“They’re not interchangeable.”
He looked irritated.
Then restrained himself.
“My orchard has about ninety tons this year we normally send out.”
“To whom?”
“Feed.”
“Then you have a buyer.”
“Price is poor.”
She waited.
He looked toward the barrels.
“What are you paying?”
She almost laughed.
“You want to sell me apples.”
“I’m asking.”
“You dumped them on my land.”
“Last year.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the floor.
“That was a mistake.”
She said nothing.
He continued.
“I was angry.”
“No.”
He looked up.
“You weren’t just angry.”
“You wanted the load to hurt me financially.”
He breathed out.
“Yes.”
“Say the whole thing.”
His jaw tightened.
She waited.
He finally said:
“I thought if cleanup cost enough, you’d stop fighting me on the road.”
There.
Not apology yet.
But truth.
She leaned against the table.
“And now?”
“Now I have fruit.”
“You need a buyer.”
“And you need fruit.”
“Not yours.”
His expression hardened.
“You can’t run that place forever buying from little orchards.”
“I already have contracts for next season.”
That surprised him.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He looked around.
He had spent months imagining she still depended on the accidental gift.
She did not.
She continued:
“If we ever do business, it won’t be because I need you.”
He said nothing.
“It will be because the numbers and terms make sense.”
He nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
She almost asked whether he would have considered those words a year earlier.
Instead:
“Send specifications.”
He looked surprised.
“You’ll consider it?”
“I’ll consider fruit.”
“That is not the same as trusting you.”
He nodded.
“Understood.”
The following week, his orchard manager assistant delivered detailed cull projections.
Varieties.
Timing.
Average sugar levels.
Handling methods.
The Farm Owner compared the data with her existing suppliers.
The large orchard could provide consistency.
Volume.
Multiple varieties across a long harvest window.
Operationally, it made sense.
Emotionally, she hated it.
Her cousin said:
“Don’t buy from him.”
“Why?”
“He tried to destroy you.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
She looked at the spreadsheet.
“A business cannot make procurement decisions according to who I enjoy having coffee with.”
“He’ll screw you again.”
“Then the contract needs to survive that.”
She hired an attorney.
The supply agreement was twelve pages.