“You would though. If I said it was what I wanted.” “But you don’t want that.” I shook my head. He left a line of kisses from my jaw to the tender spot where my neck met my shoulder. “Who would yell at me about jam farming if you left?” He dropped his head to my shoulder with a sigh. “Jam doesn’t grow on trees, Muggsy.” “But peaches do and they make really nice preserves.”
