Bittersweet (True North, #1)

by Sarina Bowen

Tuxbury Vermont “Griffin?”

“Are you going to go to Vermont for a few days or not?”

Vermont hillside.

She looked up quickly, a grin on her face. “I know you don’t give a fuck about the label, Grouchy Griff,” she said, putting it down again. “But marketing matters to buyers. People need to feel good about plunking down a lot of cash for premium goods. They want a story, because the story lasts longer than it takes to swallow something.” “Uh-huh.” This was the kind of mumbo jumbo that made me crazy, because people should be willing to pay for organic quality simply because it’s the right thing to do. “So you’re saying the pretty picture means more to your customers than the fact that my orchard isn’t poisoning Vermont’s groundwater with chemicals and petroleum-based fertilizers? And that I pay my employees a living wage?”

“Where do you two know each other from, anyway?” Zach asked, heading over to the sideboard for another helping. My mother looked up. “You two met before?” Well, damn it, Zach. Now I’d have to kill him after lunch. Shame, too. Such a great employee.

his wallet.

Why did he have it?

I found his expression as hot as a blowtorch. “Princess, we’re going to get a few things straight.” “We are?” Good response, Tawdry. Searing.

“We’re almost there, city girl. At least you’re wearin’ real shoes today. New kicks?” Busted. “I bought them at Farm-Way.” Tired of trudging around farms in my sandals, I’d wandered into a sprawling store in the little town of Bradford. That’s where I’d found a pair of pink hiking shoes and some footie socks. “What did you think of that place? We go there all the time.” “I thought it was hysterical.” They sold shoes and clothes. And horse tack, chicken feed and wood fencing. “Where else can you buy a riding crop and local maple syrup? The place is like a Vermont BDSM supply shop.” Griff laughed and took my hand again. “Except the riding crops they sell are actually used on horses.” “That’s just wrong.” I sniffed. “Those horses need a safe word.” Griff laughed again.

Last time our family table was blessed with a sample of Audrey’s genius, everyone moaned and carried on with loud praise. But this time everyone absorbed the bliss in relative silence. There were a few quiet words of thanks to Audrey, but nobody wanted to gush over food that poor Mom had wanted to cook for us in a more ordinary way. As I glanced around the table, I saw Zach and Jude and Dylan shoveling it in almost guiltily. That’s when Mom threw down her napkin. “I would injure myself more often if it meant I could eat this. Well done, honey. Boys—it’s okay. Be honest.” There was an immediate chorus of moaning and several offers of marriage. I think one of them came from me. “God

illegal in several states.

Such an American thing to say

“Wanting you makes it hard to ignore that I’ve been lonely. That maybe I need more than fourteen hours a day of hard labor and a bed in the bunkhouse. I need you in my bed. In my kitchen…” I snorted. My mother would stage a feminist intervention if she could hear that. Griff shook his head. “That came out wrong. But every time I see you in my kitchen you look happy as a clam. You smile, and you get this look on your face like you’re in the zone. It’s nice. Makes me want to throw you over my shoulder and haul you away with me.”

I stroked his beard and asked, “Where else do you need me?” Mom would burst a vessel if she heard that, too. “Everywhere,” he growled. “Want you in the cider house, tasting the blends with me. Want you sitting beside me in church, when I take Mom on Sundays. But after that I’ll need you in the shower. Up against the wall…”

“Either way, I want to watch you flip eggs in the air while you boss me around. Come on, princess.” He opened the door. “Make me an omelet I didn’t order.” Something like warmth filled my chest. And then it was immediately chased by anxiety. Griffin needed a warning sign, like the kind they put over the pizza oven at the culinary school. Danger, hot! I had to be careful or I’d start picturing myself as a permanent part of his life. It was all too easy to imagine myself in that kitchen every day, teasing his little brother, helping out his mom. Not only did I have the hots for Griff, I had a crush on his family, too.

He turned around slowly. I didn’t even bother disguising my interest. I wasn’t afraid to show Griff that I loved him. Loving him wasn’t the problem. But loving myself enough to return to Boston and make a go of my career was the hard part.

The weekend was perfect. But eventually Monday arrived. It always does. In the pre-dawn darkness I heard Griff’s alarm go off. He stopped its beeping, then rolled over to hold me. “Gonna miss waking up with you in my bed,” he whispered. “But I understand why you have to go.” Since I didn’t know what to say to that, I just hugged his big, naked body a little more tightly. “I’ll take you back after breakfast,” he said quietly. “And next week when you make your pitch to those assholes, I hope they give you every last thing you want. And if they don’t, I hope you’ll try again.” He stroked my hair. “I never got the chance to find out if pro ball was going to happen for me. I didn’t get to figure it out for myself. But you can have that chance.” He kissed the top of my head. “But if you get discouraged…if you need a day off from trying, I’ll be here where you can find me.”

“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.”