A short story by Heidi Dischler

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said as she came up behind him. Annabelle knew she should just leave him alone, but he was ruining the best apples on the tree. 

He turned to look at her and she cocked her head at him. He wasn’t the type to come and pick apples from the orchard. Young, wearing slacks and nice shoes—Anna looked at his left hand—a bachelor. He looked completely out of place here. 

“Excuse me?” he said politely, although Annabelle could definitely hear the irritation in his tone. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” she repeated. She walked closer to him and reached up to the branch to the apple that he just released. “If you’re going to insist on picking them by hand, you can’t just pull them off with your fingertips. You’ll bruise them.”

He looked at her inquisitively with a cocky smile on his face. “Okay then, show me how it’s done.” 

Annabelle used the palm of her hand to spread the pressure around the apple equally and she gently tugged it free from its stem. “There,” she said as she handed him the apple. “Might be the only one you get that’s not bruised.” She started to walk away from him, but he called her back.

“I touched that one,” he called to her. 

She turned around and furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

“I already tried to pick the one you just gave me—I touched it—so, would you mind showing me again?”

Annabelle almost cracked a smile, but she held herself together. When she didn’t move, he spoke more. 

“I really would love to have at least one apple that isn’t bruised,” he said, a smile lighting up his face. 

She couldn’t help herself, she looked down, shook her head, and smiled a small, secret smile. Anna walked over to him with her hands in the pockets of her overalls. “It would be tragic if you went home with less than perfect apples.” A small breeze whipped around her as she passed him and her ponytail swayed. It wasn’t exactly cold—October in Connecticut was relatively pleasant—but she still shivered as she reached up to the tree to pick another apple. 

“I’m Ben. Benjamin Joseph Oliver.” 

The first thing that Anna thought was along the lines of “whoa, that’s a lot of first names,” but she never formed this thought into words. “Well, Ben,” she said as she plopped the freshly picked apple into the palm of his hand. “What brings you to Middlefield? You don’t exactly look….” she trailed off, wondering if she was being rude. 

Ben smiled at his shoes, gently placed the apple into his bag, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I know,” he started. “I didn’t exactly come prepared.” 

Anna raised her eyebrows. That didn’t exactly answer her question. 

“I’m sort of… avoiding someone.” 

“Oh,” she said before she could stop herself. “Well, Ben, I better be going, I just—”

“My father,” Ben interrupted. “I’m avoiding my father.” 

Anna nodded. That still made her want to leave. “I really do have to get going,” she said.

Ben smiled somberly and nodded as he looked her in the eyes. “It was nice to meet you….” 

“Annabelle….” she started. He looked as if he was waiting for her. She just stared at him as he stood there, unrelenting, and then she figured, why not? “Annabelle Grace Anderson.” 

That’s when his eyebrows furrowed. “Anderson, as in, of Anderson Orchards?” 

Anna threw her arms out in a wide arc. “The one and only.” 

“The expert apple picker herself,” Ben smiled. 

“Oh yeah,” she said, slowly nodding her head with a smug smile on her face. “I can spot an amateur from a mile away.” 

“Oh, that one hurt,” he said as he put his hand to his heart. 

The breeze whipped back around them, Anna’s hair brushing across her cheeks. She shivered, thinking about the laundry list of things she still had to take care of before nightfall. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Benjamin Joseph Oliver.” She stuck her hand out, firmly shook his hand, and began to walk away. 

“Excuse me, miss?” he called when she was a few yards ahead of him. 

She turned around and arched an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest. 

“Could you spare a few minutes to answer some questions for a paying customer?” 

Annabelle outright laughed. She had to hand it to him, he was very persistent and knew exactly which avenue would get her to stay. She walked back over to him. “And what kind of questions do you have?” 

The smile that lit up his face was borderline adorable, but Anna would never admit that to him. He looked triumphant. 

“What type of apples are these?”

“Honey crisps,” she replied.

Ben was staring at her, but she didn’t look away from his gaze no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel. 

“Anything else?” 

“How long do the orchards stay open?”

“Today? You’ve got about an hour left.”

“And what does the owner do when they close?” 

Anna laughed and shook her head. “A boat load of work.” 

“And does she ever need help?” Ben asked softly.

This surprised her. Anna was pretty—she knew that much from living in the city for five years—but she had never had a guy offer to help her with her work. “No,” she said uncertainly. “She’s a pretty capable woman.” 

Ben laughed. “I had no doubt about that.”

Anna took in a deep breath, thinking about how much faster everything would go if she had help. It’s not like she was inviting him to stay over. Just work. Like an employee. One who wasn’t getting paid. “But, the owner does have a lot on her plate right now,” Anna began slowly, “and she does think she could use help.”

Again, he looked triumphant. 

“But she doesn’t need it,” Anna admonished. 

“Oh no, of course not,” he assured her. 

She rolled her eyes. “Grab your apples,” she started, and then smiled to herself deviously. “How good are you at doing dishes?”