Page 36 of Apple of My Eye
‘OK, I did it. Your turn. Truth or dare?’Is it so lame if I dare her to kiss me, I think.
‘You know what?’ she says, squinting towards the window at the far side of the barn where the sun is just beginning to peek through. ‘It actually looks like it stopped raining.’
As quick as lightning she jumps to her feet and scurries down the ladder. ‘Better get back out there!’
‘Eloise!’ I shout after her. She lets out a peal of laughter and I can’t help but join in, running after her back into the sunshine, the earth smelling like fresh rain.
Chapter Fifteen
Eloise
Possible Nicknames for Nick (and his reaction to them)
–Nick-O—‘Why would I want to rhyme with Jell-O?’
–Nickerdoodle—‘I mean, I love those cookies, but no.’
–Nickel—‘Why would you even suggest that?’
–Nickeroni—‘You are terrible at this.’
–Nick Knack—he didn’t even bother responding to this one
‘We’re just friends,’ I repeat to Mom. She rolls her eyes. I’m saying it more for myself at this point.We technically are just friends, aren’t we?I still haven’t told him about the loan, about what him succeeding in his capstone project will mean for me. I flip-flop between being worried I’ve helped Nick too much and feeling confident there’s no way social media alone can turn things around. It doesn’t matter how much I help him; the Parkers still go bankrupt. But in case they don’t, I’ve started working on a contingency plan—weddings. Even though the thought of repurposing land that’s perfect for farming into a venue makes me want to gag, I can’t ignore the financial upside to obtaining an events permit. I even brought it up to Dad. We both think that West Barn could hold one hundred people.
Despite being ‘just friends’ with Nick, I’m still spending longer getting ready for dinner than I ever have. We throw an annual welcome dinner for the seasonal workers every year. Mom makes her lasagna, and over the large meal introductions are made, shifts are bargained for, and return workers stake out their claim to the best jobs. Usually I walk to dinner still sweaty from a long day on the farm. This year I’m showered and blow-drying my hair before I shimmy into a gauzy sundress and a cardigan.
Dinner marks the entrance into fall. After this week, we’re basically in September, the days get shorter and the cool breeze welcomes in London fog lattes and sticky toffee pudding cakes. Mom switches out her bathrobes, wrapping herself in thick terrycloth every morning. Dad starts to wear his flannel pajamas. I feel a thrill of excitement thinking about fall, it’s my favorite season. Fall somehow feels both like swirling change and relaxed coziness.
By the end of the week, having the workers here will feel normal. But until everyone has settled into the rhythm, the farm feels chaotic, buzzing with energy, just like our beehives.
Nick arrives for dinner in a button-down shirt and jeans. I feel my heart skip a beat when I open the door for him. I can’t pull my gaze away.
‘What? Is there something on my shirt?’ He picks it up by the hem and examines the line of buttons. By the time he looks up I’ve regained my composure.
‘Your shirt is great,’ I reassure him. Just then, Mom sweeps by.
‘Nick!’ she exclaims. ‘Don’t you look handsome.’
Nick reddens and it’s so endearing that I feel a tingle all the way down to my toes. I haven’t stopped thinking about how it felt to grab his hand and pull him towards East Barn, how I felt like my heart was hammering so loud I didn’t know how he couldn’t hear it.
‘You don’t look a day over twenty, Hazel.’ Nick smiles at Mom before glancing my way, his eyes raking over my blue patterned dress. I shift my white cardigan and it falls off one shoulder, leaving it exposed to the breeze of chilly night air that flits through the door.
Nick places a hand gently on my bare shoulder as he walks into the house. His fingertips leave heat marks on my bare skin. My breath catches in my throat.
‘And you,’ he says, turning to look at me once more, ‘you look beautiful.’
I can’t even begin to hide my grin. My chest feels like it’s full of champagne bubbles. I’m rooted to the entryway as I listen to Nick make his way towards the kitchen. I hear a muffled thank you for the apple salve I gave him a few days ago and an immediate request as to what he can do to help. Mom puts him to work without a moment’s hesitation. Seconds later I hear ‘Lou, can you grab the salad?’ Not even a chore can make the fizzy feeling leave my chest.
‘Eloise Anderson?’ Nick sidles up behind me, speaking louder than he normally would to counteract the noise of the crowd. My pulse quickens. I smooth out my dress with my hands.
There’s about fifty people scattered at folding tables behind us. I’m standing at the food table with my back to the crowd, getting my second helping. The evening has been smooth sailing so far. Nick has fit right in, so much so that no one questioned why he was here. I’d like to think it’s because of the hints I’ve been dropping him about how to fit into a small-town dynamic, but he would fit in without my advice. People love to talk around here, and Nick is ready to listen.
‘My full name this time?’ I say. Secretly, I think we both know I love that he doesn’t use my nickname. Eloise sounds so rich in his mouth, so special, like we share a secret language.Eloise.
‘I’m glad you made it, Nicky!’ I raise my plastic cup full of red wine to cheers him, my drink sloshing precariously close to the rim.
‘Nice try, but only my mother calls me that.’
