“Yes, they are,” Layla and I reply in unison.
“Next up,” Dane glances down at the stack of papers on the podium and lets out a muffled groan. He glances at Caleb with a pleading expression. Caleb shrugs and Dane turns back to the room. “Ms. Beatrice, if you could kindly remove the WANTED posters from the window of the shop, that would be great.”
This time I’m not the only one who has to stifle a laugh. The room breaks out into a low murmur and Caleb has to completely turn around to hide his grin, his back facing the audience and his shoulders shaking. Ms. Beatrice has been putting up WANTED signs in her windows for months now, ever since she caught two tourists in the back bathroom using the sink in new and creative ways.
Dane tilts his head to listen to whatever Ms. Beatrice has to say on the matter. “I agree public indecency is a crime, but again, just give me or Caleb a call.” He holds up his hand to cut off her response and glances down at the podium, eager to move the conversation along. But whatever he sees has him folding up the whole stack of paperwork with a grunt. “Alright, Beatrice, clearly you and I need to have a side conversation. We’ll table the—“ he flips over the paper and glances at it again. “—other seven things for another time.”
“Do you think someone complained about how she refuses to buy almond milk?” Layla whispers out of the corner of her mouth. She did buy it, actually. She just put it in a canister that says hipster juice on the side.
“Probably something about Karen and the latte incident,” I reply. I rarely come into town during the afternoons, but I happened to be walking by the day Ms. Beatrice refused to serve Karen Wilkes on account of her being rude to the wait staff. A latte somehow found its way all over Karen’s faux fur bomber jacket. Can’t say I blame her for that one.
“Alright,” Dane’s voice booms over the room and everyone settles again. “Next up. The pizza shop is, uh—” he hesitates, rubbing his fingertips over his mustache and down his chin. He taps there once and glances around the room. “Matty would like you all to know there’s a special this month. Half the profits on Wednesdays go to the elementary school to fund their science trips.”
Stella’s hand shoots into the air. Dane looks like he wants to walk out the door and keep walking. “Yes, Stella?”
“Is this an appropriate time to share that I think you two are the cutest couple I’ve ever seen in my life and express my congratulations that you’ve finally moved in together?”
“I like the wreath you put on your door,” Mabel Brewster adds from somewhere in the middle of the room. “And the birdbath in the front yard. Didn’t know you had such an eye for gardening, Sheriff.”
The rest of the room bursts into a series of comments and questions on the Sheriff’s love life.
“Did you see them at the farmer’s market? I swear I’ve never seen Dane Jones smile so much.”
“Do you mean he smiled once? Because I think that’s the standing record.”
“They were holding hands. He bought Matty flowers.”
“Where is Matty? You can’t keep him locked up just because you two are an item now.”
I sink further in my chair, the hum of sound rising up and over me. It’s like a buzz in the back of my head, a ringing in my ears. I press my thumb deep into my palm and try to focus there instead.
Dane looks about ready to burst at the front of the room, his cheeks a flaming red above his beard, hands fussing with the hat tucked under his arm.
I nudge Stella with my elbow. “You’re not worried this is going to turn on you?”
“What do you mean?”
I gesture between her and Luka. “When are you two moving in together?”
“Oh,” she waves her hand, unconcerned. “As soon as we can figure out how to add more space. I don’t think Luka is ready for me in my full messy glory quite yet.”
Stella lives in a cottage on the opposite side of the farm from my cabin, a tiny house filled to the brim with old magazines and half-empty coffee mugs. It looks like an eighty-year-old woman with a hoarding problem lives there, Luka’s interference be damned. I once heard them arguing about kitchen towels with gnomes on them. Stella didn’t want to throw them away because, apparently, they’re a conversation piece.
“We’ll move in together when we can add a bedroom or two so he has someplace to cry when I don’t fold his t-shirts exactly right.” She shrugs, jostling Luka’s arm around her shoulders. He pinches her lightly without even looking and her smile spreads into a grin. “I’m happy to share that with anyone who asks. All of this—Dane needs to know we love him. We love them. He told me once he didn’t think he was enough for Matty. He was afraid to take the chance.” She leans into Luka, her temple against his chin. “He deserves to know he’s got the town rooting for him. That we’re glad he’s happy.”
That’s all well and good, but Dane looks like he’s about to melt into the floor.
“Even if it derails the rest of this meeting?”
She grins. Luka shouts something about matching china patterns. There’s an answering cheer throughout the small room and Dane presses his fist to his forehead. “Especially then.”
I lean back in my seat with a chuckle and cross my arms over my chest, pull my baseball cap low over my eyes, and stretch my legs out as much as I’m able. Best just to wait these things out, in my experience.
I close my eyes, breathe in deep, and think about peppers.
CHAPTER TWO
EVELYN
“Uh, hey.” A throat clears somewhere above me, a rough rumble. “You waiting on someone?”
I glance up from my phone to the tall figure leaning with his hip at the edge of the table, a frown tugging his lips down. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile once since I got here—on the limited occasions I have seen him, of course. I think he’s been hiding in one of the barns every time I’m touring the grounds.
It makes me sad.
A little annoyed, too.
“I’m not.” I push the empty seat across from me back with my boot. A silent invitation.
He waits a beat and then folds his body into the small seat across from me. I watch him over the edge of my coffee mug. Elbows on the table, hunched shoulders. His body curls forward as he stares at his plate like it holds the secrets to the universe. Minutes pass, and he doesn’t say a word.
“So,” I drop my chin in my hand and take a noisy sip of my coffee. I keep my voice light and bright, markedly different from the awkward tension that’s curling in my gut. My mom says I’m impervious to the moods of others. That I could brighten even the darkest storm cloud.
With Beckett, I feel like we’re both the storm cloud. Together, we’re a monsoon.
“How is your day going?”
He glances up at me, a bite of zucchini bread perfectly poised on the end of his fork. “Hm?”
“Your day,” I repeat. If he wanted to sit in silence, he could have gone to any of the empty tables lined against the wall. Instead he sat down here, with me. “How is it going?”
“Oh,” he shifts in his seat and traces the edge of his porcelain plate with his thumb. “It’s fine,” he mumbles. Blue-green eyes peek up at me and then dart back down. Another awkward pause, the silence stretching a moment too long. I can’t believe this man walked right up to me in a bar and put his body next to mine. Leaned into my space until I could smell the summer rain on his skin and asked me what I was drinking. “Yours?”