6. Kiss My Forehead
Balancingthe laptop on my legs, I bring up the screen brightness. With the sun shining behind it, I can hardly see the video conference room.
I check my face in the small square on the bottom of my screen, and there’s sweat over the top of my lip, so I wipe it with the back of my hand and mentally curse the overly warm midday sun. Which is one of the many reasons I’d rather not have this meeting outside, but it’s the only place where my connection works, and I haven’t asked Logan for the Wi-Fi password yet.
I nervously check the time, but there’s still a couple of minutes before the meeting is scheduled to start. I’m about to pick up my phone and mindlessly scroll when a light rattling from the speakers has me perking up, the bigger square buffering. “Primrose?”
“Yes, Chloe, hi.” Her slender face appears on the screen, and she waves excitedly. “Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you fine. Where are you?”
“On a...” Thinking of my giant temporary roommate, I mumble, “Porch.”
With a doubtful expression, she nods, then looks down at a sheet of paper before focusing on me again. “All right, so...we have a lot to go through. First of all, thank you so much for agreeing to jump on a call with me. We can’t wait for you to meet the team.”
“Neither can I,” I answer sincerely. Marisol is the biggest candy-making company out there, and landing a job as a culinary developer for them is basically like winning a very exclusive lottery. Though I love the independence social media allows for, I’ll happily give that up to see my candy in stores.
My own candy.
I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a decade. This is what kept me from giving up when Derek turned half of my fans against me. I’ve fought for this moment—I craved it. And now it’s happening.
“And I’m sure Jessica already mentioned during your meeting that this isn’t a home office position.”
“Absolutely.” Nine-to-five at the office nineteen days from now, which means I really can’t get arrested. “I’ve already been given a tour of the offices too.”
“Wonderful.” She pauses, then her smile dampens. “However, we do have some concerns.”
It’s like a sudden blow to the chest, leaving me stunned and paralyzed with fear. My body goes rigid, but forcing a neutral expression on my face, I ask, “What do you mean?”
An angry furrow appears between her brows. “Our social media manager informed me of the situation between you and, uh...” She lifts a post-it. “Derek Gracen?”
I feel my stomach clench. She knows about the list. About the lies that foul man keeps spewing. “Oh, right. Yes. I know this is all very...inconvenient, trust me. But it’s a big misunderstanding, and?—”
“Misunderstanding?” She rests both elbows on her white desk, her hands steepled at her lips. “Primrose, you’ve been around a while. You know the truth doesn’t matter. What matters is what people believe.”
“I—sure, but?—”
“You’re supposed to sell candy. Happiness, childlike innocence, colorful hope. Not...tire slashing and, and...” She glances at the stupid post-it again. “And stalking, and explicit, private fantasies.”
God, she’s talking as if I chose to have something so private posted online.
“He’s been making post after post about you, and people are believing his side of the story. So unless you can convince me and everyone else that you are done with this man, we can’t have you jump on board.”
Though there’s a chasm in my chest, I fight to hold myself together. This is supposed to be my moment—my chance to prove myself and get my name out there. But it’s slipping through my fingers, and I have no power to stop it.
She opens her mouth, but her voice is muffled by the sound of an engine. Turning the volume up, I glance behind the screen, where Logan’s pickup is approaching. Great. Just who I wanted to see during this meeting.
“—me.”
“Excuse me?”
Logan’s pickup stops at the top of the driveway, and with the farm back to the usual silence, Chloe’s voice blasts out of the speakers. “I said, convince me. Convince me you’re done with that man.”
I take a shaky breath, trying to push back the overwhelming wave of despair threatening to consume me, as the pickup door opens. Logan pops out, studying me, and at this point, I don’t even know how to feel about him. Since that first, amazing kiss, we’ve had plenty of unpleasant interactions to cancel out that one good memory.
It brings out your eyes.
The green of your underwear.
Asshole.
“I’m, uh...I’m really done with him.”
Logan steps in front of me, but I hold a hand out. If he walks past me on the steps, Chloe will see him on camera. Having a meeting to discuss my fuckups on a porch is unprofessional enough without some dirty boots peeking behind me.
With a loud sigh, he crosses his arms.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” Chloe asks.
“No. Of course not. Look, Chloe, Derek and I, we...we barely even had a relationship, okay? While we were together, I thought it was everything, but truly, all we had was an irrelevant, online flirt. We only met once, which is when we broke up.”
Her expression is coated in pity, and I can tell it’s done. I just lost the biggest opportunity of my life, and I have Derek Gracen to thank for it.
In fact, I have him to thank for my whole life going to hell.
“Look, Primrose, as much as I appreciate your work, I don’t think this?—”
Logan takes a step, and I nearly incinerate him with my glare, trying to communicate that he shouldn’t walk past me, but he leans forward, and his hand cups the back of my head. “Hey, Barbie,” he says softly before his lips press on my forehead, causing shivers to rain down my scalp and neck. It lasts but a moment, yet I distinctly feel my heart skip one long beat before it goes back to spasming inside my chest.
Then his hand and mouth are gone, and he’s hopping up the stairs.
He kissed my forehead.
When I look down at the camera, quick breaths puffing out of my lips, I see his lower half as he enters the house, then closes the door behind him.
“Oh, well.” Chloe says, a light giggle bursting from her lips. “Consider me convinced.”
“What?” I ask, my skin still tingling.
“I’d hardly be thinking about this...Derek person if I had that hunk of a man lying around.”
I smile awkwardly, then nod. “Yeah, it’s still pretty new, but...it’s been going well.”
She opens the folder again. “Okay, well, good for you. Now, we need to convince everyone else.”
I nod, but I can hardly focus on her words with the way my forehead tingles. It was a quick, chaste kiss—nothing like the scorching hot way he took my mouth with his last night—but I can almost feel the imprint of his lips.
Fine. I guess we have two positive interactions now.
A breath-catching kiss, and a seriously impressive ass saving.
* * *
“Come on, then.”
I turn to Logan, sliding into a pair of boots by the door, then set my book against my chest. After my meeting ended, we ate lunch, and through all of it, he hasn’t said a single word. Not hello, not pass the salt. Nothing for two whole hours, until “Come on, then.”
I also didn’t thank him, because though what he did was nice, he’s been otherwise despicable.
“Come where?”
He points at the door. “Out.”
“You must realize that’s not enough information.”
“Josie works the afternoon shift today, and I can guarantee she’ll pay us a visit. So unless you want to face her alone, you need to come with me.”
That’s enough information. “Wasn’t that difficult, was it?” I mumble as I stand and drop my book on the couch. He seems annoyed as I join him at the entrance, but who can tell. He’s had this expression on his face for twenty-four hours.
Tennis shoes on and cardigan in hand, I look up at him, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes run down my body slowly. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
God, give me the strength. “Are you used to people bending over at your monosyllabic orders?”
He says nothing, and it’s all the confirmation I need.
“Well, I’m not a goat. So if you have something to say, use your words.”
He cocks a brow at my A-line miniskirt, and my shoulders hunch uncomfortably. What’s the problem with my outfit? I love this skirt—it has yellow, white, and pink flowers on a background of pastel green. And with it, I’m wearing a simple light-pink T-shirt. He can’t have anything against that.
“You’re not having a picnic. This is a farm. Put some clothes on that you don’t mind getting dirty. Boots.”
“All I have in my luggage is more of this,” I say as I pinch the hem of my skirt. I packed what I’d need for two weeks of work in Roseberg—never at any point did I plan to spend seventeen more days on a muddy farm on the outskirts of tiny Pinevale. “You’ve picked it up this morning—it’s a tiny piece of luggage.”
“How’s that—” He raises his brows in disbelief. “It’s bigger than you.” I’m about to point out that I’m also quite small, but he raises his hand in a dismissive gesture. “At least wear some pants.”
“I don’t have pants.”
He scoffs. “Jeans, then.”
“I don’t have jeans.”
As he processes what seems to be truly shocking information, I grab my big bag and watch him come back to his senses. “You wear skirts all the time?”
“Well, skirts or dresses or those cute shorts that kinda look like skirts but aren’t. You know?”
His brow furrows so much, his forehead looks like crumpled paper, but he eventually waves toward the door, mumbling something under his breath. I’m pretty sure I hear a “princess” in there.
Once in the pickup, he plays some music and we ride in silence. I catch sight of an orchard, its trees heavy with apples, peaches, and cherries at different stages of ripening, and as soon as we move past it, the expansive fields of green stretch out in every direction, divided by neat rows of crops that dance in the gentle breeze.
“What are those?”
He points his thumb back. “We passed the fruit trees, and we’re currently moving through wheat and other cereals.”
Piece of cake.
“The farthest part of the property is for the animals. We have pigs, goats, sheep, chickens, cows...”
I bite my bottom lip to contain my excitement. The only cows and chickens I’ve ever seen were drawn on taco trucks, and I remember seeing sheep from a train ride abroad, but as much as I try to remember seeing a goat, no memory comes to mind.
“A few rabbits, horses?—”
“Horses?”
“Yeah. You know. Long faces.”
I definitely know what horses look like, but I’ve never seen one up close.
Gasping, I turn to him. “Wait—horses! Does that mean...Are you technically a cowboy?”
His brows descend over his eyes. “Uh, no. In no way at all.”
“But you have horses,” I protest.
“But I don’t ride them.”
“But you do have cows.”
“But I don’t use the horses to herd the cows,” he says through gritted teeth. “You know what—fine. Whatever. I’m a cowboy.”
I fight hard to contain a laugh, until I’m forced to hide a chuckle behind my fist. “Okay, cowboy,” I say as casually as I can. “Can I get a yee-haw?”
He turns to me, and though he doesn’t say it, I hear his Fuck you loud and clear.
With a satisfied sigh, I focus on the view, the fields morphing into acres upon acres of grass, and I nearly press my nose to the car window when I see the first white and black spots.
Livestock grazes contentedly in lush pastures—cows lazily chewing, sheep clustered together, and chickens scratching at the ground in pursuit of food. Through the open window, the farm seems to hum with the soothing sounds of nature—bells, bleating, the rhythmic clucking of hens.
It’s beautiful. Harmonious in a way that makes me feel at peace.
“On this side are all the big animals. See that red building? Those are the stables.”
“Where horses live,” I say with a tentative voice as I glance at him.
“Uh-huh. Cows are there, there’s ten of them. You can see Penelope sleeping.”
I follow the direction of his finger, and indeed, a spotted cow is sleeping behind a tall wooden fence. “Penelope?” I ask with an amused voice.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you know all your animals by name?”
“Yes.”
“Did you name them?”
“Yes.”
“Even Penelope?”
He scratches his neck as he awkwardly clears his throat. “Yes.” Then he mumbles, “It’s a name.”
True, but picturing this unpleasant, hairy, giant of a man naming cows and goats he rescued makes me wonder how much of his stone-cold attitude is nothing else but a show for everyone’s benefit.
“On this side,” he says after a moment, “we have the main buildings. Where we store produce and machines. There’s a cottage too.”
Once he parks on the gravel strip, we get out of the car, and he walks past the little cottage, then points ahead. “Vegetables there. A little bit of everything. We started growing peas last year.”
I let my eyes wander, but even from the higher point where we’re standing, I can only see more fields ahead. Crops and more crops and more crops. There’s barely any sound either, if not for a low whirring noise and the chirping of birds. Compared to this, even a small city like Roseberg seems as loud as a club in Mayfield, and I’m not used to this level of silence.
Crazy to think all of this is Logan’s place of work.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, and I only notice I said it out loud because he turns to me.
“Yeah, it is,” he says with a sad sigh. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s gone to a dark place. Probably, that same place he went to last night, causing him a panic attack.
A lock of dark hair falls in front of his face with a gust of wind, and I guess since we’re sort of talking, I should thank him for this morning. “What you did with Chloe was?—”
“Not a big deal.”
He keeps staring ahead, so I nod, but it was a big deal. She was about to drop me, and he totally damsel-in-distressed me. “It was to me.”
He shrugs. “So, did you get the job?”
“Yes. She asked me to send her the recipe I’d like to start with so they can approve it even before I start. So... I’ll have to decide what to submit.”
He doesn’t say a word, but stares at me with the utmost focus, so I continue, “She said I have full creative control—to go nuts. But should I go with something safe? Because my bubble gum fudge never fails to go viral.” I hum. “Or maybe they expect something bold. A big company like that, they must see basic stuff all the time.”
When he says nothing, I twist my neck to check his expression.
“Okay?” he offers.
“Pickle-flavored taffy,” I explain. “That’s a bold flavor. Either you love it, or you hate it.”
“Pickle-flavored...what?” His chin jerks back. “I hate it. I don’t need to try it; I just know.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“What else?” He walks, and quickly, I follow after him. “What other bold flavors did you inflict on the world?”
“Jalape?o lime hard candy.”
“You’re joking.”
“Sriracha chocolate.”
He huffs out a laugh as I manage to join his side, and noticing my struggle to keep up with his impossibly long legs, he adjusts his stride.
“Well, what’s your favorite candy?”
“I don’t eat candy,” he says in a harsh voice. “Not since I turned twelve and went vegan. Candy is filled with gelatine, carmine—all sorts of animal-derived crap.”
“Not all of it,” I correct.
“No, not all of it, but most.”
Fair enough.
“Well, I make vegan candy. It’s kind of my specialty.” I raise a hand to stop him when his cocks a brow. “Not vegan— just...candy for people who can’t have candy.”
With his pace slowing down, he shoves both hands in his pockets. “What does that mean?”
“That candy should be enjoyed by everyone, including vegans, people with dental issues, IBS, allergies, high blood sugar...” I roll my wrist. “You get it.”
“So you make candy for people who wouldn’t normally be able to eat it?”
“Yeah.” I flash a wide grin at him. “I’ll make it for you too.”
“Thanks. I don’t want it.”
With an eye roll, I turn to the lush nature extending before us. “Right. God forbid it’d make you smile.” I take a step, and a stray rock sends me teetering precariously on the edge of disaster. My heart lurches in my chest as my arms frantically move in an attempt to keep myself from falling until I find my footing again.
“What do you know?” he mumbles as he studies me with an unimpressed gaze and an amused grin. “You did make me smile.”
He walks away, and as I watch him confidently strut, with those broad shoulders and delectable ass, I dislike him so much, I’d actually love to make some candy for him, then administer it as a suppository.
Begrudgingly following him, I mumble, “I should have finished the job the first night.”