Perfect.
“Morning,” she says back, voice a little scratchy at the edges. I remember it gets like that when she first wakes up, body lazy beneath the sheets. I clear my throat and continue fastening my shirt, her gaze stuck on where my hands work at my buttons, the thin strip of bare skin that is exposed. I feel the touch of her eyes like a fingertip against my skin, starting below my collarbones and teasing slowly down. A pulse of heat pounds once at the base of my spine.
“What’re you doing up?” I make myself ask. My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a bag of rocks.
Her tongue swipes at her bottom lip as she turns her back and grabs the two mugs from the countertop. I wish she would keep staring at me, wish she would press her hands beneath this flannel and dig her nails into my skin.
She hands me a mug, her fingertips brushing mine as I curl my hand around warm ceramic.
“I’m coming with you today.” She brings her mug to her lips. “I’d like to see what you do. Would that be alright?”
I nod. She could tell me to put on a hot dog costume and do the merengue down the front steps and I’d probably agree.
“Yeah, that’s alright.”
“You’re sure?” I ask for what feels like the eighty-seventh time since we left the cabin twenty minutes ago. She gives me a look over her shovel like she’s been counting too, entirely unamused.
“Why do you think I can’t handle manual labor?”
I scratch at the back of my head roughly, squinting out over the fields. The transplants will be here soon for planting, and we’ll be all hands on deck for dig day. I prefer to dig by hand （like a lunatic, as Layla likes to say） and of course, Stella has made it into a thing. Music, snacks, a bunch of people who are frankly unhelpful with the whole process. Caleb might be a good deputy, but he digs the most lopsided holes I’ve ever seen in my life.
But it makes Stella happy, so dig day it is.
We’re doing spacing today, marking the distance between each tree. It’ll be easier for people to dig if everything is already placed where it should be. I learned that the hard way when Charlie thought it would be “cool” to make his own “private forest” in the last field we did. I now have several clumps of trees growing way too close to one another, throwing off the balance of the whole thing.
“Just tell me what you need me to do,” Evelyn commands, and my brain immediately offers several detailed suggestions. She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Instruction, farmer boy.”
I hesitate and her eyes narrow into slits. I forgot how demanding she can be.
I forgot how much I like it.
“You don’t think a woman can do what a man does?” If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.
“No,” I reply, amused. “A woman can do what a man does and make it look easy.”
Her eyes narrow further. “Don’t pander to me.”
“I’m not,” I laugh and a reluctant smile blooms on her pretty lips. “My sister could kick my ass. All of my sisters could kick my ass. I’m not ashamed to say it. They used to beat up the kids that made fun of me at school.”
Poor Brian Hargraves never saw Nessa coming. One second he was lobbing kernels of corn at the back of my head as I walked towards the bus and the next Nessa had speared him to the ground like she was an MMA fighter.
The smile wobbles on Evelyn’s face. “Kids made fun of you at school?”
Having trouble talking to other people combined with working on a farm made me an easy target. It was never anything too malicious. Easy enough to block out.
And everyone stopped talking shit when I suddenly grew six inches my junior year, my body bulking up from early mornings at the produce farm.
I clear my throat and nod towards the field of dirt stretched out behind us. Soon enough it will be dotted with small bundles of green, the youngest trees we’ve ever had. They’ll grow here for five years before they’ll be ready for their homes in front of fireplaces and in large windows, decorated with tinsel and lights.
“Dig a shallow shovel-full every six steps.” I glance at her long legs and consider. She points her toe like a runway model and I swallow around another laugh. I swear I’ve never laughed so much in my life. “Five and a half steps.”
“See.” She hefts the shovel up and over her shoulder. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She takes off toward the far side of the field, ponytail swinging behind her. I watch as she stops at the very edge, digs her shovel into the earth, and neatly tosses it to the side. Five and half steps forward. Again.
I don’t know what it says about me that I’m getting turned on by a woman shoveling dirt. Probably nothing good.
“Oh, sweet,” Jeremy suddenly appears at my shoulder and whatever trace of arousal tugging at me dissipates immediately. I clench my teeth. “There’s someone new? I don’t have to shovel rocks anymore. Excellent.”
He holds up his fist for me to pound and I stare at him.
“You shoveled rocks for two days.”
And only because he told me he strained his wrist the third morning. He complained enough that I ripped the shovel right out of his hands.
“Two days too long, bro.”
I hand him my shovel and point in the opposite direction of where Evelyn is working. The last thing she needs is Jeremy being … Jeremy around her. He squints at her in the distance, her spine curved over the shovel. She presses her boot to the blade, pivots down, and lifts with her shoulder. I make a pained sound under my breath.
“Shit, dude. Oh my god. Ohmigod.” Jeremy bobbles the tool in his hands. “Is that—holy shit, bro—is that Evelyn St. James?”
I don’t even know how he can tell who she is from this far away. She’s wearing thick athletic pants that mold to her curves like a second skin and an oversized white t-shirt. A sweatshirt overtop with a stitched outline of Half Dome on the bottom edge. She couldn’t be more inconspicuous if she tried.
Though the pants certainly leave an impression. I’m sure they’ll have a starring role in my dreams tonight. I want to smooth my palms over the shiny material, tug the waistband with my teeth.
“What the hell is she doing here? Oh my god.” Jeremy bends at the waist and presses his palms to his knees. “Do you think she’ll do a video with me? Oh my god.”
“What is that sound you’re making?” It’s a wheezing noise, high pitched and irregular. “Do you need water?”
“I need my cell phone,” he pants, reaching into his jeans pocket and then his coat. When he can’t find what he’s looking for, he turns panicked eyes my way. “Dude, my phone isn’t here.”
“Do you normally bring your phone out here with you?”
He nods slowly. “Gotta feed the Gram, you know?”
I don’t know. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Early morning lighting is dope. The honeys have been lighting up the DMs since I started working here. You might actually be on to something. Is that why all the women in town lose their shit when you roll up?”
“No one loses their shit.”
If anything, I get a lot of stares and a few whispers, but that’s probably because I don’t bother showing up to anything. Nessa’s invitation to trivia feels like a burr caught in my shoe.