the ones I had at Harkness. So the homework starts piling up almost immediately. It’s a good thing I only have four academic classes: a senior seminar on reproductive biology, a history course on voting rights in the twentieth century, an English course, and an upper-level statistics class.
Because I also needed a phys ed course to meet Burlington University’s requirements. This came as an unwelcome surprise. “At least there won’t be any homework,” I’d grumbled to Rickie.
“I’ve been putting that off, too,” Rickie had said. “Any ideas on what you’ll choose?”
“Um, I was considering badminton,” I’d admitted. “It sounds easier than weight training, or swimming, or any of the others.”
Rickie had laughed. And then he’d signed up for badminton, too. So now on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, we’re swinging at birdies together. And Rickie wears a vintage tennis outfit—a tight polo-collar shirt with sleeves short enough to show off his tats, and a pair of short white tennis shorts—just to troll me.
So that burden has become a blast. I don’t know what’s more surprising—enjoying my phys ed requirement, or the fact that Rickie is the one who makes me love it so much.
It’s hard to deny how important he’s become to my whole life. I’m not the only one who appreciates him, either. It’s been eye-opening to see him in his natural habitat. People just turn up at the house on Spruce Street every Thursday and Friday night. They bring booze and pot and music. He’s magnetic, and I’m not the only one who notices.
Yet I’m the one he kisses every time he comes home. It’s a little mind-blowing.
Meanwhile, I’m still working Wednesday afternoons at the School of Public Health.
“We’re going to need you at karaoke again,” Karim points out during the third week of school.
“Weeknights are for homework. Besides, you’re not interested in my singing,” I point out. “You just want Rickie there.”
Jenn giggles. “You may be right about him. But I want you there, Shipley. Boyfriend or not.”
And I’m pretty sure she means it. I’ve made friends whether I meant to or not. Go figure.
Life in Burlington—and on Spruce Street—is a whole lot nicer than I expected. Just to keep up the appearance of my independence, I sometimes sleep in my own room. But just as often I end up in Rickie’s bed. All night long, too. Waking up to his naked body curled around mine is heaven. Sometimes, when he smiles at me, I just want to pinch myself.
Honestly, it’s a problem. Rickie is on his way to becoming the first man I ever really loved. He’s already the first one I’ve ever trusted with my heart. And if I ever get these grad school applications done, it’s not going to be easy to walk away from him.
But I know I’ll have to.
As promised, I drive back home to the farm with Dylan and Chastity every Friday night or Saturday morning. The orchard hours are not helping with my workload. I should be writing my grad school essays instead of picking apples. But Griffin is so grateful for the help. And my mother is happy to see me.
Besides—I’ve been away for so long that I’d forgotten how good the cider house smells when my brother is pressing apples. The last time I experienced that was the weekend I rode home with Rickie from Harkness. That was almost three years ago.
“Bet you don’t miss the pony cart,” my brother says one afternoon as we sort apples for the farmers’ market.
“You’d be right,” I agree. When the Abrahams moved away, they’d sold the horses. So now the apple pickers actually have to walk to where the Honeycrisps grow.
“Me neither,” he agrees. “They’re pooping their way across someone else’s farm now.”
I snicker. “And we don’t have to argue about that job anymore.”
“Right. Really appreciate having you here, though,” he says, tossing a wormy apple into the compost can. “Means a lot, Daph.”
“No problem,” I say quickly. “Wish we could get even more of this done before tonight.”
He gives his head a little shake. “We’re doing fine. It’s nice having you around again. Here and in Burlington. That’s all.”
“Really?” I blurt out.
My brother laughs. “Really. We weren’t always trying to drown each other in the baby pool, right? We had fun sometimes.”
“Yeah. We did,” I admit.
“You could stay in Vermont longer than a year, you know. Just saying.”
I lift my head to argue with him. But I’m not fast enough. He’s already grabbed his empty bushel basket and walked off, whistling