He could no longer deny he cared for her. The way her direct gaze and honest turn of phrase challenged him only drew him in. He wanted to break through and understand what made her smile and laugh and why she carefully guarded each word, as though using them too frequently would cheapen their worth. Watching her teach Bass how to sanitize her equipment and about the balance of flavors warmed his heart, and he realized that despite her vocal dislike of children, Bass had wormed his way into her heart. He was fascinated by how she could fix anything at the orchard from Elliot to a sick tree. And that kiss, brief though it was, would forever haunt his dreams.
He had never imagined he’d find someone who challenged him this way. Paige had always needed a protector, a guardian. Without him, even after they had divorced, she required his assistance with paying bills, getting to work when her car broke down, and even keeping food in the fridge. She was helpless. Sanna needed no one. If she spent time with him, it was because she chose to be there, no other reason. He wanted to be by her side, living in her passion for Idun’s, helping her in whatever way he could. If that meant spraying trees, or hauling crates of bottles, or cutting her hair in a much too small bathroom, he wanted to be there for her—not because she needed him to be, but because she wanted him to be.
But even with all his wishes and wants, he knew nothing could come of this feeling. He grinned a bit at the thought of her deciding whether he was worth her time. Instead, he’d do whatever she needed of him before the season ended. He’d leave her and the orchard in a better place than he’d found them and it would be enough.
With his face inches from hers, her eyes popped open.
“Is something funny?”
He should pull back, but her perfume or shampoo or lotion or whatever the source was kept him there. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. Her breath picked up, her eyes on his, and he couldn’t find any words to speak. He inched closer, his newly formed resolve crumbling. Who knew he was so weak? Sanna’s eyes flicked to his lips as his fingers let the strands of hair drop from his fingers, and he moved his hands toward her face. She tilted her chin up to meet him.
“Are you done yet? Dinner’s ready,” Bass said, his body appearing in the doorway.
Isaac froze, then let his fingers run through her hair one last time before standing straight again.
“Just making sure it’s even.” His voice cracked. “We’ll be there in a minute, Minnow.”
Bass disappeared, and Sanna’s eyes followed Isaac in the mirror as he slowly removed the towel from her shoulders, using a corner to wipe a few errant hairs off her neck. The skin on her nape pinkened where he had touched her. He set the towel on the counter and stood behind her, gazing at her steadily in the mirror.
“All done.” He took a step back, escaping the pull of her.
Sanna moved her head back and forth, looking at the new cut from all sides. She stood and turned, the stool between them.
“It’s the best haircut I’ve ever had. Don’t tell my dad.”
She smiled at him. A real, full smile. The tension eased now that he didn’t have his hands on her. If he could maintain some physical distance, then maybe he could stick to his resolution not to complicate the growing friendship between them.
“At your service, madam.” He bowed his head. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.” She left, and Isaac could hear Einars making a fuss about her haircut.
Isaac picked up the towel and shook the strawberry-blond trimmings to the ground, where he carefully swept them into a dustpan and then into the trash. It was simple. He couldn’t be that close to her again or he’d have to kiss her, and not the peck she’d given him, a real, long, slow kiss. He shoved the towel into the clothes hamper and took a deep breath, letting his nerves relax. He could hear the chairs scraping at the table as the small group sat down. Before leaving the bathroom, he brought his fingertips to his nose. They still held the scent of Sanna. Just like that, the pull toward her felt even tighter than before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Einars hobbled down the stairs in his new, below-the-knee fluorescent green cast, though he still wore a pair of his sweatpants cut for the long leg cast, exposing several inches of pasty-white thigh. His right arm was newly cast-free.
At the bottom of the steps, Sanna held the door open for him with one hand and carried a glass of lemonade in the other. “Pa, you look ridiculous. Why didn’t you wear a pair of shorts?”
“These have plenty of wear left in them.” He pulled the material on the right leg to above that knee to match the cutoff left side. “There, is that better?” He winked at her. He was getting sassier—that must mean he felt good.
He gingerly walked to where Sanna had set up a lawn chair on their patio, where the August afternoon sun was still bright. He settled himself into it, stretching his long legs in front of him.
“Not really.”
Sanna set down the lemonade on a side table next to the latest mystery her dad was reading.
“Bass and Isaac will be here any minute. If you don’t go with them to the fish boil, I’m calling Mrs. Dibble to come over and make dinner,” Einars said.
“But—” Sanna said.
“Dammit, Sanna. The three of you have been working your butts off for the orchard, while I can barely outrace a snail. I want to do something nice for you and celebrate the sun and fresh air on my upper thigh and arm for the first time in seven weeks . . . by myself. Besides, they’ve never been, and you can’t come to Door County without going to one. And don’t pretend you don’t enjoy spending time with him. I have a broken leg, I’m not blind. There’s money on the counter.”
“I’m not leaving you alone for an entire night. What if you fall and no one is here to help?”
Einars picked up his phone.
“I have her on speed dial.”
“Ugh. I’m starting to think you did more damage than we thought when you hit your head. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
She stomped inside to grab her keys and the hundred-dollar bill he’d set aside, and flew down the steps, letting the screen door slam for emphasis. That man . . . She’d seen him watching her and Isaac when Isaac was cooling off her burn, and when they came out of the bathroom after her haircut. And then the labels. She couldn’t stop herself from hugging him, thankful the darkness had hid her deep blush when his lips traced the curve of her neck. She didn’t know what made her happier, the discreet caress or the labels. No one had ever done anything so special for her before. She’d always intended to make her own labels, but the ones he’d designed were more beautiful than she had ever imagined. Her face blushed just thinking about the haircut.
Outside, Isaac and Bass pulled up in Isaac’s tiny car. She’d never fit in that thing, but before he could try anything stupid like opening her door, she got in and regretted it immediately. Her knees were tucked against her chest, exposing the backs of her thighs to the air before she could tuck her dress behind her knees. Her head bumped the soft top of the roof.
“Bass, I told you to move the seat back,” Isaac said. “The controls are on the side.” He turned to give his son a look as Bass giggled in the backseat. Sanna fiddled with the controls until her head separated from the ceiling and her knees didn’t bump the dashboard. Then she turned to give Bass her best stern expression.
“Hell hath no fury like woman stuffed into a tiny car.” Then she gave him a quick wink. “Let’s hit the road before I get a leg cramp.”
Isaac smiled. He’d been doing that more lately. At the first intersection, Sanna pointed the direction they needed to go, but he was already turning confidently toward the restaurant.
“You’re starting to know your way around. Soon you’ll be swearing about tourist drivers like the rest of us.”
“Oh, he’s already doing that,” Bass volunteered. Sanna and Isaac shared a glance and burst into laughter.
Her mind automatically wandered to all the things she needed
to do at Idun’s, but she stopped herself. Tonight was about enjoying their hard work, from the tree maintenance to the cider making. She planned to bottle another batch of cider soon and had counted the bottles they’d labeled in preparation. She should have waited, but she was so eager to see the beautiful labels on her bottles.
“Bass, I meant to ask, when you moved the cases, did you take out any of the bottles? A few of them were missing when I checked today.”
“Nope. I didn’t open them. I just moved them where you told me to.”
Huh? That was odd. She must have not been paying attention—considering all she had on her plate these past few weeks, that wasn’t much of a surprise. She pushed thoughts of work from her mind and enjoyed the back-road scenery, suddenly so glad she had conceded to come on this outing. Well, glad that Einars had insisted.
“I haven’t been to a fish boil in years,” she said as she unfolded her limbs from that tiny car.
“Why do they call it a fish boil? That sounds gross,” Bass said as they walked around the building to the patio where all the action would take place. Isaac stopped at the outdoor bar to get them both something to drink, leaving Sanna to explain. Smoky air wafted from the large fire in the center of a short brick wall circle. A large pot hung over the blaze with a woodpile stacked neatly at the edge of the circle. Huge hostas with leaves the size of watermelons edged the cozy courtyard, mingling with flowering day lilies. Black metal tables covered by festive red umbrellas dotted the large flagstone pavers, with a door leading to a snug dining room decorated like a bed-and-breakfast with a Swedish flare.
“It’s a tradition started by the Scandinavian settlers. It was a practical way to cook a lot of food for a lot of people at the same time, plus it makes an awesome fire.”
Bass bounced on the balls of his feet while he took in all the details.
“Cool. It’s a bonfire with food.”
Isaac returned with wineglasses and set a kiddie cocktail in front of Bass, who immediately devoured the cherries. Sanna took a sip, expecting a white wine, and looked up in surprise. It was cider—a lovely, dry cider.
“It’s from a local cidery. What color?” Isaac asked.
“Nothing. I don’t see anything when I drink other ciders, only mine. I think it’s because the apples come from our orchard. I’ve never tried to make cider with anyone else’s fruit.”
She took another sip. The taste was pleasant enough, but without the color it may as well be water. People filled the tables around them—mostly small families with kids, older couples. Everyone watched the older gentleman wearing a smeared white apron who did all the cooking. It was Mr. Smoot, a longtime friend of her dad’s. He gave her a nod of recognition right before he dumped an entire bucket of red potatoes into the boiling cauldron of water, then added a huge scoop of salt.
“What’s the white stuff?” Bass asked.
“That’s the salt. The fish boil here is just four ingredients: water, salt, potatoes, and whitefish from Lake Michigan. Some places add in corn on the cob or onions, but I like their simple approach best.”
“So what happens?”
“In a little while, they’ll add another basket that’s full of whitefish and more salt. As the fish cooks, the oil will rise to the top. They have a special trick for removing it you aren’t going to want to miss. It’s the best part. Then we go inside, fill a plate, then pour warm melted butter and lemon over it and eat until we’re stuffed.” Sanna’s stomach growled. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed fish boils here. Rustic and delicious.
As they waited for the fish to cook, she answered Bass’s and Isaac’s questions, but saved the best part as a secret. When everyone began to gather around the cooking pit, Sanna maneuvered Bass to the front so he could have a perfect view for the grand finale with her and Isaac behind him. When Mr. Smoot splashed the kerosene on the fire, it caused the fish oil to boil over the edge of the pot into the fire, making a huge flare—like a fireball. Bass jumped and the crowed oohed as one. Isaac slid his hand around hers during the commotion. The heat from the intense fire singed her skin, but that didn’t explain the searing where his hand touched hers.
“That was baller!” Bass said, and turned to look at her and Isaac when the flames died down a few moments later. Isaac released her hand, but the warmth where they had touched lingered.
“Were you two holding hands?”
“I can hold Sanna’s hand if she says it’s okay, right?” His eyes flicked to hers and she knew he hoped she’d play along.
“Absolutely, and I said it was okay.” And it was. Like every time he touched her, holding his hand tortured and soothed her senses. The crowd shuffled around them, and they merged with its tide into the dining room to load their plates with potatoes and whitefish and drench it all in melted butter and lemon. She showed the boys how to remove most of the bones at once by carefully lifting off the top fillet of fish, then peeling out the spine, which—when you did it right—brought all the smaller fish bones with it. The meal ended as it should, with a slice of Door County cherry pie and ice cream.
“Mrs. Dibble’s pie is way better,” Bass said, though he shoveled it in with no problems, even helping Sanna with hers while he thought she wasn’t looking.
• • • • •
The waitresses rushed from table to table, hustling to get the dining room ready for the next wave of patrons already congregating outside on the patio. She knew most of them by sight, having seen them at the Pig, or Shopko, or even at Idun’s buying apples.
Stuffed with the good food, all three of them reclined in their chairs to patiently await the bill as the tables around them emptied. Isaac and Bass rubbed their bellies and compared whose was bigger, taking turns “ho-hoing” like Santa to see whose impression was better. She loved how Isaac played with Bass without acting like he was playing. They just had fun being themselves.
A shadow crossed the table, and Sanna looked up to see Thad towering over them. She did her best to not vocalize the ugh she thought, but she couldn’t stop her smile from sliding off her face. Thad was a mud puddle when compared to Isaac’s dazzling rainbow. It wasn’t that she disliked him or wanted him to cease existing, she just didn’t feel anything much for him—only that ditching him had made her life cleaner.
“You’re dating him now?” Thad asked without even the common courtesy of a hello, his jaw clenched and eyes pinched. She’d known him her whole life, and he’d never been boorish before—boring, yes, but not rude like this. Of course, she’d never spent time with another man who she wasn’t related to. Was he jealous? She looked up at him as if he were a worm squashed on the bottom of her boot. How could she get rid of him without this turning into a scene?
“You’re making assumptions. The three of us are having a fun night out, my dad arranged it for us.” Thad’s eyes pinched more.
“So your dad set you up? He’s your pimp now?”
How dare he say something so nasty! Sanna stood, causing the table to rock and a little cup of melted butter to spill, leaving a greasy trail across the tablecloth. Thad’s eyes widened as he was forced to look up a few inches to maintain eye contact. “Never, ever speak to me like that again, Thad Rundstrom.”
For a moment she thought he would slink away, properly intimidated. Instead he straightened as tall as he could and smirked in her face.
“People are talking all over town about you and him. Mrs. Dibble has you all but married.”
“Everyone knows Mrs. Dibble exaggerates to make a story.”
“People are laughing at me, Sanna. They all know I proposed to you. How do you think this looks?”
He grabbed her upper arm for emphasis, squeezing it tighter than necessary. Isaac flew to his feet, knocking the table, sloshing water onto the already spilled butter. Sanna held her free hand up to hold Isaac back, then used it to remove Thad’s hand from her. She resisted the urge to bend his fingers backward. To think she had once dated this fool.
“I don’t care how
it looks. After this, I almost hope people laugh at you. I have always considered you a good friend and a good neighbor. There was even a soft spot in my heart for you as my first boyfriend, but I clearly never knew you. You’re spiteful and mean when you don’t get your way. Don’t ever talk to me again.”
She pulled a bill from her pocket and set it on the table deliberately.
“And your mom’s casseroles are disgusting.”
With that, she strode toward the exit. Given the amount of chair shuffling she heard, she knew Bass and Isaac were right behind her. That last comment was beneath her, but it had felt good.
Mr. Smoot stood near the exit, getting ready to cook for the next round of diners. As she passed him, he caught her eye and whispered, “Good call.”
Outside the door, Sanna paused to let Bass and Isaac catch up to her. Without breaking stride, Isaac gently took her hand, and they walked to the car side by side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Eva unrolled the new plans across her hotel room bed, the tube they’d arrived in rolling across the floor. She picked it up and set it on the bed, which took up most of the small room. Even though she had lived in this room for the last few months, it still looked pristine. She kept her clothes and suitcase put away, her computer was precisely in the center of the desk, even her toiletries were kept in a neat case she tucked in one of the corners. Everything in its proper place.
Using the pillows, she anchored the paper so she could free her hands and study the new drawings. She’d asked the WWW planners to design a new layout incorporating her ideas, something she’d never done before. Normally, her father made all those calls, but she wasn’t sure he’d approve the changes, so she went around him. She knew that if she had asked his permission, his response would be to send her Patrick. And this was going to get the deal done.
The Simplicity of Cider Page 19