Page 92 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

“He’s lucky I love him so damn much,” Logan agrees, following after me.

Mason’s spot for breakfast burritos is a graffitied yellow school bus with a chalkboard specials menu leaning against a wheel. A woman in a trucker hat takes our orders from a window framed by sunflowers. At Mason’s insistence, we all order the breakfast special and find seats at a reclaimed wooden park bench. With the bus doors flung open, we’re serenaded with vibey folk music and occasional curses from the chef.

It’s the kind of place Liv would have loved.

There was a time that I would have reflexively shut down that thought. But now? It’s sad, but it’s also okay that it’s sad. Sitting here in the dappled fall sun, sipping hibiscus tea, I let myself feel loss and pain even as my chest purrs because Logan has a knee pressed to mine.

“So,” Mason says as he sops up some salsa with a chunk of potato. “Last night. Did I distract you or did I distract you.”

Logan’s gaze slides to mine. “Distracted might be putting it mildly.”

Mason chokes and pounds a fist against this chest. “All right, man, that’s enough information.” He’s still smiling, though. “And you, Ali? Sufficiently distracted?”

I want to make a joke, but the truth is I feel the weight of this question. Maybe because I haven’t forgotten Mason’s missile-like assessment of my problems. I have been distracted, but there’s also so much waiting for me back in Apple Valley. The downed branches. The ruined fruit. All the bills I haven’t opened yet.

I’m not sure there is a distraction big enough to stave off my feelings.

Logan must have read my expression because he grabs my knee and squeezes.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

I swallow. Although I’m grateful for the sentiment, I’m not sure that’s a promise anyone can keep. Even Logan. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

Mason’s head moves back and forth, attention pinging between us.

“I’m not leaving until we do,” Logan says, full of confidence.

“You might not have a choice,” I say quietly.

“Ali. Nothing is going to force me away.”

Mason sets down his coffee cup. “I’m sorry. ‘Force’ you away?”

Logan frowns and I bite the inside of my cheek. When we explained the curse to Mason—how it affected my family, his mom, how it makes people leave—we never mentioned Logan could be part of it, too. Although, even with his leg pressed against mine and his fingers on my knee, it feels presumptuous to tell his brother that a generations-old curse could tear him from me because we might fall in love.

Or, in my case at least, because the fall already started.

Neither of us has spoken. Mason has a fork dangling from his fingers, breakfast forgotten. Clearly, he puts two and two together because he says, “The curse has nothing to do with Logan leaving Apple Valley.”

I glance at my hands. “We don’t know that.”

Mason snorts. “I do. I know that. Logan has wanted this for years and always found a reason not to do it. He said he’d go after high school. After I left for college. After Dad died. Now he can. The business is gone. Andrew and I are grown. He has the money. That’s what’s changed. Not some curse.”

Logan lifts a shoulder. “Other things can change, too.”

Mason drops his fork. “What the fuck does that mean?” When his brother doesn’t say more, Mason tips forward, elbows on the table. “I’m serious. What exactly could change your plans?”

Logan’s gaze moves to me, sidelong. A tingle works up my neck as I busy myself with a bite of eggs.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Logan growls, then says low, like the next part is only for me, “but my feelings could change.”

It’s like he’s hummed those words directly into my sternum.

Mason takes a swig of coffee, his lips processing a frown as he swallows. “I see.”

“Now let it go.”

Mason stares at his brother for another beat before turning to me. His unbridled attention is about as uncomfortable as it looks from afar.