Page 40 of Pick Me
I wanted to ask him about it. I wanted to hear all his stories, or just to hear him talk about nothing at all—which made me remember a moment not far back when I’d thought I’d rather be smacked in the face repeatedly than ask Goodman to talk to me. That had certainly changed.
But what hadn’t changed was that Ishouldn’twant it. Couldn’t afford to want it. I had a job to go back to, a life in the city, that definitely didn’t include an over-inquisitive, way-too-sexy, underdressed Goodman.
I cleared my throat. “So. This orchard up ahead, Pond Orchard, is kinda special. A few years ago—or,shit, must be going on ten years now—Webb started grafting antique apples from scionwood. That’s what you call the twigs of the apple trees that you graft into the existing trees,” I explained. “Webb has some Rhode Island Greenings, and Hubbardston Nonesuches, and my personal favorite, the Westfield Seek-No-Furthers.”
The front tire of the 4x4 hit a deep rut in the road and launched us into the air a little. Goodman braced a hand on my shoulder to keep his head from hitting the roof.
“I vote for regrading the road,” he said.
“Mmm, I’m not sold. It’ll cost a ton, and worse than that, it’ll be disruptive.”
“Know what’s disruptive, Knox? Decapitation.”
I snorted. Christ, the man was funny.
I also noticed that his hand lingered on my shoulder, tracing over the muscles there. It felt way too pleasant.
I moved to the side of the road, shut off the engine, and stepped out onto the gravel. “Come check out the graftings.”
Goodman sighed again as his hand slipped off me and thunked his head back against the headrest. “I would be a lot more excited about this if I didn’t think youactuallyintended to show meactualgraftings.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Coming, O Bearded One.” He got out and folded his arms, nearly hugging himself when a chilly breeze blew across the mountain. “Fuck, it’s cold. How is it this cold when it’s still only September?”
“Because we’re in Vermont,” I reminded him. “Where autumn is generally a time when we putmoreclothing on our bodies, not less—”
“Yes, yes. Show me your graftings so we can get back indoors.” He waved a hand imperiously.
Despite his words, he seemed content to stroll slowly down the neatly mowed grass paths between the rows of apple trees with me as I pointed out the various neatly labeled branches Webb had grafted onto the trees over time and explained grafting techniques and why it was so important to preserve these heirloom varietals. I even picked him a Seek-No-Further so he could try it.
After a first reluctant bite—literally the first time I’d ever seen him look dubiously at food—Goodman ate the rest with relish.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “It’s tiny, but it’s tart, and it gets sweeter as I eat it. It’s really good.”
“Right? The legend goes that two hundred years ago, a gentleman farmer in Western Massachusetts was looking to add trees to his orchard. He wasn’t satisfied with the yields of the trees he had, though, and he wasn’t convinced that his apples were the tastiest either. So, he wrote to friends all over the Northeast and offered an exchange: a bushel of their best apples for a bushel of his. People from all over sent him options.”
“And this is the one he picked?”
“No. This is the one he was already growing.” I grinned. “Can you imagine? He collected all these apples from all over the place and decided he liked his own the best, so he’d Seek No Further. But he wouldn’t have known that unless he’d tried them all, right? That’s the moral of the story.”
I threw the remnants of my apple core into the shrubbery on the edge of the orchard.
Goodman licked apple juice from his lips and frowned. “Look, this is all fascinating, Knox—and, surprisingly, I really mean that—but I’m freezing my ass off out here, and my testicles have climbed up into my spleen.” He threw his apple core after mine and shoved his hands in his shorts pockets. “It’s become clear that you didn’t bring me out here to ravish me.” He darted a hopeful glance sideways at me. “Unless this is all some kind of weird apple foreplay? Because I could get on board with that.” He clasped his hands under his chin. “Fuck me under the Rhode Island Whatjamacallits, Knox Sunday!”
“Yeah, no,” I said with way too much reluctance. “That’s not gonna happen. I’m very physically attracted to you, Goodman. You know that. But it’s complicated. You work here, and—”
“And you think I can’t keep things casual? We’ve been over this, Knox,” he groaned, walking backward so he could face me. “Dude, I’m not looking to become your next of kin here. I don’t want you to make me promises. I just want to fuck around. To havefun. To relieve this tension between us. To someday have a funny story I can tell my friends about the time a hot lumberjack fucked me against a tree so thoroughly that I’d get spontaneous erections anytime I ate applesauce after that. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
I shook my head stubbornly. “We work together. We eat dinner together daily. Thatmakesit complicated, because I’m going to see you across the office every day. And I’m not in a position to offer you oranyonea relationship yet.”
“Yet?”
Figured he’d caught that.
“Or maybe ever. I dunno. I’ve never been a relationship person. But then Webb said something at lunch the other day, and I started thinking…” I hesitated. “It’s conceivable that at an unspecified time in the future I could want one. And on that potential future someday, I could see myself picking one of the guys I’ve fucked around with to be something more… you know. Permanent. But that time hasn’t come. It might never come. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Pick someone,” Gage said slowly. “Pickthem. Like… like they’re fruit in the orchard of life and you can just reach up and grab it? Like love is an ice cream flavor and you just point to the one that looks tasty? Like love doesn’t just happen, you just… pick?”
