Page 47 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

He opens his eyes, but he’s still wincing. “There’s something I should tell you. Something I should have already said before we…before we did all that.”

“Okay?”

He takes a steadying breath. “I’m not planning to stay. Once my insurance money comes through, I’m leaving Apple Valley.”

Chapter Ten

Now it’s my turn to back away, although Logan’s thighs are still pressed to my legs, my waist on his rib cage. The words—he’s leaving, he’s leaving—are substantial enough to occupy the slim space between us.

He grimaces at my expression, then drags his fingernails across his beard. “I’ve inherited a lot—a business, duty, expectations. But not once in my life have I said, ‘I want this.’ That’s what Mason says, anyway. And he’s right, unfortunately. Somewhere along the way, I stopped letting myself imagine a different life than the one I already had. There was work to do, my brothers depending on me. No use wanting something I couldn’t have.

“Then, after the fire, Mason started asking all these questions. Ones I didn’t know how to answer. Stuff like: If I could start fresh, where would I go? What did I want for myself before Mom left? Questions I haven’t let myself think about in a long, long time.”

Logan swallows, glancing at me again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have. I would have if things didn’t…Like I said, this moved fast.”

I nod, stomach twisting, even though I understand what he’s saying. His life has been shaped by tragedy, by burdens thrust on him by the two people who were supposed to make his life easier, not harder. He’s forfeited his entire life to theirs. It’s only fair that he should choose his own path—or get back on the one that he would have been on, if it hadn’t been taken from him.

And he’s right about something else. This has moved too fast. He’s been back in my life for only a couple of days. I just broke off an engagement.

“Where will you go?” I ask.

“As many places as I can, I guess. Maybe start driving west, and when I hit the ocean, go south. I’ve never been to California or Mexico. I’ve never seen the Pacific Ocean. When the insurance settlement comes through, I’ll have the money to do it.”

“Oh,” I say. “And, um…”

He tilts his head.

“I just thought…I was thinking about your art,” I say. He hasn’t mentioned it since he came back to the farm, so it feels slightly awkward for me to be the one to bring it up. But it still seems too important not to ask. “Drawing. Painting, I think you said you wanted to try, once you could get better supplies. Is that part of the plan?”

He reorients, then exhales, like an uncomfortable laugh. “Sounds a bit juvenile now, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” I say quietly. “I mean, maybe it could use some refinement. Specifics. But I don’t think being passionate about something is ever juvenile.”

“No?”

“No. I fell in love with this land when I was a kid and, well, like you said. When you love something, you hold on to it.”

Logan stares at me for a beat too long, and despite the warm water, I shiver. “Well. Either way. It’s a bit late for that particular dream.”

I smile back even as my stomach twists and I want to insist—insist—that my body stop reacting this way. I have no hold on this man. He gets to decide what dreams he has or doesn’t. He has the right to drive straight to Mexico without an ounce of reaction from me.

Clearly my throat does not find this convincing because my voice comes out tight as I say, “You deserve it. You deserve to be happy.”

Logan blinks hard and his hand rises like he’s going to reach for me, but then he thinks better of it. He drops his arm. “I want you to know that no matter when I get the money, I’ll wait to leave until picking is finished. I’ve made a commitment and I’m a man of my word.”

I nod, glad for this, but the truth is I wasn’t even thinking about harvest. I should be, though. My family’s legacy is riding on me.

“Right.” My nose pricks. This is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. “Thank you.”

My phone alarm screams, startling us both.

Grateful for the distraction, I leap out of the now still pool, bolting onto the bank to retrieve my towel. I shiver as I wrap myself in the material, made stiff and coarse from years of line-drying. My skin is goose-pricked all over, maybe not only from the breeze.

When I turn, Logan is standing more than an arm’s length behind me, his towel slung around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ali.”

“You did nothing wrong,” I say mechanically.

“I shouldn’t have let myself get close to you like that. Not without telling you the truth.” He inches toward me and I clutch the towel tighter. Logan tenses, then retreats. “I never want to hurt you. I’m worried I already did once, when my mom left and I didn’t know how to talk about it. And I’m sorry about that. And now I’m doing this again, when you’re in a difficult place—”