baking for the past three, yet she was vibrating with energy.
Today marked the official first day of the apple harvest in Washington. Come lunchtime, the downtown area would be buzzing with tourists and locals alike, all seeking out the best apple products in town. Kennedy was certain her pies would top people’s MUST BUY list. She’d even baked double the quantity, throwing in a delicious pecan pie recipe she had picked up when her grandmother had taken her to Magnolia Falls for the Miss Pecan Parade.
With crust under her nails, flour on her apron, and enough cinnamo
n and nutmeg to pass for a Thanksgiving dessert buffet, she was ready for harvest to begin. Her shop looked amazing and smelled even better—thanks to Paula and Lauren, who had braved the early morning to help her prepare.
Placing an old-fashioned lace-top apple pie on the antique platter in the window, Kennedy added a vase with apple blossom branches to the side. She was arranging a small basket of Sweetie Pies’ famous apple turnovers to complete her display when the front door jangled, then opened.
“I’ll be right with you,” she said brightly.
“No rush, I’m just admiring the display,” a husky and amused voice said from behind.
A warm sensation spread through her body and Kennedy convinced herself it was irritation and not attraction she was feeling. Because being attracted to a man who used charm as a weapon, even if his smile had enough punch to make her nipples sigh, was just irresponsible.
And Kennedy hated irresponsible.
According to her results, she needed someone who was loyal, understanding, intellectual, and exceled at verbal communication. A nice guy. Not someone who stole pies, spoke in bro-bonics, and relied on his charm to get ahead.
Adopting her most professional look, Kennedy turned around, and sweet baby Jesus, punch wasn’t the right word. The man was packing enough alpha swagger and testosterone to obliterate all the oxygen in the room. Even worse, Luke was hot.
She hadn’t seen it the other day because she’d been thrown off by his smart-ass smile and starched entitlement. But towering there in the doorway, looking cocky and mouthwateringly irritating in a ball cap pulled low and a pair of aviator glasses, she couldn’t deny it.
Gone were the suit and tie. Today Mr. GQ had put on his Rugged Rancher uniform of worn work boots, faded jeans, and a soft cotton tee that stretched across his chest—highlighting muscles that Kennedy didn’t even know existed.
His biceps flexed.
“Good morning, sweetness.” The way he said sweetness had something entirely inappropriate pulsing below her belly button. And as if she didn’t already have enough to deal with, it wasn’t purely irritation.
“I didn’t expect you to show.” She looked at the time on her phone. “Especially this early.”
His grin was slow coming, but mesmerizing. “If you didn’t expect me to show, it means you were thinking about me.”
She ignored this. “Well, you could’ve slept in, I already hulled the nuts.”
Luke didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked confused by the idea of not being needed. To prove her statement, Kennedy pointed to the pecan pies in the window and smiled. It had taken her more than a simple Captain America maneuver of the other bag to get the nuts into the machine, but she had managed.
He paused for a long moment, then that grin grew. “Since you’re so capable, maybe you can help me with mine.” His eyes fell to her NUT BUSTER apron and lit with amusement. “I prefer a soft touch, though.”
He said it as though she were actually interested in his preferences. Which she wasn’t. Not one bit.
Kennedy had a business to run, a life to fix—things to accomplish. And nowhere in that list did it include knowing a man’s preferences. Or caring. So with a deliberate eye roll, she wisely went back to her display.
“Okay, seriously, I promised you I’d hull the whole bag,” he said. “And I always come through on my promises.”
“Yes, well you’re a man, which means everything you say is up for interpretation.”
“Then you’ve been spending time with the wrong kind of men,” he said quietly.
Damn, that was a good answer. Sweet and completely endearing. A trait she hadn’t noticed when he was stealing her pies.
Maybe she’d missed more, something deeper, because what kind of man showed up at 8 a.m. on his day off to help someone hull nuts? Not any kind of man Kennedy had ever met.
Then again, Kennedy wasn’t looking to meet a man; she was looking to build herself a future. Find her happy place.
“Thank you, but your help is not needed.”
With a parting smile, Kennedy headed toward the counter, giving him a clear sign that this conversation was over. In typical male fashion, he did the exact opposite of what she wanted. He followed her.
“Have a nice day and come again,” she deadpanned.
Unsure what to do when he didn’t head toward the door and instead came even closer, Kennedy picked up the stack of autumn-themed pie boxes she’d ordered last week, and started assembling them.
“You have to serve me before you can tell me to come again,” he said lowly.
A ripple of heat pricked her skin. Blaming it on the turn-of-the-twentieth-century wood oven in the back, Kennedy looked up and smiled her most professional smile. “What can I get you, sir?”
“Hmmm, there are so many options,” Luke said, taking his time to catalog each and every option. Too bad he wasn’t looking at the display case. He was looking right at her, his gaze laser focused, so intense and full of male appreciation, she began to squirm. And heat. “But today, I’d settle on sharing a piece of pie. With you.”
Kennedy swallowed hard, partly because she was flustered. No man had ever looked at her like he wanted to savor her slowly. But mostly she swallowed because there was something about this man that made her wonder what it would feel like to be savored slowly. By him.
“And by pie, you mean sex?”
“Aw, sweetness, is that big city for you want to have a sleepover? With me?”
Luke flashed her one of those grins that were full of promise and short on accountability. The kind that charmed women out of their panties and into bad decisions. The kind that guaranteed an epically amazing night and an even more epically lonely morning. It was the kind of grin to which smart women were immune.
And enduring or not, Kennedy was always smart. Sure she’d had a lapse in judgment with Philip, and was a glutton for heartache when it came to her mom, but she was past that now. She was moving into the icing phase of her life. And nowhere in that recipe was there room for someone like Luke.
“You are so predictable.” She picked up a bag. “Now point to the item in the case that you want, I will put it in this bag here, then you can go back to your day, and I can go back to mine.”
“Can’t do that. Not until we have a little chat.” Luke pulled out a chair and sat down, sprawling his legs out and making himself right at home. “Recently, your days and mine have somehow become intertwined.”
He kicked out the chair across from him. When she stared warily at the chair, like if she were to take a seat, it would be agreeing to dessert sex, he added, “Strictly professional. I promise.”
He held up the Scout’s honor sign and Kennedy regretted snorting earlier, as doing it again now would only be repeating herself.
She looked at the time and, with a resigned sigh, grabbed one of her caramel apple breakfast cakes, two forks, and took a seat. “You have ten minutes until my next batch of pies are ready.”
She handed him a fork, which he took with a victorious grin. After savoring his first bite, that grin of his turned to pleasant surprise, and finally blissful pleasure. Kennedy knew her cake was going to be a hit—it was too good not to—but it still gave her a small burst of pleasure to see someone taking joy from one of her creations.
“Oh my God. This is incredible. It tastes like…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Luke took another bite, savoring it. “Halloween.” He took another bite. “Yeah, a Halloween party.”
“It’s my caramel apple breakfast cake,” Kennedy said, remembering the first time she’d tasted it. “My grandma took me to a Halloween fair in town and we saw all these kids walking around with giant caramel apples. The woman selling them was a friend of Gram’s, and offered me one for free, but I had just gotten braces.”
Luke grimaced. “I tried taffy and braces once. Not good. Managed to rip out every bracket in one chew. Ended up picking apples for three months solid just to pay my parents back. I imagine
caramel would have the same outcome.”
“That’s what I told the lady.” Kennedy had been devastated, not because she couldn’t eat the apple, but because her mother had been a no-show that Halloween. Leaving Kennedy nothing more than a giant green pea without a farmer.
Momentary sadness swept over her but she shook it off, reminding herself that it was in the past, and her present and future were up to her.
“The next morning when I woke up, Gram was in the kitchen, and a warm caramel apple breakfast cake was cooling on the counter.” Kennedy smiled at the memory, at how once again her grandma had made something sweet out of a bitter moment. “She wanted me to have the same experience as everyone else.”
Wanted her to know she was loved and didn’t have to miss out on the sweet moments of life just because she’d been dealt a sad hand.
Kennedy looked up and found Luke staring at her with warmth, and maybe something as horrifying as concern. That’s when she realized that her eyes were a bit misty.
Startled, and a little embarrassed that she’d shared so much of herself with a practical stranger who made a habit of breaking into ladies’ shops, Kennedy reached for her fork. At the same time Luke reached for his. Their fingers brushed and a zap of awareness danced up her arms and Kennedy finally knew where that happy place had been hiding all these years.
Stupid happy place.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Well, there’s the obvious,” he said, looking at her hands, which she had crossed over her chest in a defensive stance.
“Strictly business, remember.”
“If you say so.” When she said nothing, Luke sat forward. “Then let’s move on to my apples.”
Kennedy didn’t know if she was more shocked or disappointed. Of all the possible reasons she could have imagined he had for stopping by, pitching her on his apples was not one of them. She may have been caught off guard at their first meeting, a situation she wanted to avoid happening again, so she’d taken it upon herself to do her homework.
Not that she’d had to dig deep. It seemed news of Luke’s homecoming was the talk of the town. According to Proud Auntie Fi, Luke ran one of the largest apple orchards in the state and was co-owner of a hard cider company. According to everyone else, Luke was successful, secure, sexy, and the best catch in nine counties.