Page 5 of Keepsake
Griffin snorted. “Then why don’t your chances of hooking up improve whenever we drive over to the Gin Mill?”
“How would I know? We’re always at the Goat!”
I bit down on my smile. It was the same discussion every week. And invariably, we ended up at the Goat, because Griff would offer to be the designated driver, and because his ex still lived over the bar. He and Audrey liked to visit Zara and her new baby.
I turned my attention to the women’s conversation, which was always more nuanced and revealing.
“We could always make up a bed for Lark in the alcove,” Mrs. Shipley was saying. “Once upon a time we did all our bookkeeping on the kitchen table, anyway.”
Lark shook her head. “I’ll be absolutely fine in the bunkhouse. Don’t worry about me.”
My last bite of pie flipped over in my stomach. Lark was sleeping in the bunkhouse?
All evening I’d been rationing my glances at May’s best friend. Now I helped myself to another one. And, yup. She was still just as breathtaking as I’d remembered.
Lark was named for a bird that weighed less than three ounces, but there was nothing fragile about this girl. She had giant brown eyes over high cheekbones. Her skin was olive-toned and perfectly smooth, and her dark, shiny hair was cut in a way that showed off the length of her kissable neck.
She lookedvivid, as if God had painted her features with bolder paints than he used on the rest of the world. In addition to perfect skin, he’d softened her with lush curves and a full mouth.
Lark must have felt the weight of my gaze, because her eyes tracked over to find me staring at her.
Whoops.Busted.
I felt myself flush as she studied me for a fleeting moment. Her expression was clouded by a flicker of something I couldn’t quite read, and then her gaze dropped to her hands. Since I’d already been caught staring, I didn’t bother looking away. I couldn’t have, anyhow. Lark was the most enchanting woman I’d ever met.
She’d visited once before, back in March, during pruning season. I remembered exactly where I’d been when I’d first seen her—stacking branches outside the dairy barn after pruning all day in the orchard. The sun had been setting, which made the light gold and pink. May Shipley came walking toward the cider house door with a growler jug of cider in her hand. She was talking to somebody, but I didn’t pay much attention until I heard the sound of a truly beautiful laugh. It was low and musical and knowing.
I’d looked up to see who could make such a noise. So the first view I ever had of Lark, she was smiling. Those dark eyes sparkled with mirth, and I caught myself smiling, too, even though I didn’t have the first clue what the two of them were laughing over.
The girls had walked around the other side of the barn toward a hammock that stretched between two old oaks. I’d slowed down at stacking those pruned branches so that I could hear more of their laughter floating in the dusky air.
At dinnertime that night, I’d purposefully sat on the same side of the table as Lark, because I knew if I sat across from her I’d stare. She’d stayed in the farmhouse overnight and left after lunch the next day. During those twenty-four hours, I’d spent each meal feeling hyperaware of her. The sound of her voice made my chest tighten each time she spoke. Whenever her gaze touched me, even for a fraction of a second, my neck got hot.
Honest to God, I didn’t know what to do with that reaction. There was nobody who’d ever made me feel that way before. My strange upbringing meant that I hadn’t met many women in my life. This new, powerful tug of raw attraction was completely foreign to me.
Last spring, when May hugged Lark goodbye, she’d said, “You have to email me every day, okay? I can’t believe I have to go a whole year without seeing you.”
A whole year. Disappointment had settled into my gut, and I didn’t know what to do with that, either.
Then Lark had driven away in her little Volkswagen, and I’d done my best to put her out of my mind. But seven or eight weeks ago, May had come crying into the dairy barn one morning. I overheard the brief story she’d told her brother: May’s emails to Lark had gone unanswered for several days. So May had written to Lark’s mother asking if everything was okay.
“I thought she’d tell me that Lark had lost her phone or something!” May had sobbed onto Griffin’s shoulder. “But she’smissingin Guatemala. They can’t find her. They’re searching…”
When I heard this, I’d walked right out of the dairy barn, my shovel still in my hands. I found myself standing on the spot where I’d been that spring day, the first time I saw Lark’s smile. It was as if I didn’t quite believe what May had just said.
Missing. What a bizarre, unsatisfying word.
I didn’t even know the girl, but her disappearance bothered me a lot. I told myself that it was because May was so upset. Every time I came into the farmhouse for a meal, I’d check May’s face, looking for good news.
There wasn’t any for weeks. In fact, May had looked more distraught than I’d ever seen her, times three. It was a rough summer. But then May had come running into the orchard one afternoon last month, a big smile on her face, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears of relief. “Lark is safe!” she’d announced. “They found her, and she’s okay!”
That was about four weeks ago. And I’d been so busy with picking season that I hadn’t heard any more about her. Since Lark was safe, I’d put her out of my mind again.
Until today. Griffin had mentioned casually over lunch that Lark was coming to stay for the rest of the picking season, and I’d almost dropped my sandwich. I sat there at the picnic table remembering how distracted I’d been for those twenty-four hours when she’d visited in the spring. And I wondered if it was possible that one person could have such a powerful effect on me again.
The answer was yes.
Tonight I felt the very same pull. There was no part of her that didn’t make my eyes want to linger—on the sheen of her hair, the warm tone of her skin. She was just as beautiful as I’d remembered. No—more. Only two things seemed to have changed about her. She looked thinner now. And there were dark circles under both eyes. Earlier, when Griffin boomed into nearly deafening laughter, she actually flinched.
