Page 74 of Cherry Picked
“What are men to rocks and mountains?” ~ Elizabeth Bennet
My siblings had the worst timing.
I left the Environmental Committee meeting with my mind buzzing over all the things I needed to do before my dinner meeting with Simon.
I had to collect the protest signs I’d left at the Peak that morning since poster board and the soaking rain we were supposed to get tonight would not mix. I had to run by the library to pick up some flyer-printing supplies Mr. Yetzer had donated, which did a lot to mitigate my lingering annoyance with his gossipy ways. I had to run home to sort through the huge pile of laundry and camping supplies I’d dropped at the farmhouse that morning and find a more appropriate outfit for the Stag and Crowne. I needed to call Dora York to arrange a bigger room for our next meeting since my little Environmental Committee now exceeded the forty-person capacity of the small room we’d been allotted, even with several members inexplicably absent. And if I got all of that other stuff done, Imighthave time to stop by the diner just long enough to kiss the supportive and patient boyfriend I hadn’t seen in thirty-three hours and make plans with him for later tonight since I was missing him like crazy and our adorable text conversations werenotcutting it.
As I walked out to my car, I fantasized briefly about canceling my meeting, kidnapping Jack Wyatt, and taking him home to do all sorts of unspeakably delicious things to his big, naked body—probably on the front porch, at least for the first round, since I didn’t have the patience to make it all the way to his bed… but I couldn’t.
Support for Save Fogg Peak had grown so exponentially that if we kept our momentum going for another week or so, I was confident Little Pippin Hollow would vote a resoundingnoto the proposed development, and the Peak would be protected.
The Hawk I’d been at the town meeting a few weeks back would have rejoiced that the mountain would remain the same… but lots of things had changed in a very short time, and my dreams had changed along with them.
Last night, lying in my sleeping bag on the mountain while Jack worked the closing shift at the diner a few miles away, I’d thought a lot about the future—mine, his,ours, even the mountain’s. I was still pretty short on specifics, but I knew one thing for certain: any happy ending where Jack’s dream got sacrificed for mine wasn’tmyhappy ending anymore.
Protecting the Peak by having it stand unchanged as a testament to the past was as deeply rooted in my own fears as Jack’s anti-relationship bias had been rooted in his. And for us to really move forward together, I had to consciously let go of that fear like Jack had. I had to believe there was a solution where both of us would be happy. And I had to commit to doing the work to get there, even if it meant stepping out of my comfort zone and becoming a guy who knew about sustainable design.
Like Marco had told me the other day, “It’s one of those compromises folks make when they commit to each other.” It turned out when the old dudes weren’t measuring their genitals, they were pretty fucking wise.
Unfortunately for me, all of this wisdom meant keeping my plans with Simon tonight. I wanted the dang reports he’d been dangling over my head for weeks, and I wanted to get his thoughts on delaying the vote until Evola could come up with an amended proposal.
AndthenI would get back to the business of kidnapping my boyfriend for front-porch sex shenanigans.
Needless to say, when I got Em’s text needing a favor just as I got to my car, I was not feeling receptive.
Em:Gracie says she needs your help up at Fogg Peak near the old footbridge.
I unlocked my door, sat inside, and banged my forehead gently on the steering wheel.
Me:Help with what? I’m meeting someone for dinner and I have a billion errands to do first.
Em:IDK? She said it’s important and asked me to find you, but I’m babysitting the Preswick twins at the movie theater.
Another message came in, practically on top of the last.
Em:Should she be on the mountain with a storm coming? I’m worried she… Shit! Popcorn situation. Later.
I quickly typed out a reply:
Me:Wait! Give me Gracie’s number!
But when a full minute passed with no response, I knew I’d missed my window.
I banged my head a little harder and whimpered, waving a mental goodbye to the possibility of a visit with Jack before my meeting. Then I started the car and headed to Fogg Peak.
I couldn’tnotgo. Gracie was a sweet, helpful person who’d become passionate about the resort development, but her judgment was sometimes… questionable. It was equally possible that she “needed my help” making a TikTok of the gathering rain clouds by the historic footbridge and that she “needed my help” because she’d sprained her ankle, panicked, and messaged Em instead of calling 9-1-1.
If I hiked up the much steeper, craggier, and lesser-used Rock Cut Trail, I could make it to the footbridge in half the time. Then I could help Gracie—or call in appropriate help if it was an actual emergency—get herandmy signs off the mountain before the rain began, and still make it to the meeting with Simon.
But when I got to the Rock Cut pullout, I was shocked to find I wasn’t the only one there.
“Ms. Fortnum?” I demanded, pulling my car in beside her SUV and the group of Hookers assembled there. “Mrs. Williams? Is this why you weren’t at the Environmental Committee meeting?” I glanced dubiously up the steep trail. “Were you… hiking?”
The Hookers exchanged a look.
“Not hiking,” Mrs. Thorndyce said. “We were, ah…” She glanced at Ms. Fortnum and made a rolling hand motion.
“Having a Hooker bonding ritual,” Ms. Fortnum inserted smoothly. She patted the yarn bag at her side.
