Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Autumn
I am happy to work in the south end of the field. Alone . I still have half a dozen boxes of saplings to plant, and there is plenty to do at the north end—almost a mile away from me and where most of the action takes place come October.
So, why a four-wheeler would come barreling my way, I don’t know. My heart slows its crazy pace when I see the second—it’s just Dessie and Don. Whew .
Only… it’s not. I squint as they grow closer. Dessie and Don are on one machine and Ezra is on the other.
“Hey, doll!” Dessie calls when they’re close enough for me to hear. She is snug against Don on one machine, her Southern accent so thick I can’t help but smile at my friend.
Ezra’s eyes burn holes into my side. I’d made plans to not see him today, and I was pretty set on those plans. Do I want to know about Ezra’s life these past few years, about school, about Bre? Sure—and yet, I don’t want to ask. Asking and learning only puts the heart at risk. Why doesn’t my stupid heart understand that?
“We brought lunch,” Dessie says, holding up a brown paper bag.
I swallow. “I wasn’t planning on eating lunch,” I say, hoping they’ll just turn around and go away. Why would all three of them need to bring me lunch anyway?
“Nonsense,” Dessie says and Don laughs as if skipping lunch is ridiculous.
“We all know you get hangry when you don’t eat.” Don winks at me.
Thanks, Don. Thanks a lot.
“That’s nothing new,” Ezra says, and I ball my hands into fists at my sides. But then, I’m all primed to punch, so I stretch my fingers out again.
“Gee. Thanks.” I cross my arms over my chest and keep my eyes fixed towards the Linus’s. “It took all three of you to bring me lunch, huh?”
“Well, of course not. Silly . Don and I haven’t seen you and Ez together in years and we just needed that pretty picture in our heads.”
I dip my head and glare at my elderly bestie. “Dessie,” I hiss. “You do not need any such image.”
“Of course I do. Stand right over here.” She takes me by the hand and drags me over to where Ezra leans against his four-wheeler. “Right here,” she says, planting me next to Ezra. “And you—” She lets me go and manhandles Ezra next. “You stand up and put one arm around—”
“Nope,” I say, side-stepping. No touching. What is she trying to do to me? “His arms are fine at his sides.”
Dessie huffs like I’m making her life difficult. “That’s not much of a picture.”
“We don’t need a picture!” I protest.
“Well, of course we do. It’s been ten years, Autumn Pie.”
“Well, then, this will have to do.”
“Can you link your arm through his?”
“No,” I tell her. I can feel the warmth of Ezra’s body as it is. I don’t need to actually touch the man—all those protective walls I’ve built may come tumbling down.
Ezra stands there, waiting for instructions, like a good star student.
I stand taller, though my five-foot-four-inch frame has nothing on his six-foot-one-inch structure. Ezra must not be working up a sweat because he’s kind of like breathing in fresh air mixed with musk and cedarwood. My head feels a little buzzed with all the Ezra scent so close.
“Is this good enough?” How long does a mental picture take to be seared into your brain?
Dessie backs up. “Stay right there.”
And then Don pulls out his old Polaroid camera.
Holy Moses. What is happening?
“Smile,” Dessie sings.
Ugh .
Let’s get this over with.
Don snaps the photo and a square white developing photo comes sliding out of the camera.
“One more, Don. I don’t think Autumn was smiling.”
My heart thumps in rapid, uneven beats. I need this to end. Now.
Dessie waves a hand from Ezra to me, sweeping across. And with that wave, Ezra Bennett drapes an arm over my shoulders.
“There we go,” Don says. “Much better.”
Ezra locks his grip around me. His arm is heavy and warm, musky and stirring, and way too familiar. Only Ezra and I aren’t familiar anymore.
My self-preservation defense mechanism kicks in and I shove him. Hard . With both hands on Ezra’s chest, I thrust him from my side, from my touch, from my breathing space. Although… musk and cedarwood linger even without him standing right next to me, even with his body five feet from mine.
“Autumn!” Dessie groans. “That wasn’t very nice. ”
Ezra brushes his palms along his thighs—what he’s brushing off, I don’t know. I didn’t push him that hard. He didn’t fall over. He never hit the ground. He’s just being a baby.
A big, stupid, handsome, lovable baby.
“Maybe that was a little too close,” Don says with a chuckle. He’s holding another photo, shaking it in his hand, waiting for it to develop.
I swallow, my mouth dry. “Just a little.”
“Are you okay, honey?” Dessie peers at Ezra still acting as if he’s been wounded.
He presses a hand to his stomach, milking the attention. “Fine,” he says. “Like you said, she’s probably hangry.”
“I am not hangry!” I bark. “I just don’t need you draping yourself all over me.” No, I do not. My heart is already threatening to leave the protection of my chest.
“It was just his arm, just one picture,” Dessie says, defending him. The man she hasn’t seen in ten long years. Why isn’t she defending me?
I take a breath and picture Meg calling me a grumpy Gus. I’m not sure why it helps to settle my nerves a little. Maybe these nerves battling inside of me have nothing to do with Ezra’s nearness; maybe Dessie’s right and I’m just hungry.
Or… maybe Ezra touching me does things to my insides. Things I do not need it doing.
"Okay—that's enough," Dessie says as if we are fighting children and she's our all-angelic referee. "Let's eat so you two can get going."
“Going?” I look from Dessie to Don, avoiding Ezra’s gaze altogether. His opinion on going doesn’t count. “You just got here.”
“Yes, dear, but Don and I are here to work on the saplings so that you and Ezra can go back to your place and go over restaurant designs.”
“Me and—” I take one peek at that stubbled chin and those dark brows. I swallow. Why is everyone out to get me? “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because this is our business, but it’s your dream. You dreamed this up, and you’re running it. I need my GM to approve the design.” She doesn’t say it like a mom talking to a child, but a woman trusting her business partner.
I would like to see the design before he finalizes anything and the blueprints are made up. I press my lips together, tell my beating heart to shut up, and pull out my truck keys. "Okay." I sigh. "I can do that."
“I’ll need your truck,” Dessie says, stealing the keys out of my hand.
My brows narrow. “Why?”
My gray-haired friend lowers her penciled brows. “Well.” She nods. “It’s got the bare root boxes, of course. The saplings.”
“There’s only a few left.”
“Yes, and I want them in the protection of the truck until it’s time to plant.” She crosses her arms with the lie. Because I’m certain that’s what it is. Dessie is meddling. She loves to meddle. Why didn’t I see it before?
“Fine. I’ll take your machine—”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Don needs it. His knee is giving him fits and he can’t be walking clear across to the other side of these long rows.” Her hands bounce to her hips. “That settles it. You’ll ride back with Ezra and we’ll get things taken care of here.”
“Ah.” A squeak falls from my mouth. My no-touching-Ezra plan isn’t going so well.
"Fine with me," Ezra says as if he doesn't care about being close to me. Maybe it doesn't affect him at all. Well, fine, I can be as equally uncaring. Or at least I can attempt to be.
“Fine,” I say, teeth grinding–because, apparently, I can’t hide it.