Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(71)

Oliver and I exchanged a look, during which we tacitly agreed not to tattle on each other. We were both at fault—it had been his idea to skip dinner and mine to raid the pantry.

“Come out of that closet right now,” my mom demanded. “And go clean up for dinner.”

Without another word, we scrambled to our feet and hurried to do as we were told.

We didn’t get dessert that night, which was a bummer because it was Sander’s hot fudge cream puffs, my favorite. “Maybe next time, you two will think twice before disobeying the rules,” said Aunt Nell.

Oliver and I exchanged another look that said not a chance.

We might not have liked kissing, we might not have even liked each other that much, but one thing we did like was disobeying the rules.

Needless to say, there were many nights Oliver and I went without dessert. We never could stay out of trouble. But with one look across the dinner table, I always knew he was thinking the same thing I was.

Worth it.

It’s what made us so undeniably good together.

Always.





Epilogue





CHLOE



Late August

“Oliver, this is insane. Why do I have to keep my eyes closed?” I moved forward with halting steps, both my hands in his, like awkward middle schoolers at a dance. We were in the hallway outside my office at Cloverleigh—well, our office. We shared it now, in addition to sharing my Traverse City condo and his apartment in Detroit, which we’d decided to keep for the time being, since we’d be down there a lot. I was learning everything I could about the distilling process at Brown Eyed Girl, and when we were at Cloverleigh, I was trailing my father a lot, learning everything I’d need to know when he retired for good this fall. He and my mother were leaving for a cruise around the world in October—right after Frannie and Mack’s wedding.

It meant Oliver and I were together nearly twenty-four seven, but neither of us was complaining. In fact, I was happier than I’d ever been. We both were.

“You have to keep your eyes closed because I want to surprise you,” he said.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Hush. Don’t you have any sense of romance? Hold on, I’m opening the door.”

“I can’t think about romance!” I exclaimed as I let him lead me outside into the heat of a hot summer day. “We were supposed to leave for South Manitou by one. If we wait much longer, we won’t catch the afternoon ferry.”

“So we’ll go in the morning. I talked to the Feldmanns and they said they’ll be working sunup to sundown.” He continued walking backward with his hands holding mine.

“But I told you I wanted to be there for the very first planting,” I complained. “We’re missing a priceless opportunity for photos to use on social media.”

“I promise you we will have all the social media photos you need. We’ll get up early and catch the first ferry and spend all day in your million-dollar fields, whispering sweet nothings to our rye seeds.”

I laughed. “They’re not my million-dollar fields. They’re ours.”

“So you say. Come this way.”

I made a half turn as he indicated. Keeping my eyes closed, I listened carefully. Sniffed the fecund air. “Are we on the path to the barn?”

“Good guess. But the question is, why are we on the path to the barn?”

“I have no idea, Oliver. You tell me.”

“It has to do with the date.”

“The date?” I thought for a moment. It was August thirtieth … was it supposed to mean something? “I don’t get it. It’s no one’s birthday, it’s not a holiday, it’s not an anniversary.”

“But it is.” Gently he led me into the barn and across the hay-strewn, wooden-planked floor.

My mind was spinning. An anniversary? He and I hadn’t been together long enough to have an anniversary. It hadn’t even been two full months. Granted, things couldn’t be better between us, and our story had started long before he—

It hit me, and I gasped. “Oh my God. Is it?”

“Is it what?” His voice held a smile.

“The anniversary of the jump?”

“Good thinking. You can open your eyes to climb the ladder.”

I opened them to find him standing next to the ladder leading to the loft. His blue eyes danced with mischief, and his grin was devious as hell. My heart thumped hard a few times—it felt like a warning. “Oliver, what is this? Tell me before I go up there.”

He laughed and slapped my butt. “Chicken. Climb up.”

With an exasperated sigh, I started up the ladder. Oliver followed, and from the loft we climbed onto the roof.

Immediately Oliver took my hand. “Careful,” he said. “Come this way.”

Slowly, we walked over to the edge of the roof where he’d issued the challenge. Then he turned to face me and took the other hand.

“So,” he said. “Here we are again.”

“Are you going to dare me to jump?”

“No, but I am going to ask you to take a leap with me.”

My heart stopped. “What?”

Oliver dropped to one knee. “I was trying to get the timing exactly right. According to my mother’s—and your mother’s—memories, it was around two in the afternoon when we made that fateful bet.”