asks, eyes twinkling. He drops his hips onto mine in a meaningful way.
“This…whatever this is,” I say, trying not to rub my body against his like an affectionate cat.
“Whatever this is,” he repeats. “Do you want to put a label on it?”
“Not really.”
He laughs, and I love the sound of it. “You’re hard on my ego. What if I want to put a label on it?”
“Which label?” I reach up and run a hand down the V-neck of his T-shirt. I’m not even a little bit hard on this man’s ego. I can’t stop touching him.
“You are my girl, Shipley. My woman. My person. You belong to me.”
“Huh. Did you put it that way to see if I would throw a feminist fit about your possessive words?”
His eyes twinkle. “No, I put it that way because I feel very possessive of you, in a completely enlightened, nonstifling way.”
I snort.
“We’re dating, Shipley. You aren’t onboard?”
“I’m onboard,” I admit.
He grins. “And, since you asked, your brother did not give me a hard time. Except that he told me to be careful with you, because something was obviously not going right in your life. And did I mind telling him what that was?”
I stop breathing. “Did you tell him?”
“No way, Shipley. I told him to ask you. Not that he liked that answer. So he asked me if there was some guy he needed to beat up. And I said, again, he needed to speak to you directly. But also maybe he should work on his uppercut and his left cross.”
“Wow, okay,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Your brother said he’d get in a few hours of practice with the heavy bag at the gym. From where I sit, your family is a bunch of cool, slightly crazy people. They’re just looking out for you.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we’ll work on my family next,” he whispers.
“Okay.” I know things are strained with his dad. “Good plan.”
“Meanwhile, you’re going to move into my house. We’ll have to think hard about who’s in which room. For privacy purposes.”
“That should be a consideration.” I smile up at him, hoping he’ll kiss me for real now.
But he’s still talking. “The third floor is kind of far away from me. But then you wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with your brother. Chastity has dibs on the empty first-floor bedroom. But maybe you two should discuss a swap.”
“Really—I don’t care which room it is. It’s only for a year.”
“So you say.” He smooths my hair. “Either way, you’ll save money. And even though you’ll be busy rebooting your life and applying to grad school, I’ll still get to see you at home.”
“That’s true.” And, yup. It does sound pretty nice.
“We’re going to have a great year, Shipley. Hard work and good times,” he says.
And revenge, I mentally add. Because I haven’t forgot my big plan. In a few weeks, I’m going to make Reardon pay.
But Rickie isn’t thinking about that at all. He finally leans down and kisses me slowly. His lips tease and press.
And I forget all about Reardon Halsey.
For now.
Thirty-Six
Rickie
“Oh my God, my arms are so tired,” I complain. “It hurts to hold the steering wheel.”
“You want me to drive?” Daphne asks.
“Nope.” I accelerate past a Hyundai and gun it toward Burlington. “Just like to complain.”
She laughs. “Such a whiner. Can I put on Purple Rain?”
“Sure.”
She pushes the cassette into the player. Prince starts singing “Let’s Go Crazy.”
We’re in my Volvo, with a load of Daphne’s clothes and books in the back seat, and I’m counting down the exits. This is it. School is starting again. I had a great summer with my girl, and—apart from my muscle pain—I feel pretty great about life.
Daphne had been slow to pack up her room, so Dylan and Chastity drove the truck back ahead of us. Tomorrow we’re all registering for fall courses. Then there are two days of classes before we go back to Colebury to pick apples again.
The last three weeks have been crazy busy. I have mad respect for the Shipley clan, especially Dylan. I always knew my friend was a hard worker. But I never quite understood what the busy season meant for him. It means picking the earliest apples from sunup to sundown, while also preparing the farm for an invasion of tourists. Meanwhile, the cows and goats still need to be milked.
And August is just the start. There are miles upon miles of ripening apples in that orchard. As the season progresses, they’ll