Fourteen
Gavin
Did I almost kiss Mia after fleeing the escape room like our actual lives depended on it? Yes. But in my defense, she almost
kissed me first.
Or at least I think she did. The lights were out, but the darkness only heightened my other senses. Days later and I can still
feel the grind of her hips against mine, the way her lips were a whisper from my mouth. How the smallest movement from either
of us would’ve sent us past every boundary we’ve put up...
I deliberately push away the thought. I won’t relive the moment. Won’t think of how she pinned my wrist in her grasp, taking
charge in a way I hadn’t known I needed, letting me cede control.
The awful thing is how badly I wanted us to careen over the edge. The rules are clear. Flirting and teasing are part of the
setup. But a kiss would end this. Pretty sure there’s no way Mia would continue if we crossed that line, and she needs this.
Not for inspiration—I don’t believe for a second that she truly needs my help with that—but to shake off the demons telling
her this story can’t have a happy-ever-after.
We might’ve already come too close, because I haven’t seen her since. She texted to let me know she’s focusing on work this week, which makes total sense with the deadline moved up and the pressure she’s under. I just hope the escape room disaster didn’t make things worse.
In the meantime, I’ve got issues of my own to deal with. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that my dad is selling the farm.
I almost convinced myself Scott made the whole thing up, but when I finally call Dad on my lunch break Wednesday, he confirms
it.
“Can’t be too surprising.” His voice comes through strong and clear on speaker. I’m resting in the shade of a sturdy red maple
by the curb. I gave Morris some cash and told him lunch for the crew was on me, hoping to buy myself a few minutes alone for
this conversation. “I’ve loosened the reins on the farm a lot in the last year,” Dad says. “Remember my vacation last fall?”
He went to visit my uncle’s family up in Door County. “Big difference between vacation and retirement.” I don’t want to talk
him out of it, but I can’t see him being happy without work.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” he says. “I’m ready for a change.”
“And you’re moving to Colorado?” That might be the most shocking part. Dad’s Midwestern roots go back generations.
“For now.” He sounds less certain. “Scott’s got an extra room and I can help out with the boys if he ends up going back to
work.” I try and fail to picture my dad trading in twelve-hour days outdoors for shuttling around my nephews in the family
van. “But long-term, I’m still figuring things out.”
“You don’t mind someone else taking over the farm?”
“Someone was always going to take over for me eventually. For a while I thought it would be you.” Hoped it would be me is more accurate. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I’m happy here.” The answer comes automatically.
There’s a pause, and I can picture him stepping into the shade of the Christmas tree barn, empty for the season but with a piney scent that lingers year-round. “That why you stopped coming out?”
The question I’ve been dreading. “I’ve been putting in work around the house. Fixing it up. You know how it is.”
“Not really,” he says. “You haven’t talked about it much.”
I thought he might not want updates, since I was making a life here, not at the farm. “You could come out sometime, if you
want.” I haven’t invited him, afraid he’d turn me down. “Since apparently you have all this free time,” I say, keeping my
tone light.
To my surprise, he says, “Sure. After Scott and Amber go back home. Send me some dates.”
Never in my life did I think I’d hear Dad say that. Mom managed the family calendar. He was always focused on running the
farm. “You won’t be busy with getting stuff in order for the sale?”
“No big rush. I’ve been meeting with consultants. Won’t bore you with the details. But my guess is things will move fast,
so I’m holding off till fall.” The rumble of a tractor fills the background, and he says louder, “I wanted to discuss all
this with you in person. But Scott says you won’t make it out before the barbecue?”
With Mia’s deadline moved up, I’m leaving my weekends free for trope tests. “Probably not.”
“All right, well if you find yourself with a free day, come on out. Brett learned how to cast, and he’s been out to the lake
every morning, catching us supper.”
I smile at the thought of my nephew turning into a master fisherman. “Bet he’s proud. Tell him I’ll show him the best spots
when I get there.”
The mention of the lake reminds me of what I stand to lose when Dad sells.
No more nights at the cabin and fall bonfires.
No more hiking in the snow to find the biggest balsam fir for Mia, one that makes Frank look like a seedling.
Mom will still be close by, and I’ll see Dad when I fly out to visit Scott’s family, but we won’t have our central hub without the farm.
Am I ready to sacrifice my life here to keep it?
Riley pulls up behind the trailer of equipment parked on the street and she and Morris climb out, followed by a few of the
summer hires, college kids home for break. Riley passes me a gyro and when I ask Morris for change, he pulls out empty pockets.
Typical.
“So we finally get to meet the famous Mia Brady on Friday,” Riley says around a mouthful of pita. “Or did she get second thoughts
about pulling weeds for charity?”
“She’s coming.” Unless she’s thought better of it.
“I hear season four is filming soon,” Riley says. “Think I can get the inside scoop?”
My stomach twists. I should’ve thought twice before inviting her to hang out with someone who’s super into the show. “Don’t
bring it up, okay?”
Morris glances up from tying his boot, sunburned face shiny with sweat. “Why not?”
I wrack my brain for a good excuse that doesn’t involve her writer’s block. “Because she wants to fit in. Be one of the crew.
She’s never done anything like this before.”
“Want us to go easy on her?”
“No.” Mia would hate being coddled. “I mean, yes. Don’t throw her in the deep end. But don’t assume she can’t handle something.
Just act normal.”
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word.
“And don’t grill her about the show.”
“You’re acting weird.” Riley stuffs her trash in the paper sack. “Is something going on between you two?”
If only. “Nope.” I tug my hat down and call out to the group scattered on the grass. “Ten minutes, everyone. Let’s finish up so we can head back.” Taking a big bite of my gyro, I turn my back on Morris and Riley before they can ask anything else about Mia, the book, or the tightrope we’re walking.
A couple days later, on Friday morning, I’m idling at the curb by Mia’s building to pick her up for the Community Give-Back
event. These experiments are her way of containing the situation, but I’m dying to see what happens if we forget about the
rules. Would she flirt with me if it wasn’t just a box to tick?
We agreed no touching for the trope tests, but she wasn’t in any hurry to get off of me when she toppled into me in the escape
room. What if Joe is right and she’s been waiting for me to make a move? I won’t be able to test that theory with all my coworkers
around, and I wish I’d thought of a more romantic trope for today. But when I got the sign-up email, it struck me as the perfect
way for Mia to try fish-out-of-water.
There will be too many eyes on us for real or fake flirting, but I hope today helps Mia get a break from agonizing over the
book. I want her to remember that she’s more than her career. She’s an accomplished author and that won’t change. But she’s
also an amazing person and a great friend, even though calling her a “friend” feels like too small a word for how I feel about
her, like a root-bound plant that’s outgrown its pot.
Emerging from her building, she climbs into my truck and pulls her oversize sunglasses down over her eyes, then powers the
seat into full recline as if evading paparazzi, looking every bit the famous author she is, even though it’s just daylight
she’s hiding from. I’m so amused by her grumpy, pre-coffee persona that it takes me a second to notice her outfit.
She’s wearing a baggy T-shirt, a decent choice given the heat, though long sleeves would protect her arms from scratches.
What catches my eye are the nylon shorts paired with crew socks and hiking boots.
The rounded swoop of her thighs does something to me that’s not platonic in the least, and the long expanse of bronze legs between the hem of her shorts and white socks has me more distracted than a woman’s body has in, well, forever.
Since the farthest Mia ever hikes is from her house to the coffee shop, I’m guessing she bought the boots especially for today.
I forgot to mention that the crew usually wears pants and long sleeves, and don’t have the heart to tell her now, since she’s
clearly put a lot of thought into looking the part.
“I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea.” She hoists herself up on an elbow to take a sip out of her giant travel
mug before settling back with a groan. “It’s way too early to be awake.”
“Even for a good cause?”
“Only for a good cause.”
I ease back onto the busy street, full of commuters in a rush to get to the train station or headed toward the freeway into
the city. “How late were you up writing?”
“Two a.m.,” she says. “The story is actually going somewhere. I sent Evie the latest chapters.”
Normally she sends pages to me, too, but I ignore the pang of jealousy. I can’t give her anything close to Evie’s professional
level of critique, and she probably doesn’t want the pressure of extra eyes on it yet. “Since you’ve found your rhythm, we
could’ve called off this trope test.”
“I might’ve found my groove, but I’m not going to mess with the process. You don’t shave your beard in the middle of the World
Series.”