tromping through an entire orchard rather than just ringing the bell. And then, unsummoned, an image of Darla being carried on a litter by a group of Nubian slaves… .
He found himself ridiculous—stuck in a box of his own making, rejecting the one who appealed and spending every weekend with the one who was not right for him, though he had desperately wished she could have been. But it was hopeless. She was hopeless.
She was waiting in the kitchen. “Going to get an early start?” he asked Darla.
“Since you’ll be busy all day, I’ll get the drive behind me. I look forward to next weekend. It sounds like such fun.”
Tom mentally tried to calculate how many more weeks she’d be in Davis, close enough to spend every freaking weekend at the orchard. “Let me go up and grab your bags,” he said. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Long ago,” she said with a smile. She turned to Maxie, who was stirring a giant pot on the stove. “Thank you once again, Maxie. Your hospitality is unsurpassed.”
“Always a pleasure, dear,” she said. “Oh, by the way, the next two weekends? There will be lots of company. I hope you love a crowd.”
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Staying over,” Maxie stressed. “Some of my girlfriends from around the mountains are coming. We’ll be packed in here.”
“It sounds like fun!”
“Good, then.”
Tom, chuckling and shaking his head, headed up the stairs. He managed the four designer bags in two trips, loading up her trunk. He drove her to the gate, opened it while she transferred herself to the driver’s side. She slipped her arms around his neck, stood on the toes of yet another pair of boots to give him a brief kiss. He was planning his email in his head—Darla, rethink this idea of spending the weekend during the apple festival. If Maxie’s friends are coming, you might end up on a cot in the cider works. And if you pick at your food, they might tie you down and feed you. They’re old, but they’re strong and bossy.
He went back to the house, to the kitchen, having been called by wonderful smells that he hoped weren’t being prepared for dinner.
“Whatcha got going there, Max?” he asked.
“Chili,” she said. “It’s getting so cold, so wet, I thought maybe I’d put it in the break room on a warming tray along with some disposable bowls. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll do that for you, after I’ve had a couple of bowls right now. Crackers? Shredded cheese?”
She lifted one thin brow. “Side of beef to go with that?”
“Make it a big bowl,” he said. “Then I’ll see if I can go pick the rest of your apples for you.” He waited patiently while she fished around in the cupboard for a large bowl, grabbed a bag of shredded cheddar out of the refrigerator and a box of crackers from the pantry. “I’m going to make corn bread to go with this but I sense you can’t wait for that.” She placed it in front of him with a spoon.
“Can’t wait,” he confirmed. “So? Company’s coming? Who?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” she said, sitting down at the table with him. “I never have any trouble rounding up friends.”
“I see,” he said, crumpling crackers on top of his cheddar-laced chili. “You haven’t invited them yet.”
“I’m going to do that straight away.”
“Why? We’re usually awful busy on apple festival weekends.”
“They’ll come early, help with baking, all that stuff.”
“That’s not why,” he said. “Damn, this is good, Maxie.”
“Thank you.”
“So? Why?”
“I’m getting tired of Miss Picky Pants. If you marry her I’m going to kill myself.”
His smile fought hard to get out, but he held it in. “What if I’m completely in love with her?”
She rolled her eyes and clasped her hands together as if praying for strength. “I’ve had a good life…”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He leaned toward her. “Maxie, do you ever think about retirement?”
“Of course. This is my retirement. I don’t work nearly as hard as I used to—Junior manages almost everything. At least he did until you came home.”
“Ever thought about selling the orchard?” he asked.
“No, I thought about you selling it after I was dead. I felt kind of bad for Junior and the others, but by the time I’m dead, they’ll be