"But you can put them down with me," I say to her. "You can come back with me, to the cidery – you can make that your home. I know that you felt what I did last night, there’s no way that you could fake that – whatever is happening here, Honey, it’s meant to be."
She stares at me for a long moment. I can tell that she is torn, pulled in two different directions, not sure if she should pack it in and leave with me or stay right where she is and get security to escort me right on out.
Slowly, she takes off her apron, slips out the back door of her van, and stands before me. She is so close that I can smell her inimitable scent, see the soft curve in her lips. I want to pull her towards me and kiss her so hard that she can’t think of anything else, but I am not going to lay a finger on her until I know for sure that it is what she wants.
"You mean it?" she asks. I nod.
"Always."
She reaches out for my hand, her touch making my whole mind slide into a blank. She smiles at me.
"My mother did name me after an apple," she reasons, a playful tone to her voice. "I suppose it only makes sense that I spend the rest of my life in an orchard, now, doesn’t it?”
I scoop her up into my arms and kiss her without another word – there’s nothing else to say, everything that I wanted to communicate with her has been circling down to this moment. She laughs and hangs onto my shoulders, and plants a kiss on my cheek. There are tears in her eyes again, but this time, I can tell that they are happy ones.
"Guess that makes me the apple of your eye, huh?" she teases lightly, and I groan and plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.
"You’re lucky you’re so cute," I warn her. She circles her arms around my neck and gazes up at me.
"I’m sorry I left," she whispers. "I didn’t want you to... I haven’t felt this way about anyone before. Not in my entire life."
"Neither have I," I confess, as I run my fingers through her soft, curly hair. "But I couldn’t just let you go. Not after knowing that we had something so good."
"Agreed," she replies, and she shakes her head. "I haven’t put down roots in a long time, but..."
"It’s easier than you think," I assure her. "Especially when you have the best apples in the state to make your pies with."
"My pies!” she exclaims, and she looks over her shoulder at the van – a small queue of people has formed outside of it, all of them looking admiringly at the romantic declaration of love that we are sharing right now.
"Come on, put on an apron," she orders me, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside the van.
"What?" I ask.
"I need help serving these things!" she replies, and she thrusts an apron with pink frills around the bottom against my chest, raising her eyebrows pointedly. I know that she’s not going to take no for an answer, and I quickly tie it behind my back as she heads back to the counter.
"All right, who wants some fresh apple pie?" she asks, and there is a murmur of consensus amongst the crowd. I grin as I watch her start to chat with her next customer, and listen up for the orders that I can help with. I know I may not be what she pictured for an assistant, but I am determined to make myself as useful as I can.
And I’m determined to prove to her that she is able to rely on me for anything.
Epilogue
Honey
"Is it time?" Lucky asks me as she hovers in the doorway to my bedroom. I nod.
"I think so," I reply, and I turn to look at her and spread my arms wide. "What do you think? Appropriately bridal?"
"You look gorgeous," she assures me, and she hurries forward to pick a little twig out of my hair. "There, now you look perfect."
"Well, thanks," I laugh, and she kisses me on the cheek.
"I’m going to go talk to some of the guests," she tells me. "Give me a shout if you need anything, okay?”
"Will do," I reply, and I watch as she heads out. I turn back to the mirror, making sure that there are no other leaves or twigs clinging to me that might give away my and Hank’s last-minute apple picking trip into the orchard, but I’m all good.
And then, in the mirror, I see him. My husband. Well, nearly.
I turn to face him, and he lets out a long, low whistle when he sees me in my dress.