CHAPTER 29
SEXY AT 7:58 A.M.
“Why don’t you come inside?” I pulled at Grant’s heather-blue long-sleeved shirt as he shook his head, refusing to budge because he knew what I was trying to do. It was the following Saturday—way too early—and he was here, at my house, to pick me up. But I had other ideas. Erin wasn’t here, and I wanted to convince him that over the past week—since he’d told me we weren’t going to sleep together—I’d become the picture of emotional stability.
But he was wise to my games—having nearly broken his “rule” last night when I slipped my hand somewhere it probably shouldn’t have been—and now, he wouldn’t even step past the threshold. I’d also told him how my relationship with Chad had been more of a physical connection rather than an emotional one, which hadn’t helped my case.
I slipped on my most alluring smile in the doorway, but Grant crossed his arms and looked away.
I dropped the smile. “Fine! But do we really have to go this early?”
“I forgot you’ve never been to a farmers market. Everything will be picked over if we don’t get there right as it opens.”
“I told you I’d never been, which is why you insisted I go.”
“I told you it was a sexy place to go, and then you insisted on going.”
“Oh yeah, right. Well, I think I was desperate when I said that because in the morning light, I just don’t see how vegetables are going to be sexy.” Seriously, broccoli wasn’t a turn-on.
“That’s why we’re going. I’ll prove it to you.”
“Why don’t you come into my kitchen and prove it to me there. I’m pretty sure I have a few veggies in the crisper drawer.”
“I’m almost certain that’s not the case, unless it’s a shriveled potato with eyes.”
“Not sexy?”
“Not sexy. Now come on.”
“Let me get my shoes.”
As I headed down my sidewalk, the cool, fall-ish air lifting my mood, Devina walked across her lawn and up to my driveway, where Grant’s car was parked. “Where are you two heading so early?”
“The sexiest place on earth, apparently.” Then I reddened. I didn’t know my neighbor well enough for such sarcasm.
“The farmers market,” Grant explained, his lips curling the way they did when I amused him.
Devina clasped her hands together. “Oh, I love the farmers market. Haven’t been in years, though.”
“Would you like to come?” Grant asked, and I instantly deflated. I liked Devina. We’d talked about her antiques collection when I’d returned her pitcher, and it was a pleasant conversation, but I could only imagine the farmers market becoming less sexy if she joined us. And I already didn’t have high hopes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But take some pictures of those heirloom pumpkins for me. Always wanted to decorate my porch with them. Nothing prettier than those and chrysanthemums for fall decor.”
“Definitely,” Grant said as he hopped into the driver’s seat of his Jeep and immediately started the engine. He was serious about getting there early.
“You two have fun,” Devina called as I hustled to the passenger seat before he left me.
“So what makes the farmers market so sexy?” I asked, pulling my seat belt on and feeling like we’d said the word “sexy” far too many times. “Shirtless farmers on tractors?”
“Let’s hope not. And you’ll see.”
We pulled into the Franklin Farmers Market at 7:58 a.m., two minutes before it opened. It was a massive congregation of food trucks, tents, and tables behind a series of large buildings that apparently housed more goods. People were already swarming around like bees.
I reached over the car’s console and grabbed Grant’s arm as he was trying to exit. “You didn’t tell me there would be this many people.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked into the rearview mirror at the market, illuminated by the morning sun behind us. “This is a light crowd.”
“Maybe we were hasty in starting a relationship,” I said, meeting him at the back of his vehicle. “We are definitely not on the same page. Have you even met me?”
“Too late. You should’ve thought of that before you kissed me.” He slid his arm around my waist, gave me a quick kiss that made my stomach fizz with delight, and led me forward. “It’ll be crowded, but I picked this place because one, I love it here, and two, I do know you, and no one will be paying attention to you or asking you personal information. We’ll blend in and have fun. Plus, I think you’ll change your mind when I show you where we’re eating breakfast.”
The fizz from the kiss turned into full-blown carbonation. He did understand me. I hadn’t told him about my numbers thing. But he knew it wasn’t people in general that made me uncomfortable, but rather nonbusiness interactions.
“Please don’t tell me it’s one of those health smoothie trucks,” I said as we approached a truck with colorful drawings of leafy greens and beets on the side of it. Grant drank kale smoothies with alarming regularity.
“It is a truck, but no smoothies.” He pulled me by the hand through the thick crowd, stopping in a line so long that I wasn’t sure where it led.
I narrowed my eyes. “Well, you’re in charge. I have no idea how to navigate this circus.”
He squeezed my side and pointed toward a white-and-red sign that read ELLIE’S OLD FASHIONED DOUGHNUTS.
“I take it all back,” I announced, licking my fingers at one of the gray picnic tables on a raised platform in the center of the market. “This doughnut is worth being trampled for.”
He laughed and bit into cinnamon sugar–covered dough. “I knew you’d like it. Okay, here’s the plan. We’re only eating what we buy here today. You’ll get everything for lunch. I’ll get everything for dinner.”
I froze, the last bite of my strawberry doughnut halfway to my mouth. “You want me to cook?”
“Absolutely not. I said you pick out what looks good. We’ll cook together.”
“Smart man.” I shoved the last bit of doughnut into my mouth—way larger than a bite—and dusted my hands off. “Okay, I’m in. Where do we start?”
“That stand right over there.” He pointed. “Do you see the glass drink containers? We’re going to share a lavender hibiscus basil tea.”
As we maneuvered through the crowd, I tucked into him. “Do you buy your cologne here? Because this place smells like you.”
“I don’t wear cologne. Oh, the pumpkins Devina was talking about.” He pointed to a large tent that had stacks of multicolored pumpkins—a mix of greens, whites, and oranges—arranged in front of flowers. A flatbed truck parked nearby had hundreds of similar pumpkins in the back.
“We need to remember to get Devina a picture.”
“Absolutely. We’ll pass right by there on the way out.”
We’d inched to the front of the line at the tea place, and Grant paused our conversation to order. “One lavender tea, and I haven’t seen this one before.” He pointed to the middle container.
“It’s our seasonal special, cinnamon sage,” a gray-headed woman told us.
Grant glanced at me, smiled, then said, “We’ll take one of those too.”
“I thought we were sharing.”
“We’ll share both.”
The tea lady handed us each a cup and wished us a good day.
Grant put two straws in the clear, plastic drink cup filled with the lavender tea. I’d assumed we’d take turns sipping, but Grant shook his head, insisting that we drink at the same time. “But don’t close your eyes. You’ll be tempted to because it’s so good.”
The cool, sweet liquid hit my tongue, and he was right: my initial reaction was to close my eyes, but, as instructed, I kept them open, locking gazes with him as we both took a drink, groaning at the same time. An electric sensation shot through my body as a silent, almost-too-intense conversation passed between our eyes.
When we pulled back from the cup, I took a deep breath. “Grant, I was wrong. The farmers market is sexy.”
His look went from intense to pleased. “Good thing we’ve only just begun.”
From there, we went to a fish place, where Grant purchased wild Alaskan salmon for our dinner, and then to a stand where fresh, colorful vegetables spilled out from wooden baskets that were turned on their sides.
“Ooh, dip.” But then I looked at the label. Kale pesto. “No thanks.”
“Well, I’m trying it.” He popped one of the sample-size, kale-covered bread squares into his mouth. “You’re missing out.” He lifted another to my lips, and I hesitated, looking around to see if anyone was watching, because I didn’t want to draw “cute couple” attention. “It’s just the two of us,” he whispered.
It so wasn’t just the two of us. But everyone else seemed preoccupied. I reluctantly opened my mouth and snapped the bread from his fingertips, like a wild dog who hadn’t eaten in a few days.
“Ow, I think you bit me,” Grant said.
“Well . . . we’re in public!”
“Okay, let’s back it up a notch. It’s clear you’re not ready for that level of intimacy.”
I squinted at him. “I just ... I don’t want to be one of those couples.”
“That like each other?”
“Grant!”
“I’m kidding. I knew it was a stretch. I was just thinking it could be hot, if you licked something off my finger.” He winked at me.
I stared back, my eyes dropping to his lips, partially hidden by his mustache. “Maybe later, in the car,” I said and then started walking toward a table piled with homemade sourdough.
His low chuckle caressed the side of my face as we walked to the bread, where the scent was intoxicating. We bought two loaves and a pan of sourdough cinnamon rolls from a woman who knew Grant by name.
Next we visited a candle booth, FLORA + MOON, which sold handcrafted, small-batch candles in little glass jars. I was planning to pass it by, but Grant suggested we pick one and have dinner by candlelight.
“Close your eyes,” he said, lifting one of the jars and covering its label.
I studied him through my eyelashes, my skepticism making him and the woman behind the stand laugh. “This isn’t going to be like the kale dip incident, is it?”
“Oh, this sounds like a good story,” the woman said.
I shook my head. “Trust me, it isn’t.”
He smirked. “Just close your eyes and guess what scent this is.”
I obeyed because this sounded much more fun than him feeding me in public.
I inhaled when he told me he was ready, and my nostrils delighted in a tantalizing mix of warm vanilla, pumpkin, and spices. “Are you sure this is a candle? Is it pumpkin pie?”
“Heirloom Pumpkin,” Grant said as I opened my eyes.
“I want to eat it,” I said.
“Well, I don’t suggest you do that,” the owner said with a laugh, “but it is one of my most popular, along with this one.” She handed me a jar, and I told Grant to close his eyes.
“Okay, what do you smell?” I asked, trying to hold in my amusement because he was never getting this one.
“Why are you laughing?”
“No reason. But this should be an easy guess.” I smiled at the owner conspiratorially.
“It smells like ... citrus, maybe something floral, almost like hair spray, but that can’t be right.”
“What’s your guess?”
“Hmm, this is a tough one, but I’m going to have to go with Dolly Parton.”
My mouth dropped open. “How did you—”
“I saw it before I closed my eyes.” He flashed me a sheepish smile as I slapped his arm.
I set the candle down and pulled out my credit card. “Well, I’m getting Smells Like Dolly Parton because, really, how can I not?”
“I’ll get the pumpkin one.”
“You get ten dollars off if you buy three,” the woman said.
We settled on Autumn Moon because the hint of cedar reminded me of Grant.
From there we picked up a bag of brussels sprouts, a jar of maple syrup, and pasture-raised bacon because when I’d turned my nose up at the thought of brussels sprouts for dinner, he’d promised to make them yummy by adding bacon and syrup to his recipe.
We sucked on orange blossom honey sticks while I finished purchasing my lunch items: homemade tortilla chips, something called Tailgating Salsa, smoked trout dip, guacamole, and the kale pesto, which was shockingly good. All for a chip or bread and dip fiesta. We grabbed a bag of sweet potatoes to finish off Grant’s meal and then ran back to get a jar of honey—the sticks were amazing—before we headed back toward the pumpkins.
I pulled out my phone to snap a picture, focusing on a particularly tall stack with a round white pumpkin perched jauntily on top. “You know what?” I dropped my hand to my side. “Forget the picture: we should take one to Devina.”
“Brilliant. But what if we took her a whole stack?”
I clapped, surprised at my own excitement. “What if we took her two stacks for each side of her entryway?”
His eyes sparkled as he pulled me toward him until we were inches away from each other. “What if ... we decorated her entire porch.”
I nodded, the idea warming me. “Do you think we’d be overstepping?”
“I think she’d love it. It was a great idea you had.”
As we carried armloads of pumpkins and mums, I wished the morning didn’t have to end. This was the absolute best day I’d had in a very long time. Grant made everything special. Even a tomato held a story as he had me sniff one and then imagine the hand that had picked it and the journey it had made from ground to plate, something I never would’ve done.
In the car, we drove toward my house surrounded by the scent of dirt and flowers, our surprise for Devina piled into the back. I pulled out one of the cinnamon rolls, unable to wait, and munched while Grant drove.
“I’m going to have to sign a lot more clients if we do this again. We spent a fortune.”
“Did you have fun?”
“This has been one of the best days of my life.”
He beamed in the driver’s seat. “Mine too.”
“Do you want some of this cinnamon roll? Like everything else, it’s amazing.”
“I do but can’t take my hands off the wheel.”
I tore off a piece and slipped the pastry into his mouth, but as I pulled my hand away, he grabbed it and licked my finger, applying just enough sucking pressure that sparklers went off in my lower regions. “I thought you said you didn’t want to take your hands off the wheel.”
“I thought you said ‘in the car.’”
Sexual tension stretched taut on the rest of the ride home, but it was mostly dispelled when we unloaded Devina’s pumpkins and flowers onto her porch, laughing like we were high school pranksters the entire time we stacked pumpkins and arranged the bushy flowers.
Once done, we rang her doorbell, surprised she hadn’t already heard us laughing and come out to investigate.
We stepped back when she opened the door and threw our arms out at the scene we’d created.
Her surprise at seeing us there morphed into shock and then tears.
“You didn’t have to do this. I just wanted a picture.” She wiped her cheeks and beamed.
Grant smiled. “Well, we can take one for you.”
“I can’t believe you two did this for me. Come in. I will feed you cookies.”
“Actually, have you had lunch? We bought a bunch of dips, chips, and bread. Why don’t we all share it.” The words had been surprisingly automatic on my tongue.
Grant took my hand and squeezed it, that solid pressure against my palm more real than anything I’d ever had.
“That would be lovely,” Devina said, a look of pure joy spreading across her wrinkled face.
“Careful,” Grant said, pulling me against him as we followed Devina into her house. “This one bites.”