Chapter 7 Eve
EVE
He shows up like clockwork after the last puffy, colorful clouds of sunset have dipped below the tops of the sunflowers.
I made sure Abby, my right-hand gift shop girl, was prepared to stay and close for me.
Normally I’d let her go earlier because she’s in college and would rather be slightly broke than miss a night out with her friends, but tonight I wanted to make sure I had the opportunity to shower before showing Ryder Blackwell around the property.
Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, the whole jeans-and-flannel thing is really doing it for me. A war rages in my head because I know, logically, that I’m supposed to hate him.
But there’s also a woman in me who wants to don a pair of sunglasses at night just so I can stare at him a little.
I don’t even need to do anything with the man.
I just want to look. Entertain the very improbable possibility because I know deep down inside that he’s putting on an act for me.
Trying to endear me to him in an effort to get whatever it is he needs to get out of me.
And I will not lose sight of that.
I just have to figure out how to appreciate the very nice-looking man while I can, and not think about that little zap that passed between us when our hands touched earlier.
I run my fingers through my wet hair before opening the door.
It’s getting to that time of year when the sun sears your eyes in the afternoon but the nights get cool, and Ryder is wearing one of those thick jackets that’s fuzzy on the inside.
Might as well be wearing catnip, honestly.
He grins when the door opens and holds up a brown paper bag. “As requested, I brought snacks.”
“Oh good, you can follow directions,” I say, stepping to the side to let him in.
“I’m very good at following directions,” he says, leaving the bag on the coffee table and pulling out a bottle of white wine. “Wine glasses?”
I nod, crossing the living room to the kitchen and pulling two out of the cabinet.
I rest them on the coffee table, and he quickly unscrews the top of the bottle, pouring two generous servings. He hands one to me and clinks his against it. “To a good working relationship between neighbors.”
I crinkle my nose rather than taking a drink. “Can we cheers to something less boring? Like a dry sunflower season? Or respecting property lines?”
He gives me a flat look before clinking his glass against mine again. “Cheers to respecting property lines,” he deadpans, raising his glass to his lips.
“Cheers to impersonating a lumberjack.”
He nearly spits out his wine as he takes a sip. “For your information, these are well-worn clothes from the back of my closet. The only impersonation happening here is of my younger self.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see you split a log.”
“Give me an axe,” he says, throwing his hands out in front of him.
“I grew up on the other side of town. BMX bikes in the woods until we were old enough to get our hands on dirt bikes. Later, smoking weed in the town square and making fun of tourists despite tourism being the main source of income in this town. I’m not a foreigner here, Eve.
I’m just someone who decided to focus elsewhere. ”
I narrow my eyes. “Why did you leave?”
He purses his lips, his eyes dancing around my face like he was expecting a different response. “Opportunity.”
“Taking over your dad’s business?”
He nods.
“Well, I guess we’re not so different in that way.” I take a sip of my wine. “You took over your dad’s business, and I took over my grandmother’s farm.”
He nods again, seemingly unsure. “So you understand.”
I shrug. “In a way, yeah, I understand. But there’s a big difference between taking over someone’s legacy for money and doing it because it means something.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smile coming to his face. “Who says I did it all for the money?”
“Common sense?”
He shoves one hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“And I suppose common sense also says that the cash-strapped caretaker of the sunflower farm does it all for the honor, huh? Not because it’s her flowers that have a minor monopoly in this town that she squanders by selling them too cheap.
And certainly not because being the namesake farm of this town comes with a certain amount of prestige that gets her just drunk enough on power to demand that the rightful owner of adjacent properties bends to her will. ”
I take a sip of my wine, staring him down.
If he thinks calling me power drunk is going to affect me, he’ll need to think again.
If anything, I’ve been struggling to retain the tiniest inkling of power since taking over this farm.
It’s not like money grows on trees here—or stalks, unfortunately—and though I’ve done my best to take advantage of opportunities when they crop up—the influencer partnerships, the tea garden off the gift shop, even the barn—I don’t get comfortable.
Because while I’ve done the best I can with what I have, I’m ultimately the only one looking out for the wellbeing of the sunflower farm.
“I think anyone with an objective perspective and two brain cells to rub together can see the dynamic here. The sunflower farm that no one believes could ever get hurt because it’s always just been there versus the big-shot developer next door who promises to do no harm—”
“Can we stop with the ‘big shot’ stuff?”
I give him a once-over. “You don’t fool me. I’m willing to entertain this idea of a healthy working relationship you’re so keen on, but don’t think for one second that I don’t see through it all.”
He nods. “You’re smart. I get it.”
My eyes narrow. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Not trying to get anywhere with you. Just saying things as they are. I’ll be as real with you as I can if you’ll do the same for me.”
I eye him, wondering how much of this to believe.
The reality is, he’s going to do exactly what he wants to do, regardless of how it’ll affect me.
The best thing I can probably do for my farm is to keep him close.
Help him when it’s convenient and maybe I’ll be able to extract bits and pieces of what he’s planning to do next door and slowly but surely ruin every single one of his plans.
And even in the worst-case scenario—if I know everything he’s going to do but can’t put a stop to it—at least I’ll have time to prepare.
“Well, just so you know, I’m only going to trust you as far as I can throw you.”
He grins. “Nice. I’m doing better than expected, then.”
“What did you expect?”
He shrugs. “I figured there was a non-zero chance that you booby-trapped your house and would keep me locked up in your basement feeding me nothing but sunflower petals until I eventually succumbed to the power of the flower.”
I bite my lip to tamp down the grin that image brings to my face. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
His eyes catch on mine. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
My face heats, and I turn away from him because the way he’s looking at me makes me think the version of that running through his mind sounds a lot more like play time than the hostage sort of situation I was imagining.
I place my wine on the coffee table and head for the front door, surreptitiously pressing my cold hands to each of my cheeks before throwing the door open. “Shall we?” I ask, turning back only long enough to watch him set his wine on the table next to mine and follow me out.
I shut the door behind him and lead the way down the dirt path that will eventually take us to his property.
After a few moments of silence, he knocks my elbow with his and leans down to speak right into my ear. “I take that as a yes.”
I fix him with my best glare as I stomp down the dirt road. “It’s a pity this house has no basement because something tells me the best way to manage you is by keeping you out of the way.”
I put one foot on the first stone to cross the stream and glance behind me to make sure he’s following my steps.
He grumbles as he focuses on his footing. “If you really want to know how to manage me, I’d try whiskey and my grandmother’s apple pie.”
I stop in my tracks, turning to look at him just as he attempts to step onto my stone.
I don’t know why that admission surprised me, but something about this big-shot developer being both out to get me and a sucker for his grandmother’s apple pie… does not compute.
Except as soon as I turn around to ask him where that came from, we collide, his chest warm and hard against mine. I wrap my arms around him—despite my general disdain for him—in the hopes that I will not go face first into the stream.
And I don’t.
I go butt first.
Because although I’m more than willing to sacrifice him to the greedy water, he grabs onto my hands and holds on for dear life until not only is my butt fully in the water, but his foot is too.
He huffs as he pulls me to my feet. “Well, it wouldn’t be us if I left here without a soggy foot.”
I grimace as water drips from my jeans.
“Goddamnit, Ryder,” I say, the temperature of the water causing immediate shivers.
He grimaces as he watches me, then tugs me back the way we came. “Let’s get you back inside.”
He still has one foot in the stream and leans out of my way so I can step back onto the rock, one hand holding mine to keep me steady.
And the whole thing sends a little zip of heat down my spine that’s doing a damn good job of counteracting the freezing cold water of the stream.
I scurry ahead of him when we reach the bank and head toward home with a fury. The farm is mostly dead now that it’s dusk, but not quite dead enough that I can walk around fully soaked without the occasional head turning in my direction.
Ryder is right on my heels the whole way, reaching forward to push my door open as I get to it as if being soaked suddenly makes me incompetent.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter as I cross over the threshold and let out a long breath. I continue straight for the stairs, anxious to get out of my clothes. “Leave your shoes at the door,” I tell him, stomping up to the second floor and shutting the bathroom door behind me.
I take stock of the situation once I have a moment to breathe.
Ryder makes me flustered. And not in a good way. He’s attractive, confident, and he obviously has a ton of money.
But I know deep down in my bones that he is not good for me.
Not good for the farm that my grandmother bequeathed to me because my mom was never interested in this place and decided to abandon it—and me—when someone just like Ryder came around.
Someone who would promise the world but could never deliver.
He’s playing the part so perfectly. The jeans, the flannel, the mention of his grandmother’s apple pie—
I have to figure out if that was true. As much as I know that grandparents are very lovable and all that, it seems too convenient that we both have strong connections with our grandmothers—
The thought hits my chest in a way that has my muscles sagging.
What I wouldn’t do to have my grandmother’s guidance right now. She was a great judge of character. Someone who could eye a man up after no more than a few words and determine whether he was worthy or not.
She did that with my mother’s husband, when she first met him.
I was no more than three or four at the time and my mother, who was barely twenty years old, brought home a man who referred to himself as an entrepreneur.
I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I remember the look on my grandmother’s face.
One brow raised as her eyes took in his suit, the watch on his wrist.
She was always cordial, but I remember that moment like it was yesterday.
My grandmother, first determining that this man wasn’t worth his salt, and second, the kind look in her eye after they left—and I didn’t realize my mom was leaving leaving—when she asked if I wanted to have ice cream for dinner and watch a movie.
I’ve seen my mother a handful of times since then. On occasion, she asked my grandmother for money and would throw a fit when the answer wasn't to her liking. She’s still married to the same guy, but apparently his flavor of entrepreneurship doesn’t pay as much as either of them would have liked.
I peel off my clothes and throw them into a pile behind my bathroom door. Luckily, my hair didn’t make it into the stream so I should be okay to tie it up, rinse myself off, and continue on like nothing ever happened.
I glance out the window at the rapidly descending darkness.
I don’t know if Ryder is going to get his tour tonight.
As I step into the shower and let the warm water run over me, I wonder if he’s even still here.
If it were me, I probably would have seized the opportunity to make a quick exit.
But Ryder is not like me. Aside from the whole having grown up here and loving his grandmother thing.
A minute later, I step out of the water, relieved that I washed the stream water off of me but not quite able to shake the slimy feeling of my butt hitting the silt at the bottom.
I tiptoe out of the bathroom and pull on a pair of leggings and a new sweater before heading back downstairs, my body and mind warring with each other because there’s a part of me that sees a handsome man and wants to imagine what could happen, but there’s another part of me that sees that same handsome man and wants to run in the other direction as quickly as I can.
And when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I want to yell at my traitorous heart for thumping the way it does.
Because Ryder looks natural on my couch. Confident, with one ankle resting on the opposite knee.
And the grin that spreads across his face when he sees me makes my heart race.