He frowned. “Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t like owing people anything.”
Jonah smirked. “Good luck with that.”
Asher crossed his arms. “You don’t owe me.”
“Still,” I said. “Eat at least one.”
His brow creased. “You made them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “Because you’ve fed me twice. And because they’re really good.”
“That’s subjective,” he said dryly.
“The bread’s from the Maple Valley bakery,” I continued. “Focaccia. And I make my own fried egg recipe.”
That got his attention.
“You have a fried egg recipe,” he repeated.
“Don’t sound so judgmental,” I said. “Just try it.”
Soleil leaned in. “You should. She knows what she’s doing.”
Elise nodded. “I second that.”
Asher hesitated, clearly unused to being peer-pressured about lunch, then grabbed one of the sandwiches and sat at the far end of the table. I tried not to watch. He unwrapped it, took one bite, and froze. His eyes widened just a fraction. Then he took another bite. And another.
I bit down on my lip, suppressing a smile.
“This is—” he stopped himself, chewed, swallowed. “This is really good.”
“See?” I said lightly. “I told you.”
“What’s in it?” he asked.
“Egg, cheese dill, salt and pepper. Plus, my own secret sauce,” I said vaguely.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not telling me.”
“Nope.”
He shook his head, but there was something like reluctant amusement there. “You’re trouble.”
I snorted. “So I’ve been told.”
We ate in companionable quiet after that. When the break ended, Asher stood and tossed the wrapper.
“Thank you,” he said. “For the sandwich.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our eyes met for a second longer than necessary. Then he turned back toward the rows, all business again. I followed amoment later, my heart doing something stupid in my chest that I refused to analyze. Because I was here for answers. And the orchard had already taught me that some truths came slowly. And some connections, whether you wanted them or not, started to grow anyway.