My abusive asshole father was the reason I got the hell out of West Bend as soon as I turned eighteen. He died a few months ago, and the world is a better place for it. I don't give a shit that he's dead, except that my mother supposedly committed suicide after that.
My father's death makes sense to me – the medical examiner ruled it accidental, a contusion to the back of the head. Shit, there was nothing unusual about that. The man was a drunk, a mean one, and stumbling around and falling into things was par for the course for him.
But my mother, killing herself? After the man who made her life – and ours – a living hell was finally dead?
Shit, that just hasn't sat well with me. After all that time she stayed with him, why would she kill herself when he finally died?
I should be long gone from West Bend. Instead, I'm here for now, for reasons I can't explain to this girl, Autumn Mayburn, who comes from old money. Bourbon money. Yeah, I went home and searched her on the internet last night. Even if I didn't read what I read about her family's bourbon company, I'd be able to tell by the way she carries herself – sure and certain of every step she takes. She's classy.
And I'm as far away from class as you can get.
"Luke?" Autumn asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.
"Yep."
"You don't have someplace else to be?"
"Nah. I'm here in West Bend for a little while," I say. "Taking some time off."
Autumn looks at me for a long moment, and I think she sees right through my flimsy statement, but she doesn't probe any further. She just nods. "Okay. My gain, then." She pauses. "I think."
I clear my throat. "What are you doing with this place, anyway?"
Autumn laughs. "You mean how did I wind up running an orchard? That's kind of personal, don't you think?"
"No. I meant, what are you doing with this place, as in what are your goals?"
I walk beside her, and she doesn't laugh this time, instead looking at me out of the corner of her eye. "Why are you asking?" she says.
"I noticed some things, walking around here, things you could be doing different with the orchard, planting more efficiently."
"You know about orchards?"
"I know trees," I say. "I worked for the forest service right out of college. You should hire a foreman who knows trees, you know. This being an orchard and all."
Autumn sighs. "Yes, I realize. I was in a pinch, hiring the last one. I just needed someone to manage the employees out here."
"Anyway, it matters if you're thinking bigger harvest, more production, that kind of thing. Spacing trees and things like that."
Autumn nods. "Okay," she says. "Show me."
We spend the rest of the morning walking down rows of trees, going out to the edges of the orchard, and I give her my take on things, point out changes I think might increase production when she's planning her planting again. The fire didn't damage much, hitting some of the trees that had already been harvested, and I tell her how she should replant the burnt areas more efficiently.
She tells me about her plans for the cidery, how she's in local restaurants and shops, but planning to expand in the next year, looking for placement in larger restaurants and craft brew stores outside of West Bend.
We walk and talk, and I find myself surprised by her knowledge of the orchard and her obvious love for it. When she shows me the cidery, she lights up as she talks about the brewing process and the different variations she's trying.
She's taking me through the cidery, and as she talks, I can't hear the words coming out of her mouth any more, because I'm too busy watching her lips open and close. Those soft, lush lips. When she gestures toward something, half-facing me, it's all I can do not to grab her and push her up against the wall.
"Luke?" she asks softly.
"Autumn," I say, her name rolling off my tongue. Autumn. I think about how her name would sound coming out of my mouth when I'm fucking her, and I immediately regret it, because my cock goes rock hard and if she looks down, that's what she's going to see.
"Stop looking at my tits," she says. But she doesn't sound annoyed. In fact, her voice is breathy. It sounds more like an invitation to look at her tits.
"I'm not looking at your tits." Now I'm lying, because I'm obviously looking at them now that she said something. They're pretty fucking amazing tits, actually, her cleavage visible at the top of the v-cut of her t-shirt. When she inhales sharply, her chest rises, and my cock throbs at the sight.
"Liar," she says softly.
But when I step closer to her, she doesn't move away. "I think you want me to look at your tits."
The corners of her mouth turn up, just slightly. "Of course you think that."
I don't know what it is about this woman. I've known her all of two days, and she just seems to have a way of getting under my skin. "I think that, because it's a fact."
"You think that because you're the kind of guy who thinks every woman in the world wants him," she says.