“Everyone can see,” she whispers against my mouth, not moving an inch. The sound is muted by the foam in my ears, but I can hear her all the same. I can also hear Cindy Croswell drop everything she’s holding right behind us and go rushing towards the supply closet where Becky Gardener disappeared ten minutes ago.
I bump my nose against hers. “I don’t care.”
Her smile widens into a grin, her brown eyes shining. This close, I can see flecks of gold in them. She thumbs at my jaw. “Those earplugs made you bold, farmer boy.”
I shrug and lean back, carding my hand through the length of her hair. For once, I don’t mind the attention. I’m not going to lose a moment with Evelyn just because someone might be watching. Though there is a lot of whispering going on all of a sudden, furtive glances in between ceramic vases and rose gold twinkle lights.
“Ah,” I see her point now. Gus and Mabel have abandoned their argument on the sidewalk and are standing with their faces pressed against the window. I wince. Everything in the greenhouse has come to a comical standstill. The whispers start like a hornet’s nest a second later. “Alright, well. Can’t take it back now.”
“Do you want to?” I look back down at her, the way her smile is slipping from her lips. “Take it back?”
I shake my head. I really don’t. I want everyone in this nosy-ass town to know. I’m half-tempted to dig my cell out of my back pocket and ring up the phone tree.
Relieved, Evie takes my hand and squeezes. “Good. Because I think we just went the Inglewild version of viral.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EVELYN
My brand new phone rings on the arm of the chair as I sit on the back porch of Beckett’s cabin, a mug of tea in my hands and my feet propped up on the railing. It’s an unfamiliar number, but I recognize the area code.
I tap answer as I watch Beckett cross back and forth through the thick glass windows of his little greenhouse, bending at the waist with a watering can held loosely in his fist. I don’t know how anyone got this number. I asked Josie for a new one when she ordered me a replacement phone.
“Hello?”
“Inglewild phone tree calling,” a vaguely familiar voice chirps out on the other end of the phone. “Beckett and Evelyn were seen making out in the corner of Mabel’s today. Pretty sure he would have thrown her to the ground if no one had been around.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the screen. That is a—creative interpretation of the sweet but lingering kiss Beckett gave me beneath the flower arch.
“Kelly? Is that you?”
I’m pretty sure Kelly wasn’t even in the greenhouse earlier today. There’s a pause and then her loud and boisterous laugh dances over the line. I can always tell when the salon door is open when I’m walking through town. I can hear Kelly’s laugh from a mile away.
“Oh, goodness. What are the odds?” Her laughter tapers off. “I guess you’re officially a local now … if you’ve been added to the phone tree.”
“I guess so.” The thought makes me grin. I still have questions about how they got this number, though. My dad doesn’t even have it yet. “We weren’t making out.”
“Oh, honey. That’s a shame.” She tuts once. “You should always be making out with that man.”
I hang up the phone and kick my legs as I stare out at the rolling hills. I let myself imagine what this would be like. Mornings spent in town and afternoons on the farm, brilliant color spilling out behind the house as the flowers begin to bloom. Calls from the phone tree and cookies from Ms. Beatrice in the dead of night. Beckett’s mouth against mine.
I still haven’t gotten that itch to move. The pulse that beats in my chest to go somewhere new—chase, discover, find—it’s fainter now. Quiet. I don’t think it’s gone. It’s just … satisfied, I think.
I glance at my phone and instead of feeling a swell of anxiety rising like a tide, I just feel … nothing. I didn’t bother reconnecting any of my social accounts when I set up this new phone. Didn’t connect my email either.
I’m starting to let some things go.
I watch Beckett cross behind the windows again—one thing I don’t want to let go of.
With Beckett, I’m trying to figure out too much on my own when there’s another half to the equation currently hiding in the greenhouse, tending to his plants. Does he even want me to stay? I stand from my seat and step down the back porch, following the path laid by oversized, flat stones. Comet and Vixen rush ahead of me, hopping from rock to rock to slip through the crack in the door.
Beckett’s back is to me, his t-shirt stretched over his shoulders as he works at the table pressed against the length of the back wall. Almost all of the floor space is occupied by various pots and planters, a long shelf against each floor-to-ceiling window crowded with orchids and petunias and bright red poinsettias, their silky petals open to the setting sun. I duck my nose into a cluster of pink I don’t recognize, its scent like the first bite of a crisp apple. Tangy and sharp.
I lean back and find Beckett watching me.
“Phone tree called,” I tell him. “We’re official.”
I regret my choice of words almost immediately. The only thing official about what we’re doing is officially avoiding the conversation. Officially stupid about it. I roll my eyes up to the glass panels of the ceiling and back down again. “You know what I mean.”
He wipes his hands on a towel, his movements practiced and smooth. “We’re officially on everyone’s creep radar?” He tosses the towel to the side. “We’re officially going to have to start checking the front bushes for neighbors?”
I like that word so much. We.
“I don’t think you’ll find Luka and Stella hiding in your bushes,” I say as I lean my hip against the table he’s been working at. Three small pots and a packet of seeds. A bright blue watering can and some pruning shears. I tilt my head and glance at his neat handwriting at the bottom lip of terracotta. Lavender.
“Are we going to talk about what’s going on, or are you going to silently poke around my greenhouse until I lose my mind?”
I blink up at him and feel a smile tug at my mouth. I bite down on the inside of my cheek in a show of restraint. “The second option sounds nice, thank you.”
He shakes his head and rubs his knuckles against his neck, exasperated. This poor man. I’ve really put him through the ringer this week. The pond, a kiss … sex in a field. I’d feel bad if I didn’t know for a fact he loves it. He loves the challenge, the fight, the big tease of it all. He drops his hands and reaches under the table, flicking some hidden switch. A low string of lights twined around the ceiling panels blinks to life and the whole space glows with a warm, hazy light. I catch a reflection of us in the glass to my right, night creeping across the fields outside and cloaking everything in shadow.
I’m captivated by the look of us reflected back in a wavy distortion. Me standing in front of Beckett, his body strong where he’s propped up against the table. His tattooed arms spread wide. My ponytail curled over my shoulder.
“There are other options to explore, I think.” He steps forward and cages me against the table at my back, his hands finding my hips and lifting me carefully on top. He drags my legs wide and pats once at the outside of my thighs, stepping between them. All of his movements are so easy, so effortless. Like he’s been out here planning exactly what he wants to do with me.