“Believe me, I did.” There was no way I was going to make her pay to have something replaced that I intentionally broke. I didn’t even intend for Mabel to know I was the one who fixed it (or plans to fix it). But about five minutes ago she heard me as I attempted to fit the siding back onto the house and came marching out in her gown to ask what the hell I was doing out here at the crack of dawn. It’s around eight in the morning. Hardly dawn. But sometimes I forget that the rest of the world doesn’t share my same early morning rhythm of waking up at five and going for a jog.
Today it was raining when I woke up so I tried to stay in bed later. But then my thoughts took over and dove down every avenue I try to avoid. Like Ethan getting married to someone he barely knows, and wondering how I’m going to respond to the text he sent me before bed last night: Please don’t freeze me out. I need you during all of this.
I honestly don’t know what to say, though. I’m not ready to welcome his new fiancée with open arms, and I’m starting to realize it might not have anything to do with Ethan or Hannah. Last night as I listened to Annie talk about the kind of future she wanted, I felt that relentless tug in my chest again. Not because I want the harvest-parties and soccer-games life she mentioned, but because I want the ability to dream of a life with someone like Annie where my immediate thought isn’t: But how is it going to fail? Ethan seems to have unlocked some new part of himself that can just move past what we went through, and I think I’m wildly jealous of him for it. Maybe even a little bitter. Because the only difference in our upbringing is that he had someone older to take care of him—to make sure he was loved and hugged regularly.
I had no one.
Even now I have no one, but the difference is I’ve stopped waiting for someone to fill that role, and I’m better for it.
After I pushed thoughts of Ethan out, new ones—equally unwelcome ones—took their place. Ones that starred Annie Walker. The feel of her hands under mine. The way she smelled during my demonstration. Ugh. That damn demonstration. Before she showed up, I had promised myself to behave. Keep things buttoned up and businesslike. But of course Annie had to be Annie and throw me a curveball and make me act irrationally.
Now I’m stuck with the memory of her soft skin and parted lips and dilated pupils. She wanted me to kiss her. Badly. And I wanted to kiss her just as much. Probably more. And the worst part is, I’m not just physically attracted to her. I can’t get enough of hearing her talk, and I want to read every book she has stashed away, and I want more than anything to take her on an adventure she’ll never forget.
At least we finally got a real plan in place for these lessons. It was not an easy task, though, because I told Annie we should get her signed up for online dating—to which Annie spent a good portion of the time explaining how she in no way wanted to be sent pickle pictures. I told her to call them dick pics like the rest of the world, but she only grimaced and refused, saying that she didn’t even have any selfies to upload for a dating profile. That made me irrationally upset. Why doesn’t she have photos of herself? Because no one takes photos of her or because she’s not comfortable enough to be in them? I made a silent promise after that to take photos of Annie while I’m in town. And we vetoed the online dating completely. Instead, I’m going to take her out in a few days so I can officially see what sort of a “bad date” I’m dealing with, and we’ll continue from there.
Anyway, back to this morning. I was sick of fighting my thoughts, so I got up and jogged in the rain, and then when the weather cleared, I got a jump start on fixing shit on Mabel’s Inn.
Now she raises her mug to her lips and watches me as I hold up the siding, wondering how in hell I attach it. I found a hammer and some nails in the inn’s storage closet, but they’re sitting uselessly at my feet. I think I’m missing something crucial here—because as I look at the other pieces of siding, I don’t see a single nail.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, huh?” Mabel asks.
“Not a bit.”
She snorts. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”
I give her a side glare and drop the siding to the ground next to the hammer and nails that I don’t think I’ll be using. “I might need the number of your siding guy,” I admit, even though I’d rather eat my shoe than force someone else to clean up the mess I made.
“Like I said, you’re not responsible for this. I’ll call Darrel. You go about your day.” She makes a shooing motion with her hand.
I shift on my feet uncomfortably. “I’d like to help, though. If you’ll just give me his contact number, I’ll get him to fix it and I’ll pay for—”
“You ripped that siding off to create a distraction to sneak Annie into your room, didn’t you?” The wrinkles in her forehead multiply as she skewers me with a look and waits for my response.
My mouth falls open. I flounder for an answer. “How did you know?”
It’s not worth it to lie. This woman has abilities that are clearly not to be underestimated.
She gives me a slow grin—masterfully perfected from years of wielding it. “I know everything in this town.”
“Terrifying.”
“Isn’t it?” She sips her coffee.
“I guess you’ll want to know why she was sneaking into my room?”
“Would you tell me if I asked?”
“No,” I say honestly. “Annie asked me not to. So I have to keep my promise to her.”
And for some reason, having Annie’s trust feels like holding the world. I never want to break it.
“Good man. I knew I liked you.” She raises her mug. “Woulda lost a lot of respect for you if you’d caved right away.” Her eyes shift to the missing siding, and laughter springs to her eyes. She shakes her head with a smile. “Fool. You could’ve just told me Harriet was on her way to the bar early to take my place at poker night.”
“Damn,” I say genuinely, also turning my attention to the eyesore on the side of her inn.
“Next time.” She drinks from her mug and then turns away. “I won’t tell anyone,” she says loudly in her scratchy voice. “And the siding guy’s my nephew. Let me call him because it’ll be a hoot to tell him his handiwork didn’t hold up and then threaten to call his daddy.” She pauses and looks back at me with lifted brows. “Now get to work before Amelia fires you and you have to leave town and Annie behind.” The corner of her mouth twitches, and I think her brain is drawing all sorts of conclusions it shouldn’t. Ones with wedding bells and babies and deep, deep roots.
“Nothing’s going to happen between me and Annie,” I say, just to make sure everyone is on the same page.
She laughs. “You’re aware it’s only eight in the morning, right? That means it’s too early for your shit talking. Now I’m going to go finish my coffee while watching The Price Is Right, so get out of here.”
I laugh even though I’m a little terrified of Mabel. Terrified and in awe. “See you later, Mabel.”
With her back to me and fluffy pink gown swinging as she walks, she raises her mug in the air. I’m not fully convinced there’s actually coffee in there.
“You look ridiculous,” Amelia tells me as we wind our way around the greenhouses at Huxley Farm.
“No, you look ridiculous,” I say, looking Amelia up and down. She’s wearing homemade cutoff shorts, brown work boots, a gray tank top, and a big oversize floppy hat—so opposite to her usual classic tailored look. “Like a hillbilly.”
Normally I would never dare speak to a client so freely. But this is Amelia, and we’ve worked together for so long now we’re practically related. And Amelia is the furthest thing from a stuck-up celebrity as you can get. The first day on the job with her, she threw everything I was taught out the window. The woman refused to walk in front of me, falling in step with me, asking an endless string of questions like, So where were you born? How many siblings do you have? What’s your favorite hobby?
After a year of that, Amelia became my friend whether I wanted one or not. Never anything more than that. Yes, I would absolutely take a bullet for the woman, but I would never in a million years sleep with her. And I’m a thousand percent sure she feels the same way.
She strangles a guttural laugh in her throat. “Better a hillbilly than what you’re wearing. You look like a city slicker straight out of a Hallmark movie who needs to learn a lesson in the country. Who wears white sneakers to a farm, Will?”
I look down and cringe at the dirt smudges already forming. “It was an oversight for sure. But it’s better than dressing like Elly May Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
I give her shit about it, but the truth is, I like this new side of Amelia. She seems lighter and more fun. Country life suits her the way adventure suits me. I just didn’t realize until she was here with Noah how much she needed this place—these people.
She touches the brim of her straw hat. “It’s basically farm dress code. Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
“Don’t think so. I’ll be out of here before there’s enough time for any of this to rub off on me once you persuade my boss to let me go.” The grass crunches under our feet as we walk to a wide clearing behind each of the greenhouses where Amelia and Noah are planning to hold their ceremony and reception.
Amelia squints up at me. “You really don’t want to stick around after the wedding?”
This morning, on our drive to the farm, I talked to her about the conversation I had with my boss. That’s one of the perks of having a nontraditional relationship with the client. I can be honest. Amelia wasn’t too thrilled, though. The only thing that seemed to ease her mind was when I told her to call me when she’s ready to tour again.
“I can’t,” I say, looking down at her with a genuinely sad smile. “You’re hands down my favorite person to work for—and a good friend—but you know me. I need a fast-paced life. I’ve only been here a few days, and I’m already pulling my hair out.” Sort of. Okay, in truth it hasn’t been all that bad, but I don’t want to admit that to Amelia, or she’ll be like a kid in a candy shop.
“Is a fast-paced life really what you need?” she asks, surprising me with the seriousness of her tone. She has spiritual guide eyes right now, and she’s freaking me out.
I turn toward her and frown. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind.”
I don’t trust that “never mind” one bit. “Will you tell my boss you’re okay with being assigned a new EPA?”
She looks at me with a meaningfully sharp expression and a taut smirk. “I’ll consider it.”
Meaning no.
She raises her hand to the top of her hat as she turns her gaze to the open field. “So what do you think? Great place for a wedding, right?”
I look out over the sprawling green grass dusted with little white wildflowers and dandelions that fade into a lush tree line under dark blue skies. “It’s beautiful.”
Even a cynic like me can appreciate how perfect this spot is for a wedding.
“I think so too.” Amelia bounces lightly on her feet and then starts out in front of me, excitedly describing what’s in her imagination. “We’ll have a row of adorable wooden folding chairs here. And one here. This is where the center aisle will be.” She points to her left. “Over there we’re having a temporary dance floor installed, and there will be all these dreamy lights and velvet fabrics draping over it like a canopy. And then over there is where we’ll have the food.”
I watch silently as Amelia bounces around the empty field—joy bursting from her like sunlight as she describes her wedding. What’s it like to feel that unbridled excitement toward sharing your life with someone else? To be full of hope and anticipation rather than dread and cynicism. I envy her.
“All right, are you getting bored over there?” she yells across the expanse of grass.
I shut my eyes and pretend to snore, making her laugh.
“Fine, let me just take this picture and we can go,” she says, fishing out her phone.
The whole reason we are here right now is so she can take a picture of the area for her wedding planner, who has been working remotely, and then I’ll escort her into town, where she’s going to spend the afternoon with Noah in The Pie Shop. And then I’ll be on my own for the rest of the day. Where that thought used to cause dread, now I feel a stir of anticipation. I wonder what Annie’s doing?
Once Amelia is finished with her photos, we make the trek back through the farm toward her truck. We fill the silence easily as usual.
“It’s a nice farm,” I say, pretending I know anything about farms. “Good grass.”
Luckily, Amelia shares my brand of sarcastic humor. “Right? That’s clearly the best tractor too.”
“Yeah. The…green is good.”
“I’ve driven it,” she says proudly. “It’s pretty slow.”
I hum noncommittally as we again approach the greenhouses full of produce and one of flowers. In my limited knowledge of farms, this one feels massive. It has outdoor crops in addition to the greenhouses. Some dairy cows too.
Amelia and I continue to make farm-ignorant comments back and forth until I see a figure several yards away in one of the rows of huge pink flowers. My eyes are snagged immediately, and I do a double take. Annie. Her blonde hair is braided to the side, her face shielded by a big straw sun hat. She’s wearing work gloves and holding a pair of gardening scissors. Today she has a tight white short-sleeved shirt underneath her cutoff jean overalls. I swear the sunlight hits this woman differently than other people. It seeps into her skin, makes her glow.
I imagine running my hands over that sun-warmed skin, and desire punches me in the stomach. Or rather, somewhere farther south than the stomach. I stare—and everything gets worse as Annie bends over to clip a few long stems from the row of flowers. My gaze sweeps over the soft curve of her ass, down her tan legs to her brown work boots. She looks mouthwateringly sweet.
“How come you’re not commenting that she looks like Elly May Clampett?” asks Amelia, bumping her shoulder into my arm.
“Who?” My voice comes out as dry as the desert. Amelia barks out a laugh, and I shake myself from the daze to look at her. “I was just trying to figure out what the name of those flowers is.”
She smirks. “Uh-huh. Sure. Why don’t you ask the woman you’re gawking at?”
I wiggle my fingers in front of her smug face. “Can you do less of this please?”
She bats her eyelashes. “Less of what?”
“The matchmaking. I can feel it. This town has seeped into your brain and turned you into a disgusting hopeless romantic.”
“And I can turn you into one, too, if you’d just quit fighting it so hard. You’re not going to want to be a player forever, you know? And if you happen to meet a cute blonde flower shop owner and want to give dating a go…well, then—”
“I knew you had ulterior motives by asking me to be Annie’s dating coach. You’re going to be very disappointed when this doesn’t work out the way you want. I’m not going to fall in love with Annie or whatever it is you think is going to happen.”
“Yeah…the love part. That’s exactly what I think will happen.”
“Like hell. I don’t think I’m built for love.”
She narrows her eyes, still not convinced. “Then why did you say yes to helping Annie?”
Why, indeed. Because she has a hold on me that I can’t figure out. Because her eyes do this sparkly thing when she’s excited and the light hits them just right. Because the curve of her bottom lip is perfect. Because I feel desperate to know what wild thing she’s going to say next anytime she’s around.
“Because there’s absolutely nothing to do in this town, and I need something to keep me busy when you don’t need m—”
I cut off, my eyes drifting to follow the new scene playing out in front of me. James appears out of nowhere and walks down the row of flowers toward Annie. He’s carrying a bucket full of cut roses and the muscles in his arms bulge obnoxiously. He smiles at Annie and she looks overjoyed to see him. He sets down the bucket, and she launches herself into his arms for a nice big bear hug. The squeeze he gives her in return feels like a bit much.
Amelia hovers in my vision again, following my gaze. “Someone feeling a little jealous?”
“Not in the least.”
“Your jaw just flexed.”
“It does that naturally because it’s so square.”
“You mean it does that naturally when you’re jealous.” She drags out the word annoyingly.
I sigh and close my eyes, tilting my face up toward the sun, wishing it would burn me up. It would be better than having to endure Amelia on a mission. Last time this happened it was over tacos. I made the terrible mistake of telling her I didn’t like them—which happens to be her favorite food—and she proceeded to stop at every acclaimed taco place during a U.S. tour and made me try one from each restaurant until I found one I liked.
Unfortunately, I do like tacos now, but it’s annoying.
Amelia laughs, and I’m afraid that if we stand here much longer, they’re going to hear her evil cackle and notice us.
I open my eyes and put my hands on Amelia’s shoulders, steering her in the direction of the car—opposite to the way of Annie and James. “All right. Time to go.”
“Because you’re raging with jealousy and about to throw your fist in James’s face?”
“Because you’re clearly having a heatstroke and growing delirious. I’m not into Annie.” I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. Or if I am, it’s purely lust. Lust that I will not act on because that feels like an awkward situation waiting to happen. You can’t have a one-night stand with someone in a town of this size. Not to mention the situation that Amelia just inserted me into as Annie’s dating coach. All signs point toward don’t!
Amelia is relentless, though. “You know what? Now that I think of it, Annie and James do make a cute couple. I should ask him to help her with her practice dates instead.”
I leave her in my dust, eating up the ground to get to the truck faster. “It’s a good thing you found Noah,” I call over my shoulder.
“Don’t you want to get one more look at her before you leave?” Amelia taunts cheerfully.
“Nope. I’m good.”
“Oh my gosh, Will, they just kissed! So much tongue I can see it from here.”
I roll my eyes and keep walking. But when I get to Amelia’s truck (she refuses to ride in the company-provided SUV), I glance briefly over my shoulder.
Annie is by herself again among the flowers, and for some reason, that makes me breathe a sigh of relief.
