“I wouldn’t say angry. More like disappointed. Like Dad says, ‘It’s all for the best, and we should be grateful.’ At least here, the original owners stayed on to run the farm. It’s corporate owned but locally operated, so they can still do all this fun fall stuff.”

“Your family didn’t want to do the same?”

“We could have, but my folks wanted me in town to be close to school. Also, I think my dad is too proud. Farming is a lot of backbreaking work just to line someone else’s pockets.”

I smiled. “I like the way your dad thinks.”

Dex plucked two large, sturdy baskets from a mound of baskets and barrels piled against the barn wall. He passed one to me. “You ready, city girl?”

“Lead the way, farm boy.”

We filled our baskets with a variety of apples, chatting and snacking along the way. Dex was right that Honeycrisp was the best, and I think I had eaten more than I’d gathered when he pulled me behind a tree, out of sight of other apple pickers, and surprised me with a small kiss. The tingle I always got at his touch shot through my whole body, and my lips smiled under his.

Finally! We should have been kissing for weeks.

I stood on my tiptoes as if it were possible to bring our mouths even closer together. It wasn’t exactly a make-out session, but it was sweet, and I noted that apple tasted even better on Dexter’s lips than off the tree.

When we pulled apart, faces flushed, he peered into my basket and tutted. “You’re falling behind. That’s not even enough apples for half a pie.”

“I don’t bake.”

“I’m not surprised.” He smiled. “But my mom does, so load up, and I’ll make sure to save you a slice.”

We split up to finish filling our baskets, and I wandered far enough that I reached the edge of the orchard, where the neat rows of apple trees gave way to more natural forest of tall, knotty trees with fat leaves and soft green undergrowth. A century of hunting had made me a half-decent navigator, and I knew if I kept walking straight through these woods, I would cross flat brown fields and trek over a series of rolling hills before finding myself back at the cottage.

There were no walking paths in this wild little forest, but I noticed a break in the trees to my left that caught my attention, and when I looked a little closer, I could see a line that seemed to cut through the underbrush where a path may once have been. I set down my basket and followed the line to a small clearing, overgrown with ferns and wildflowers and poison ivy.