Savor You (Fusion #5)(46)

“It’s still eighty degrees outside.”

“It’s just barely fall. I hope you’ve been working out because these apples aren’t going to be light.”

“So that’s why I’m really here. For my manly muscles.”

“You’re the brawn in this operation,” I agree as I pull into the parking lot and cut the engine. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Because we will be on ladders today.”

“They let customers climb ladders?”

“They don’t sell pre-picked apples. This is a DIY place, and that way the apples are super fresh. They make the best pie.”

He follows me into the main sales building to fetch crates for our apples, and then we set off down row after row of beautiful apple trees.

“Red or green?” he asks.

“Both.” I grin and stare up at some gorgeous Granny Smith apples hanging heavily on a tree. “Look at these beauties.”

“You have heart eyes, just like the emoji on my phone.”

“I love apples,” I reply with a shrug, and gesture for him to fetch me a free ladder from a few trees away. He drags it over to me, and I immediately climb up it to inspect the apples. “No worms that I can see.”

“I should hope not.”

I glance down to find him aiming his phone at me and he snaps a picture.

“Are you going to help me, or just take my picture all day?”

“Both,” he says with a grin. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to drop some apples down for you to put in our crates.”

We take turns picking and gathering apples for about thirty minutes. When I have five crates full, he frowns up at me from the ground.

“How many pies are you planning to make?”

“Maybe ten.” I shrug. “I don’t know, I’ll bake until the apples are finished. I’ll also use the leftovers for apple butter.”

“Ten? I thought you were going to make a pie.”

“There’s no sense in making just one. I’ll put apple pie on the dessert menu for the next week. It’s fall, so they’ll sell well.”

We make our way back to pay for the apples, and Camden wrestles them into my SUV, taking up the entire rear cargo space.

“This might be way too many apples, sweetheart.”

“I’ll find uses for them.”

He laughs and gets into the car with me. “Do I get to help make the pies?”

“Of course.”

“Do I get one whole pie to myself?”

“You’re really selfish when it comes to pie.”

“In case you forgot, it was you who sat in your bed and taunted me with cherry pie two weeks ago.”

“Poor guy.” I toss him a sassy smile and pull back onto the freeway toward home. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“With pie?”

“If you’d rather have pie than a blow job, yes, pie is all yours.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“You have no idea.”



“This kitchen really is great,” he says an hour later after we’ve hauled all of the apples into my house. “It looks brand-new.”

“It is. I mean, the renovations were finished a while ago, but I’ve barely used the kitchen. It was important to me that I have a chef’s kitchen in my home, and that it be commercially certified so I could develop recipes and make some of the food ahead of time here at home.”

“That’s smart of you. Have you actually been able to do that?”

“Nope. Not even once . . . until today.” I grin and preheat the oven. “So, you get to help me on my maiden voyage in the kitchen for commercial purposes.”

“I’m honored.” He bows deeply, then grins at me. “Where do you want me?”

“Everywhere. But for this project, we probably shouldn’t have sex here. It’s just not sanitary.”

“You’re funny,” he says and reaches for a crate of apples, plopping it on my countertop. “Where do we start?”

“I’m going to fill some big bowls with cold water so we can start peeling them without them going brown.” After the bowls are full I set them on my massive island, pull out two cutting boards, and offer him a knife.

“I have my knives in my car,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

There are perks to being with a chef. He knows the importance of keeping his own knives nearby.

No one else would get it.

He returns with what looks like a suitcase that should either have a million dollars in small, unmarked bills, or a bomb in it.

Instead, he opens it and his knives are set in black foam. They gleam in the light from my kitchen.

“Those are gorgeous.”

“They’re good knives. You have good ones, too.”

We each get to work peeling and slicing apples; and when one bowl is full, I set it aside.

“If you don’t mind, you can keep peeling and I’ll start on the crusts.”

He just nods and keeps working on the apples.

“Whose recipe do you use for this?”

“My mother’s. I’ve helped her bake pies since I was a little girl.”