Let’s make a pact.
They were young teens, and they hadn’t made pacts since they were little boys. But Ransom’s eyes were flashing with a ferocity that had Jensen automatically nodding instead of asking questions.
My little sister is off-limits,Ransom had said.
And Jensen had gone along with it without asking a single question. Willow had been blushing at him and making some innocent attempts at flirting. But he obviously wasn’t going to take advantage of that. Ransom was protective of his little sister, but Jensen was protective of her too. It was good that she was testing out her charms on someone who would never hurt her.
When Ransom held out his arm, Jensen grasped it without a second thought.
Willow is off-limits,he repeated.
Forever,Ransom added, nodding sternly, as he grasped Jensen’s arm.
Jensen had nodded and repeated the word.
After all, he would never think of his best friend’s baby sister that way. She was just a kid.
We all were,he thought to himself.
But did that pact really hold, now that they weren’t kids anymore?
Does it still hold, even when our friendship didn’t?
7
WILLOW
Willow spent the day Friday organizing her apartment, and baking her famous chocolate chip cookies. She honestly hadn’t made them since high school and she was a little worried that she might have lost her touch, or that the oven in the apartment might require adjustments to the temperature or the timing.
But happily, they came out golden and gooey, just the way everyone had always loved them.
Maybe I’ll stop by and surprise Ransom tonight,she thought to herself.He could never be unhappy to see me when I have a nice plate of cookies.
She put the idea on hold though, and headed out to do a little shopping. Downtown Trinity Falls was so much fun at this time of year, and wherever she went she saw familiar faces.
There were gorgeous apples in the bins at the Co-op Grocer, so she bought a bag along with the rest of her groceries. When she got back home and had everythingunpacked, she washed them off, cut them up, put them in a nice bowl, then headed downstairs to Carla’s Place for a little company.
For once, no one was puttering around the kitchen, so she kept going into the living room space.
A couple of the ladies sat on the sofas and chairs, crocheting, reading, and chatting. Joe Cassidy and Reggie Webb had taken spots at the little table by the window with the chess board in front of them, gossiping like a pair of hens about Quinn Allen, who was running Wilson’s tree farm this year, and engaged to the owner’s son, Beau.
“Hello, Willow,” Mrs. Lennox said, looking up from the sweater she was making. “How are you today?”
“Great, Mrs. Lennox,” she replied. “These apples looked too good to pass up at the Co-op, so I bought a bag.”
“Isn’t that lovely?” Mrs. Lennox replied as Willow set the bowl on the coffee table and curled up in one of the easy chairs. “It’s a shame you missed honey crisp season.”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Ying said, nodding. “Those are the very best apples.”
The honey crisp apples at Cassidy Farm lived up to their name—so crisp and juicy, with a delicate flavor that made her mouth water just thinking about it.
“Well, I’ll be here for them next year,” Willow said.
“I’ll bring you over a bushel, young lady,” Joe declared, winking at her.
That won him smiles and happy remarks from the gathering.
“What are you up to today, Willow?” Mrs. Lennox asked.
