Page 10 of Fall Surprises
"I was out of line," I interrupted. "You didn't sign up to be filmed, and I shouldn't have pushed. Or moved your things. Or... any of it."
"I overreacted too." He glanced at me briefly. "I'm just not great with cameras these days. Or strangers in my kitchen. Or change in general, apparently."
A smile tugged at my lips. "And I'm a control freak who can't stop working even when I should."
"Are we apologizing or insulting ourselves?"
"Can't it be both?"
His laugh startled me—genuine and warm, lighting up his features. "Fair enough."
The truck turned down a gravel road, and a hand-painted sign announced Hartley's Apple Orchard. The property stretched across rolling hills, trees heavy with fruit in shades of red, yellow, and green. Frost still clung to the grass in shadowed patches. A large red barn served as the farm stand, people milling about with baskets and bags.
"Ready to pick some apples?" Gus asked, his voice almost playful.
"I haven't done this since I was eight," I admitted. "My dad took me before..." Before the divorce, before everything got complicated, before I learned that being perfect was the only way to keep people from leaving.
"Well, you're in for a treat then." He opened my door before I could reach for the handle. "Hartley's grows twelve different varieties. Each one has specific uses in cooking."
As we walked toward the barn, Gus's entire demeanor changed. The tension melted away, replaced by enthusiasm as he explained the difference between Honeycrisps and Fujis, which apples made the best pies versus tarts. I knew the varieties from working with caterers, but hearing him describe the specific culinary applications—how Granny Smiths held their shape during baking, how Cortlands oxidized slower for salads—was different. Personal.
"You love this," I observed, accepting a basket from the cheerful woman running the farm stand.
"Food is love," he said simply. "That's what my grandmother used to say. Every ingredient has a purpose, a story. Cooking is just helping those stories come together."
We wandered through the rows of trees. I ran my hand along the rough bark of an apple tree, the texture catching on my gloves. He taught me how to tell if an apple was ripe, how to twist rather than pull to avoid damaging the branch. His hands were gentle with the fruit. The same care I'd seen him use in the kitchen.
"Try this one." He handed me a yellow-green apple he'd just picked. "Granny Smith. Tart, but perfect for pies when baked."
I bit into it, the sharp tartness making me pucker. He laughed at my expression.
"Not a fan?" he teased.
"It's very... committed to being sour," I managed, making him laugh again.
"Here." He dug through his basket and found a deep red apple. "Try a Fuji for balance. Nature's candy."
This one was sweet and crisp, juice running down my chin. I wiped it away self-consciously, aware of his gaze.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much better."
We picked apples in comfortable silence for a while, filling our baskets. We grabbed a second basket when the first filled up, then a third. The sun warmed my back despite the October chill. I'd completely forgotten about my phone, about the wedding, about everything except the simple pleasure of being outside doing this with my hands.
The autumn colors were incredible—deep oranges and reds in the leaves, golden light filtering through branches. I paused to appreciate a particularly vibrant maple, its leaves brilliant against the blue sky.
"These would be perfect for the ceremony," I said, gathering a handful of the most vivid leaves. "Do you think the farm stand would let me take some branches?"
"Hartley won't mind if you ask," Gus said.
"You know what's funny?" I said as we added more apples to our collection. "I used to love fall. Pumpkin patches, hayrides, all of it. Then somewhere along the way, autumn just became another 'wedding season' to me. Another deadline to manage."
"Yeah." He paused mid-reach, a piece of ripe fruit cradled in his palm. "Autumn was when Harvest failed. When I found out about..." He stopped himself, shook his head. "I've been trying to reclaim it. Remember why I fell in love with cooking in the first place."
"Is it working?"
He held my gaze, and warmth spread through my chest.
