It was hot in the orchard, and everyone’s skin glistened with sweat. Those up the ladders had tree bark in their hair and stained fingers as they carefully picked the precious crop, while the basket carriers just sweated.
The klaxon sounded at five o’clock, when the picking crew got to share the contents of the last basket.
Peach juice stuck to Mattie’s fingers, and Dom’s tongue itched to taste the trickle of sweetness that ran down her smooth, brown throat.
She took another bite of sun-warmed peach flesh and licked her lips, while her eyes dared him to come closer.