Soleil smirked. “Told you. Stone walls.”
I sighed and stood. “Okay.”
I crossed the room and opened the fridge. Everything inside looked organized, labeled and deliberate. Wrapped in butcher paper on the middle shelf was exactly what he’d said a thick meat sandwich that made my stomach growl now that I was looking at it. As I pulled it out, Soleil’s voice carried behind me.
“She’s probably not cut out for physical labor anyway,” she said lightly. “She’s smart. Like, really smart.”
I froze.
“Oh?” Asher said.
“She’s working on her master’s degree,” Soleil continued, clearly unaware she’d just detonated something. “Criminology, right?”
My grip tightened on the sandwich. I hadn’t wanted Asher to know that. Not yet at least.
When I turned back, his expression had shifted, not angry, not surprised. Just more alert.
“Criminology,” he repeated.
I met his gaze evenly. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” he asked.
“When it mattered,” I said.
A beat passed.
“And now?” he said.
“Now I’m eating my lunch.” I shrugged.
Something flickered across his face. Curiosity, maybe. Or calculation.
“Why would a city girl with a degree choose orchard work?” he asked. “Why not an office job? Or an internship?”
I took a bite before answering. It was embarrassingly good.
“I like being outside,” I said. “And I needed the money. What are you, a cop?”
“The son of a cop,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “That’s not the whole truth.”
“It’s enough of it,” I said, but his jaw tightened. For a moment, it looked like he might press further. Then he stepped back.
“Finish eating,” he said. “We head out in ten.”
I nodded. “Thanks. For the sandwich.”
He didn’t respond. Just watched me a moment longer before turning away. The afternoon dragged in the best and worst ways, with the warmth of sun, repetition, and the steady burn in my arms. I worked harder than I needed to, stubbornness pushing me forward. By two, the rows were quiet again. As people packed up, Elise leaned against a crate beside me.
“So,” I said, “what do you do around here for fun?”
She hesitated. “Depends on what you’re into.”
I thought about it, then said, “Back-room card games. Or maybe a local bar.”
She blinked. “You don’t seem like that type.”
“It’s for my thesis,” I added quickly.