Page 51 of Flirty Fall Fling

“I want to see you again,” I admit.

“Tell me when,” he murmurs.

“Midnight,” I manage.

“Is that our witching hour?”

He kisses down my neck. It’s so damn filthy, and I want more. But he steps back, straightening his jacket while I try to remember how my legs work.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says. “When you see me in the orchard, you can’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He steps forward and tugs my bottom lip into his mouth. “Like you want to fuck me.”

“Mmm. I do.”

He groans like I hurt him, steals one last hard kiss, and steps back. “Go. Before we get caught.”

I walk back toward the doughnut line, buzzing from head to toe. Josie is three people from the front.

“Perfect timing,” she says. “I think I’m going to get three.”

“Me too. They’re so good. I dream about these suckers in the spring and summer.”

We move up to the window and order half a dozen with two cups of coffee. Within seconds, we’re being handed warm rings straight out of the fryer.

Josie lifts the cinnamon sugar bread to her nose and inhales. “This is heaven.”

“Wait until you taste them.”

As soon as she does, a moan escapes her. “Damn.”

We eat and walk toward the hayride. By the time the tractor arrives, we’re licking the cinnamon and sugar from our fingertips. My only goal today is to give my little cousin the official fall season kickoff tour. We ride around the orchard, learning the history I’ve heard a thousand times. We drink cider that tastes like October. Josie photographs everything—the colorful trees, the peaks with their new dusting of white, me mid-bite with sugar on my chin.

We’re deep in the row of Honeycrisps, baskets half full, when Josie freezes mid-reach.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispers. “That’s him.”

I drop the apple in my hand before I even spot him.

“That’s the guy you helped,” Josie says, waggling her brows. “The one you did all those private lessons with.”

“Sessions. They were sessions.”

“You can call them whatever you want, babe. He paid you a fortune to spend time with you. I even clocked that.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Go say hi.”

“I’m not going over there.”

“Blaire, look at him,” she says. She’s already fluffing my hair like a pageant mom.

Doris Jean, Autumn, and now my own cousin have tried to hook me up with this one man. Every matchmaker in three counties has been assigned my case.

“He’s a client,” I say.

“He was a client. If it were me, I’d go chat with him. Sexy man in an apple orchard, alone, picking apples. Look how small they look in his hands.” She elbows me again.

I glance over at him, and his hands do look huge. She shrugs and drifts down the row with her basket in tow. I stay where I am, reaching for the same apple twice.