I ran. But instead of running away, I ran toward Leo and his shocked face, which finally had the sense to show some healthy bee fear, and the two of us ran through the orchard, high-step running through the tall grass, swiping at our heads and windmilling our arms.

“Left, go left!” he shouted, and I followed, swatting as I went, feeling stings on the back of my calf and my elbow.

In a haze of screaming and twitching, slapping and jumping, we burst out of the orchard and into a clearing. And just beyond that? Water.

We plunged into a deep, cold pond, splashing out into the center where we could submerge, the stings instantly cooling. I grabbed for his hand underwater, and we took turns popping above to grab a breath and see how SwarmWatch was going.

Eventually the bees got bored and headed back to the orchard, to continue gorging themselves on fallen fruit. Leo coaxed me back up to the surface, and we treaded water in the middle of the pond, in the middle of Maxwell Farm. My hair was plastered to my face and a bee sting was swelling up in my eyebrow. I was covered in pond algae, twigs, and sticks, and I was hoping like hell that whatever kept wrapping around my ankle was my shoelace.

“What the hell, Rox—”

I wrapped both arms around him, kissed him until we both went under, and then kissed him again as soon as we popped back up.

“I love you—I love you so much! I want you, I want everything. I want small town and home grown. I want this—without the bees preferably, but if the bees come with this life, then I’ll take the fucking bees. I just want to be your Sugar Snap.”

Leo silently treaded water, one arm still holding me close, not pushing me away but not pulling me closer.

I ached to be closer. I ached to just be with him.

“I want to live here—not just for the summer. I want fall and winter and spring, and hayrides and hoedowns and being bent over a rain barrel on the Fourth of July. I love you, Leo—and—I want it all.”

I grinned, no fear left. It felt so good to tell him this, to tell him everything.

“I want to start a food truck, and cooking classes, and get to know Polly, if you’re okay with that, because I think she’s amazing and I think you’re amazing. And—Jesus Christ, I hope that’s my shoelace!” I pulled my leg up to the surface, slapping at it underneath, splashing Leo in the surprised face.

But the surprise became hopeful. And the hopeful became happy. And the happy became heated. But before the heated could escalate, concern crowded in.

“You sure about this, Sugar Snap?” Butterflies! “Because it’s not just me I have to consider. If you want me, you have to want us both. I can’t have someone temporary in my life. It’s all in, or . . .”

The late afternoon sun shone down, casting a golden light on the landscape, the water, the algae in his beard.

I wrapped my leg around his and pulled him closer with a smile. “I’m all in, Farmer Boy.”

Epilogue

Farmer Boy. She called me Farmer Boy.

I thought about this as I walked through the fall wheat, running my fingertips along the tall grain. The air was crisp today, not quite chilly, but with a hint of the winter that was only a few months away now.

The fall wheat was usually the last crop harvested; the apples already picked and stored for the winter. She’d made apple butter after all.

Polly loved apple butter. She ate it every year, but this year she learned to make it. I smiled as I thought of the afternoons spent in the back kitchen of the diner, jars spread out everywhere, a spicy cinnamony scent heavy in the air, and my girls in matching braids, laughing as they filled containers with the sweet treat.

My girls.

Roxie was adamant about keeping her own place, and rightly so. Once she made the decision to move back to Bailey Falls, she was determined to live away from her mother, but close by. The old farmhouse she found was about halfway between my place and her mom’s, only a few minutes from the town she claimed was too small, but she secretly loved.

When I flew out with her to Los Angeles to pack up her apartment, I noticed there wasn’t a lot there that made it . . . well . . . homey. It was functional, and of course the kitchen was impressive, but there was nothing about it that really said . . . Roxie.

As much as she claimed to have a full life out there, it took us less than a day to pack her up, and less than an evening to say goodbye to her friends. Sure, her Hollywood friends Jack and Grace were sad to see her go, but they assured her that anytime they were on the East Coast, they’d be sure to get together.

Driving back across the country, Roxie seemed excited to be getting home, to her new old life. And quicker than anyone expected, she’d cleaned out the Airstream, equipped it with the necessary items to turn it into a food truck, and Zombie Cakes was born. And killing it. She sold out each and every time she showed up to a farmers’ market, a county fair, or a private event.

I smiled, thinking about her leaning out of the side of the truck, passing a slice of mile-high coconut cake to a happy customer. I smiled wider when I thought about what her tits looked like in her V-neck Zombie Cakes shirt.

I came to the end of the row, satisfied with the feel of the plump grains on the stalks. We’d harvest soon, maybe by the end of the week. When I heard the Jeep roaring up the dusty farm road, I turned, catching the faint sound of U2 through the open windows. Turns out Polly was a big fan of the band as well, and she and Roxie listened to the old albums by the hour while they baked. “It’s good for dancing, Daddy,” Polly had informed me one afternoon, when I caught the two of them busting a move while sifting flour.