Bittersweet (True North #1)

by Sarina Bowen

  Hmm. That didn’t seem safe. I carried the box up to the third floor and knocked.

  The door flew open to reveal a thin, red-eyed guy. “Who are you?”

  “I’d ask the same,” I growled. “I’m looking for Audrey Kidder.” It was the right apartment. I spied the same dingy sofa I’d seen when we stopped here on Friday afternoon.

  He nodded toward Audrey’s room and lost interest in me, drifting back toward the sofa.

  Her door was closed, so I knocked.

  No answer.

  I knocked again, and then listened. The only sound was a stifled sob.

  Opening the door, the first thing I saw was Audrey, crying, curled up on a bed littered with torn pieces of paper. My cranky heart broke right in half, like one of the drawings on the bed. “Baby, don’t cry,” I insisted.

  She raised her head, startled. “But…I…” She tried to take a deep breath, but she hiccuped instead. “Everything is wrecked.”

  I was over there in an instant, setting down the box and then scooping her up into my lap. “It sucks, what happened. But you and I will be fine.” All it took was one look at her for me to understand that some things were more important than selling two hundred fifty cases of cider. I wiped tears off Audrey’s face with my thumb.

  “But my mother was right. I can’t do anything without fucking it up.”

  “No! She’s not right about a thing. You didn’t fuck this up. Don’t take the fall for their bullshit.”

  “But I told them you wouldn’t go below six-seventy-five! I wanted you to make the extra money. So they found someone at”—she hiccuped again—“six bucks even.”

  Aw, hell. “You were trying to help me out, and I appreciate it. Why did you rip up your presentation?”

  “Can’t work for them. I won’t do it.”

  I hugged her even more tightly. She smelled of my own shampoo. “That’s your call. I can’t sell them apples or truck their stuff into the city, baby. I’m sorry. I told the other farmers they were on their own.”

  “Okay.” She sounded defeated.

  “Come home with me?” I asked.

  “And do what?” she squeaked. “Wreck something else?”

  “No,” I said softly, rocking her. “Just be with me. We have a whole lot of cider to make, sweetheart. You can help. And now we need to market it, too. Find another buyer. Get noticed by a big distributor. Enter more contests. Win some prizes. There’s work to be done.”

  “You’re just trying to be n-nice,” she stammered.

  “I’m not that nice. You said so yourself.”

  Now I had her laughing and crying at the same time.

  “Baby, we need to regroup. I’d rather do that with you than without you.”

  She pushed her face into my shoulder. “I need a job, Griff. I’m never going to stop wanting my own restaurant.”

  “And I don’t know how that gets done,” I admitted. “But there has to be more than one way. In the meantime, you’re very employable. I think Zara, for one, is going to need a lot of help in the next year.”

  “She is?”

  “Yeah. I’ll let her tell you all about it herself.” I wrapped my arms around her and went in for the kill. “I think you’d make a hell of a cidermaker.”

  “That’s your thing,” she said.

  “Apparently not, baby. Your sexy cider won the grand prize.”

  “Wait, really?”

  “Swear to God. Mom just opened the letter. We have to make a whole lot more of it now, and jack up the price. You have to help me get the blend right.”

  “You blended it yourself.”

  “Yeah, after you told me it was a winner. As I remember, you demanded I enter it into the contest. And it worked. You got a whole panel of judges horny so they gave me Best in Show.”

  She jerked her tear-stained face away and looked up at me. “You swear you’re not just trying to make me feel better?”

  I crossed myself. “Swear to God and hope to die. Come home and read the letter yourself. Besides—you left your oven in my truck. Those little cakes are not going to bake themselves.”

  “Oh,” Audrey moaned. “I was going to stop being impulsive. I was going to have a chef’s career or die trying.”

  “As the saying goes, you’re supposed to do what you love.” I tapped my chest. “I’m it, baby.”

  She giggled through her tears. “I do kind of love you. A little bit.”

  My heart gave a squeeze. “Just a little bit? Because I’m falling for you big time.”

  The smile she gave me was teary. “Give me ten minutes to get over my shock at all the turns this day has taken.”

  “Fair enough.” I set her onto the bed and stood up. I held out a hand. “Come on. Pack a big bag this time.” I looked around the little room. She had clothes, a laptop computer and a collection of cookbooks in a milk crate. “Bring all of it. I’ll tell your landlord you’re moving out.”

  She pushed her hair out of her face. “I hope you don’t regret this.”

  “Not a chance. I’m getting everything I want. I hope you don’t regret it.”

  She stood up and took a deep breath. “I won’t. I want to work in Vermont.”

  “Good!”

  “You have a fun job. And I get to make cider donuts, damn it. They’ll cost almost nothing, and people will pay up for a hot donut at an orchard. Maybe there should be dipping sauces. Like caramel apple flavored…”

  “Oh, fuck. You’re killing me. I’m hungry again.”

  “Figures. Let’s get out of here. We could almost get back in time for dinner.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Audrey

  We stood up, and I was still a little stunned. I went over to my tiny closet and opened the door, but then I just stared at the clothing for a moment, still trying to make sense of this plan.

  My mother had always accused me of being a wild girl who wasn’t smart enough to stay the course. But she was wrong. I’d been single-mindedly pursuing my dream job for the past two years. Until an hour ago I’d been ready to wait as long as it took.

  But, damn it, it was okay to want things. It was okay to change my mind and move to Vermont on a whim and skinny dip beside an organic apple orchard if I felt like it. I wanted that life, and I wanted this man.

  I wasn’t giving up. I was trading up.

  Feeling giddy, I hastily packed up my things. I didn’t have any boxes, but almost everything fit into my luggage. I stole one of roommate’s garbage bags for a place to stash my bedding.

  The futon I left for the next poor slob who needed it.

  As we tossed my stuff into the back of Griff’s truck, I felt like I was making some kind of unlawful getaway from my troubles. Mom would say I was being flighty again. She’d accuse me of quitting before I’d accomplished anything.

  And maybe I was. But I was so freaking happy to climb into that truck beside Griff. That had to mean something important. It was possible to run toward something instead of running away, right?

  “Griffin?” I said as he pealed down my street. Good riddance to it.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “I was just thinking about my mother. I need to call her.”

  He winced. “Why?”

  I yanked my phone out of my bag. “Just an idea I have. You’d still sell to BPG at six-seventy-five, right?”

  He tapped the steering wheel. “I suppose I would. Not like I love the idea anymore. But I do need the cash.”

  My mother’s receptionist answered on the first ring, as always. I think Mom docked their pay if they didn’t. “Karen Kidder’s office. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hi,” I said carefully. “This is Audrey. Allison’s daughter.”

  There was a beat of silence on the phone. The new receptionist—they were always new, because my mother rode them like rodeo bulls—clearly didn’t know her boss had a daughter. Either Mom removed my picture from the silver frame on her desk, or else this girl was too timid to ask about the ph
otos. “Let me see if she’s available. One moment please.”

  I held my breath while the assistant verified my identity. My mom picked up only a few seconds later. “Audrey? Is anything wrong?”

  That greeting was unexpected. If I weren’t crazy, I detected a note of concern. Then again, I hadn’t called her office in two years. We’d only spoken on a few occasions when I’d answered the phone without looking at the caller ID. And then there was that awful time in Vermont…

  “I’m…I have a problem. And I need your help.”

  “Are you in jail?”

  That brought out a nervous snort of laughter. “No, Mom. Still haven’t been locked up yet. It’s a business problem. At BPG. I’m still an intern there. Or I was until an hour ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, they broke their word on a purchase from a farmer, and it’s a make or break kind of thing for him. As an investor in BPG, I thought you should know how they operate.”

  My mother listened quietly while I wove the tale. “They made a deal, and then they broke it. We have emails telling us the contract is coming. That has to count as proof! And maybe forty thousand dollars isn’t a big sum to them, but it could sink a small farm.”

  “And you’re involved with this farmer, aren’t you?”

  “That shouldn’t matter,” I said quickly. “A deal is a deal.”

  She sighed. “I know that, and you know that. But the rules are different for women. I’m going to call Burton now and ask why the hell he’s done this.”

  “You are?” I couldn’t even hide my shock.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

  I opened my mouth but for a second nothing came out. “Yes,” I managed eventually. “Yes, please. It’s just wrong to…”

  “I know, Audrey. I get it. Let me see what I can find out.” She hung up on me then. My mother never had that extra half-second you needed to say goodbye.

  Griffin stole a glance at me. “I didn’t hear any shouting.”

  “Yeah… That didn’t go how I expected. She’s actually going to investigate.” A few miles went by in silence. “I almost didn’t call her. I didn’t think she’d care.”

  He reached over and squeezed my knee. “Maybe your mom wised up a little. You want to reconsider pitching for the contest? I’ll drive you there on the big day. You could still give it a shot.”

  I turned to study Griff’s strong profile as he drove. That was a face I wanted to see every day. If by some miracle I beat the stacked deck and launched a restaurant with BPG, there’d be no way for me to spend any time with Griff. I’d be looking at sixteen-hour days in a windowless Boston kitchen, trying to make sure the top brass at BPG didn’t screw with every product source and price tag on my menu.

  It would be a big life. But it wouldn’t be a good life.

  “I’m done with them,” I admitted. “They made every day a trial. If I were spearheading an expensive project, they’d only be more awful. I’d rather fight with you than fight with them. Because, make-up sex.”

  Griff tipped his head back and laughed. “What are we fighting about?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But you get cranky sometimes when there’s stress.”

  He rubbed his chin. “People tell me I’m nicer when you’re around. You know what that means, right?”

  “That you need to be getting it on the regular or you’re a grumpy bear?”

  He shook his head. “That sure doesn’t hurt. But come here.”

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid across the bench seat. Then I buckled myself into the center spot because we were doing seventy-five on highway 93. “What?”

  Griffin put an arm around me. “That’s better.”

  It was. Truly.

  “At the risk of freaking you out, because you don’t like it when I say these things…” He stole a glance at me and then returned his eyes to the road. “I love you, princess. You’re the sweet that balances out my natural tannins.”

  My face flushed as I replayed those words in my head. I love you. I’d learned to avoid these words from men who’d let me down. But it sounded entirely different coming from Griffin Shipley. “Wow.”

  “I know, right? Everything good in life can be explained by cider.”

  I put my hand on his cheek, letting his beard tickle my palm. “I love you, too, Griff. All two-hundred stubborn pounds of you.”

  He tilted his head into my palm. “That’s all that matters. The rest will work out,” he promised. “Somehow.”

  We got to Vermont just before six. I’d left it less than eight hours earlier, but I still looked around carefully when I got out of the truck. The rooster came around the side of the house, on patrol. Dylan was reading a history textbook in the hammock on the porch, while Daphne sat catty-corner in one of the wicker rockers. I saw her stick out one leg and kick her brother in the thigh.

  His hammock wobbled. But he didn’t even look up.

  “Damn, I love it here,” I admitted. “Can we pour a glass of tea and sit on the porch later?”

  Griff opened the back door of his truck and took out my Easy-Bake oven. “I guess so. Sitting down is something I never do when there are apples hanging on my trees.”

  “So you’ll sit down in, say, November?”

  “Sometimes. Other times I split wood while other people sit down.”

  Huh. Watching Griffin split wood sounded like a good time. I was looking forward to November.

  We took a load of my stuff into Griff’s room, where it seemed to clutter up the place immediately. I felt a little guilty just leaving it there in the corner, but Griff put a hand on my back and said, “Let’s not be late for dinner. Mom won’t like it.”

  So we crossed the yard one more time, and I began to feel self-conscious. I hoped she’d just say, “Hello, Audrey, dear. Could you hand me those napkins?”

  But that’s not what happened.

  A little cheer went up from May, Jude and Ruth when we stepped into the kitchen.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” Ruthie said, tossing down a basket of rolls to come around and kiss my cheek. “I thought my son had lost his mind. I’m happy to see he’s found it.” She grabbed an envelope from beside the telephone. “Here, honey. Look what Griffin won.”

  “I heard,” I said, removing the letter from the envelope. I skimmed the congratulatory bits at the top until I reached the prize statement at the bottom. BEST IN CLASS, BEST IN SHOW: AUDREY by Shipley Farms. “Omigod!” I squeaked. “You named it after me?”

  Griffin made a serious face, but I think I saw his neck turning pink. “How else was I supposed to remember which one was your pick?”

  “I’m on your prize!” I shrieked. “I’ve never won a prize.”

  “Everybody wins something,” May said.

  “Not me!” I stared down at the letter, reading it again. “There’s going to be a trophy. It might say Audrey on it.”

  Griffin chuckled. “Maybe? Hell, if it doesn’t I’ll have it engraved on there just for you.”

  I jumped into his arms. “Thank you!”

  “For what?” he said, his voice muffled by my clumsy enthusiasm.

  “For entering. For everything.”

  He gave me a big, sloppy kiss on the neck. In front of everyone. “You’re my prize, princess. Now let’s celebrate.” He set me down, then rubbed his stomach. “With some dinner.”

  Fifteen minutes later we were all sitting around the table, waiting for Grandpa. His tires could be heard in the driveway just as Ruth took her seat, frowning up a storm over his tardiness.

  “You’re late,” she said as he entered the room.

  “Apologies,” he said, shuffling around to take the last available seat next to his granddaughter. He kissed May on the cheek and then shook out his napkin.

  “Griffin, it’s your turn to say grace.”

  He shot me a warm look and then took my hand. “Dear Lord, thank you for these blessings we are about to receive. Thank you for watching over the
cidery today while Kyle was in charge of the press. This time he didn’t clog the grinder and I thank you.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes across the table.

  “And thank you for bringing Audrey to her senses and back to Vermont, the most beautiful state in the union, to be part of a loud and sometimes uncooperative family who already loves her.”

  There was a small cheer at that, and I’m not ashamed to say that it brought tears to my eyes.

  “Poor girl has to put up with you, though,” somebody muttered.

  “Amen.”

  The moment the prayer ended, the passing of dishes commenced. There was turkey with stuffing, yams and cranberry sauce. After filling his plate, Griffin got up and disappeared. I heard the kitchen door open and shut, then I heard it again after five minutes. He reappeared in the dining room with a growler in his hand.

  “What’s that?” May asked as he set it on the sideboard and counted out wine glasses.

  “What do you think it is? An award-winning cider.” He began to pour and then to ferry filled glasses to everyone at the table (except for Jude.) He even put glasses in front of the twins. “Special occasion,” he muttered.

  Then he put the growler in the middle of the table. AUDREY was scrawled on the label in Sharpie.

  Standing behind his chair, he raised his glass. “To more greatness!”

  There were cheers and taunts. “Yeah!” “Congrats!” “Ego, much?”

  I drank, and the wonderful, musky strangeness of the cider hit me just as hard the second time. “Wow.” I took another sip. “It’s so…dangerously good.”

  “It’s…” His mother paused, then tasted it again. She swirled the cider in her glass. “Remarkable, honey. It’s really unique. What is that flavor?”

  My eyes met Griff’s over the rim of his glass. But looking at him was a mistake, because he was struggling not to laugh. So now I was struggling not to laugh.

  I jerked my eyes elsewhere, watching the faces around the table as everyone tasted the sex cider. At least Griffin hadn’t scrawled that on the growler. Amusement bubbled up inside me again and threatened to spill out.