Andrew by Jennifer Beckstrand

Author:Jennifer Beckstrand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2019-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“In here, Mary,” Alfie said, pointing to the long room attached to the side of his house. A gas generator screeched and hummed outside the window. In many Amish businesses, the generator and other sources of power were banished to the outdoors so it wasn’t so noisy inside.

Mary gave Alfie a weak smile as he opened the door for her. She could tell by the way her heart tripped all over itself that this was not a gute idea. It was not fair to Andrew, no matter how she felt about him. She liked Andrew Petersheim, liked him a lot, but she also liked her freedom. She couldn’t have both. If she let herself care too much for Andrew, the choice would tear her in half. She’d rather stay in one piece, thank you very much.

Alfie and Benji wanted to show her how they made peanut butter. She could take the tour, but she didn’t have to stick around and get caught up in Andrew’s eyes or that captivating smile of his. He’d fixed her broken toe, but she didn’t owe him anything, even if she was beginning to fear he had more power over her than she was willing to admit.

She refused to fall in love, even with Andrew Petersheim. Indifference would make her choice so much easier, but that sinking feeling in her chest wouldn’t leave her, even when she tried her best to ignore it. Unfortunately for her, she was way past indifference when it came to Andrew. A peanut butter tour was a very bad idea.

Benji held the door as Alfie marched ahead of her into the long, ample room that housed their peanut butter business.

“Close that door,” Rebecca yelled from the other end of the room. “You’re letting in the flies.”

Benji shuffled quickly into the room and shut the door behind him.

Alfie held out his hand like the woman on TV did when she was modeling a prize. “Here you go.”

The peanut butter factory, as Benji had called it, was a long room attached to the east side of the Peter-sheims’ house. Three long tables covered in bright white paper were set end-to-end running down the center of the room. Austin stood closest to her, pouring peanut butter from a large pitcher into the three dozen or so jars sitting on the table. Abraham stood at the middle table grinding peanuts with a food processor—powered by the generator outside. Andrew and his mater were at the far end of the room measuring and pouring oil into another, larger food processor. There were four industrial-size sinks against the far wall as well as stacks of empty boxes that used to contain peanuts. They all wore hairnets, which were a necessary part of food preparation, but they didn’t look attractive on anyone. Vell, anyone but Andrew. He managed to look good no matter what he wore.

Andrew glanced up, tore the hairnet off his head, and bloomed into a smile that could have made a chicken lose all her feathers.

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