Among the Wildflowers (Greyfin Bay #2)

Chapter 1

one

August

Emerson shouldn’t be here.

It was the height of summer: every day a harvest, every hour something to do. He could almost hear them talk, even from nineteen miles away, the strawberries nestled in the soil, the tomatoes just starting to ripen, the almost-wilting greens, all coalescing into a reprimanding murmur:

You don’t have time for this.

Emerson knew it.

Yet here he was. Sitting alone at the bar anyway.

Even if he had somehow had the time, a single drink made him too sluggish these days for what the early mornings demanded. He knew this, too.

But Ben had texted a few hours ago, something about color schemes and vibes. It was one of Emerson’s weeks without Daisy. And after Jansel had left for the day, Emerson had started to feel a bit panicky. A bit lonely.

And somehow or another, he’d wound up here.

He felt half daring about it, if he was being honest. Making the irresponsible decision. Choosing distraction over wallowing. Choosing a different way to wallow, at least. He almost wanted to text Jay to tell him.

No, he definitely wanted to text Jayden. See? I’m part of the world.

But he didn’t.

And that made him feel strong. Sort of. Strong wasn’t the right word. Whatever strong in a sad kind of way was.

But anyway, the beer tasted good.

So he wasn’t going to text Jayden tonight, or stress about Ben’s wedding, or think about anything related to Short King Farms and the entire mess it had made of his life.

He was thinking about the pint in his hands, the glass cold against his sore palms. He was thinking about the bartender sashaying back and forth behind this bar, wrists strong as he poured and mixed, as he leaned forward to wink at every patron who ambled up to his domain.

He made every server who picked up an order from the counter laugh.

He was a light in the world, this brave twink bartender of the mid-Oregon Coast, and watching him work made Emerson somehow want to cry.

Emerson was thinking about maybe getting really fucking drunk.

“Probably not the best idea for what you need.”

Startled, Emerson turned to the man who’d apparently sat next to him. Who…well. Was one of the most attractive men Emerson had ever seen.

His dark hair was shorn close to his head.

His eyes were equally dark, as was the shadow of stubble along the tanned skin of his jaw, the stretch of neck underneath.

His lips were barely tilted in one corner, an almost-smile that made his eyes seem to sparkle.

He was staring straight ahead, bringing his own pint to his lips, but Emerson knew the hidden laugh of that quarter-smile was directed at him.

“Pardon?”

The man tilted his chin toward the bartender before placing his beer back on the bar.

“Matt. He’s a fun time, but—” He shrugged.

“The look on your face…I don’t know. Just wanted to warn you that you might not find what you’re looking for there.

” He took another sip while Emerson’s jaw slowly unhinged.

“Then again, maybe having a fun time is exactly what you need. So actually, maybe you should go for it. Matt’s great.

You can ignore me. I’m in a weird space. ”

Emerson watched the man’s next swallow travel down his throat.

Promise me, Jay had said that day he’d stood on the gravel, his final suitcase in hand, that you’ll talk to people. That you’ll leave here sometimes—he’d motioned toward the fields, the farm, Emerson’s home—and talk to people.

But I talk to Jansel every day, Emerson had replied with a furrow of his brow. And I’ll talk to you each time we swap out Daisy, right?

And Jay had smiled at him, but it was sad. A smile that said Emerson had broken both of their hearts and they would both always know it.

People other than me and Daisy and Jansel, Em.

Emerson looked at the handsome stranger next to him now a moment more. Those eyelashes. Jesus. So long and dark and pretty that Emerson had a hard time thinking about anything else.

But after an indulgent few seconds, he mentally shook himself, and he did.

He thought about his berries and his squashes.

Measured the anxiety that leaving the chickens and the goats and Sally always gave him, resting in the back of his stomach.

Manageable, he thought. He hadn’t been gone too long.

And he thought, okay. Okay. Here I am, Jay.

“How do I look?” he asked, half trepidation and half bravery, both curious and embarrassed at being perceived by this gorgeous man. “That look on my face.”

For the first time since Emerson had noticed his presence, the man glanced at him. Shrugged again.

“I don’t know. Serious. Desperate.”

“Christ.” Emerson covered his face with his hands. Jay had always told him he couldn’t hide a single emotion.

“Sorry.” The change in the man’s voice made Emerson drop his palms. A hint of color had risen in the man’s cheeks, that secret of a smile wiped away as he shifted on his stool.

“I don’t mean to be an asshole. It’s just a look I, ah, recognized.

I’ve been there before, so.” Another chin tilt toward the bartender.

Matt, apparently. “But I’ll leave you alone. ”

“No, it’s okay.” Emerson found himself laughing a little. The man had somehow said it without judgment, and, well. He rubbed his face. “You’re not wrong. Although I’m, uh…” His cheeks heated underneath his fingertips. “Not necessarily desperate in that way.”

Except—the divorce had been finalized for a few months now. Jayden had moved out a year ago. Emerson had signed up for a dating app once, but he’d never actually used it. Farmers didn’t have time to date. At least, farmers who were as overwhelmed and under water as Emerson was.

Emerson was possibly also desperate in that way.

But it was true that sex wasn’t what he’d come for—he’d come here to feel sorry for himself in the outside world instead of his inside one, and he’d been doing a bang-up job of it—and this perceptive stranger didn’t need to know everything about him.

Even if it was freeing, admitting his desperation out loud.

“I just…came here to look, for a little while. Oh god. Does that make me a creep?”

“Nah.” The quarter-smile returned to the stranger’s lips, accompanied, to Emerson’s extreme relief, by a bit of a laugh. “Nothing wrong with that. I think at least half of Lincoln County’s queer population comes to this bar every now and then to do just that. Matt knows his importance.”

Emerson smiled. It had been obvious from the start of this bizarre conversation that this man assumed Emerson’s attraction to Matt, even if Emerson was only, in truth, mildly attracted to the bartender at best. Still, hearing the man say queer out loud, attaching it to the both of them, made a swell of pride lift in Emerson’s chest. Most people looked at him, his receding hairline and faded clothes and overall Boring White Man exterior, and assumed he was an accountant who played golf for fun.

Not that there weren’t queer accountants who played golf for fun.

Regardless—being that Emerson had only realized his own queerness a few years ago, it pleased him that this ridiculously attractive guy had chosen to sit next to him, had chosen to speak to him, had seen something of himself in kind so confidently that he’d called it out.

Although Emerson supposed openly ogling the bartender had helped with that assertion.

“He was fun, though, huh?” he asked. Perhaps inappropriately, but the man smiled, that hint of color creeping into his cheeks again.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So what are you desperate about, then?”

“Oh.” Emerson sighed. “Just my farm.” It slid past his lips, lubricated by the beer and the bar and the out-of-time-and-space quality of talking with a hot stranger.

He was a bit proud of himself for this too, though.

Even four years after they’d purchased the land with the help of Emerson’s in-laws, he still sometimes stumbled over introducing himself as a farmer.

People looked at you, sometimes, like you’d said you worked in the circus, or in the coal mines, or…

something most people didn’t do anymore.

This man looked at him, too, but only raised a neutral brow.

“Just your farm?” Those lips shifted into another teasing barely-there-smile.

Was this man flirting with him? Emerson was pretty sure he was flirting with him.

Which was hard to believe, being as this man was so clearly out of Emerson’s league.

But then again, there were slimmer pickings when you lived in a small town.

Maybe you saw a sad man eyeing the pretty bartender and took what you could get.

Either way, Emerson’s face warmed under the weight of the curve that deepened on the man’s cheek when he contemplated smiling.

“Having a farm doesn’t seem like a small thing. ”

“No.” Emerson returned his gaze to Matt, the whimsy of perhaps being flirted with swirling away as quickly as it had appeared. “No, it’s not a small thing at all. That’s sort of the whole problem.”

“Ah.” The man took another sip of his beer. After a long moment, a moment that felt almost peculiarly comfortable, he asked, “Want to talk about it?”

Emerson stared at the bartender for another thirty seconds.

And then, pathetically, he hung his head in his hands once more.

Where to even start?

Perhaps the fact that he desperately needed more employees, especially now that Parker and Myriah, his summer help, had just left for the season.

With teaching being their actual full-time jobs, they had to head back soon for before-the-school-year training.

But Emerson couldn’t afford anyone else. He couldn’t afford anything.

Or maybe he could lead with the truth that, while he still clung with gratitude to any time with Daisy he got, he had no idea how to be a single dad and run a farm. He’d thought it’d get easier, somewhere over these last twelve months, but it never had.