Page 55 of Roommate
“Oh, man,” she says. “I hope it’s over soon.”
“You and me both.” I stir the apples in the water with a big wooden paddle, while the machine clanks away.
Before I was born, my father decided to leave the Shipley orchard and raise beef. He was already having back trouble, and he had the idea that a beef operation would require less of his body than apples and dairy cows. So he found our land in Hardwick and his father helped him finance it.
And it worked, I guess. He does all right. But I’ve always loved the orchard and my grandparents’ farm. August and Ruth always made me feel welcome here, even if I feel like an extraneous Shipley. An outsider. Whenever someone local hears my name, they say, “Oh, I’ve heard of that fancy cider. That’s your family?”
I can never decide whether to say yes or no. Because it is and it isn’t. And the people who ask about it have no idea what they’re really asking.
“Hey, I got a jam in the hose,” Griffin says. “Shut ’er down a minute?”
I skirt the edge of the cider press and pull a lever that stops the machine from pulling new apples into the hopper.
Griffin pokes at his ancient equipment, humming to himself. I glance out the doorway of the cider house. In the distance, the bonfire burns, and, in a nearby chair, my grandpa gestures wildly with his fork, telling one of his tales. My cousin Daphne is setting desserts out on a table.
The fire’s orange flames are reflected in Audrey’s shiny hair as she walks toward the cider house, talking a mile a minute to someone beside her. “This is where the magic happens. We press apples from September through the springtime, but most of the heavy lifting happens between October and Christmas…”
When they’re close enough that I can see who she’s talking to, my stomach does an unfamiliar swoop and dive. And then my skin flashes hot everywhere. Roderick. He’s here.
The two of them pass by the door, as Audrey shows off the oak barrels that are used to age the cider. It isn’t until a moment later that I finally remember to breathe.
This is new for me. And I don’t mean getting naked with a guy and coming in his hand, although that’s new, too. The really new thing is feeling so stirred up and wild inside.
Today I had the day off from the bakery, but I spent all my free time thinking about Roderick’s mouth on mine and the heat we made between our bodies.
It wasn’t just that I liked it—which I totally did. It’s that I didn’t realize I was capable of letting go like that. He thrilled me with his bold hands and wicked mouth. He surprised me with his tight, fit body and his flashing, desperate eyes.
But I surprised myself even more. First I told him what I wanted. That never happens. And when he showed up to give it to me, I made the most of every second. I kissed him like the world was burning down, and I held nothing back.
Before—during every other one of my admittedly scant sexual experiences—I’d felt like an outsider looking in, an observer in my own life. Should I put my hand here? Does she want me to unzip this? Does that moan mean I should stop or keep going?
Last night was on another level entirely. Never mind that I’d never gotten off with a guy before. Lust made me confident. Heat made it easy. I’ve never kissed anyone so deeply that the taste of him became part of me. I wanted it to last forever.
I want it again right now.
“All set,” Griff says, snapping me out of my dirty reverie.
We go back to work, but the next few minutes are torture, because Roderick’s nearby, and I’m stuck feeding apples into this machine. Lord knows what I’d do right now if my hands weren’t busy. Run outside and hump his leg, probably.
“These are the fermentation tanks,” Audrey says, continuing her tour. “And this big thing is the cider press. One person can run it, but it’s better with two or three…”
I can’t stand it anymore. I have to turn around and see him in the flesh. And there he is, flashing a smile at Audrey, holding an apple slice that she probably cut for him so he could experience the tannins in a cider apple. His cheeks are ruddy from the cold, and he’s wearing black jeans that skim over his trim hips and a wool sweater in a cranberry color. I could lift it right over his head…
We lock eyes. Immediately his smile drops, and the look on his face is guilty.
Uh-oh.
“Hey guys,” Audrey says. “I’m here to announce that dessert is served. Shut ’er down after this batch, yeah?”
“Sure, baby,” Griff says. “Save me a piece of pie. Roderick—want to press this batch?”
His eyes flick toward me for a split second before he looks at Griff. “Sounds like fun, but I told your sister that I’d help out in the kitchen.”
“If you say so.” Griffin shrugs. “Pour the man a cider, Audrey.”
“Don’t you worry, I will.” She gives us a wave, and the two of them disappear, with Roderick in the lead. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
I paddle more of the floating apples toward the ladder and try to absorb this disappointment. Roderick is avoiding me. Although maybe he’s just being discreet. There are a lot of people around. And I really don’t need my family asking questions.
