10. Kevin Presses the Label
Kevin Presses the Label
Falon
Missy's left front shoe has been picking up stones all week, so I'm already out at the fence by seven, running my hand down her leg and checking the frog before the day gets away from me.
Atlas is supposed to be helping, or at least learning to.
He's mostly just pressing his nose into the back of my knee while I work, which is less useful than it sounds.
"You have one job," I tell him.
He wags his nub.
I get the stone out, check the shoe is still seated right, and put Missy back in the pasture. Atlas immediately pivots to investigate the chicken run.
"Don't." I eye him. He thinks about it for a second, then does it anyway, which means that was fifteen minutes of my morning that I wasn't ever getting back.
Bo is looking at my list with narrowed eyes.
I've done two things on the list before Bo even finds the coffee. So I don’t know what he’s narrowing his eyes over.
"This isn't in order," he says, shaking his head and grabbing a pencil.
Ah, now I understand. "Yes, huh. It's in my order."
"Your order is garden center, diner, hardware store, grocery." He holds the paper up as evidence. "That's four stops going east, then doubling back west, then east again."
"I know where everything is, Bo. I grew up here, or did you forget?"
"So did I. That's how I know this is inefficient."
I take the list back before he can write on it. "Thank you for your input."
He doesn't look even a little chastened. He leans against the passenger door of the truck with his arms crossed, squinting at the Everwood main street.
"Let’s split up," he says.
"Ha. Nope. It’s my list."
"I know, but hear me out."
"That’s the thing, Bo. I don't want to hear you out. I have a system."
"Your system has backtracking." He pushes off the truck and holds out his hand. "Give me the list."
"You don't get the list. It's my list."
"Then tell me what's on it, and I'll remember."
I stare at him. He stares back, perfectly calm, like this is all very reasonable and I'm the one being difficult.
The worst part is I've been running errands solo for years, and it's never once bothered me. Three minutes with Bo Gates and suddenly my routing feels a little imperfect. But isn’t it my imperfection that makes my plan work?
"Fine." I yank the list back out and scan it. "Garden center needs the potting mix and the irrigation fittings. Diner is a lunch pickup. I called it in this morning." I look up. "That's my half."
He nods. "Hardware store."
"Cabinet hinges. Carl has them on order; they may or may not actually be here. He forgets to call sometimes. Then the grocery store. I'll text you the rest of the list."
"Got it." He's already turning toward the hardware store.
"Bo."
He stops.
"If Carl starts talking, you have to cut him off, or you'll be there until Thursday."
He glances back over his shoulder. The corner of his mouth pulls up. "I can handle Carl."
"That's what everyone says."
He walks anyway. I watch him go for exactly two seconds before I catch myself and turn toward the garden center.
The potting mix is where it always is. The irrigation fittings take me twelve minutes and one very long conversation with Gerald Patton about his tomato situation, which I did not ask about but apparently needed to know. I texted Bo a single message: How's Carl?
He replies four minutes later: He's asking me how the Jenkins horses are doing and letting me know that the whole town knows and is happy we were there to help. Now, he’s onto suppliers and prices.
I reply: I warned you.
He sends back a yikes emoji. I take that to mean he's trapped.
The grocery stop is quick. Produce, a few staples, it’s in and out. I'm loading the last bag into the truck bed when I hear him.
"Falon."
I know the voice before I turn around. Kevin Bennett, in a button-down that's too pressed for something casual, is walking toward me from the direction of the hardware store like he has nowhere better to be. Which, knowing Kevin, is probably accurate.
He smiles when I turn. The smile I've seen since we were sixteen. The one that's always been a little too sure of itself.
"Hey, Kevin." I keep my voice easy. Neutral. "You're out early."
"Saw your truck." He stops beside me, uninvited, hands in his pockets. "Figured I'd say hi. You're hard to pin down lately."
I let that one sit without answering.
"I feel like we keep missing each other," he tries again.
"It's been a busy week." I turn back to the truck bed, shifting bags to make room. He doesn't offer to help. Just watches. "The farmhouse doesn't renovate itself."
"Right, yeah." He leans against the tailgate, and I resist the urge to tell him to move. He's not doing anything wrong. He's just... close. "That little project of yours. You're still going at it, huh?"
Little project.
I keep my eyes neutral. "Yep. Still going."
"So listen." He shifts his weight, comfortable, certain. "I've been thinking about us. Where things stand. I feel like we're in this weird in-between place, and I think it would be good to just define it. Make it official."
I close the tailgate. "Kevin."
"I mean, we've been spending time together?—"
"We've run into each other at the diner twice and at the feed store once."
He laughs, like I'm being cute. "I'm just saying there's something here, Falon. There always has been. I think we should stop dancing around it."
The thing about Kevin is he's hard to pin down.
That's what makes it complicated. He's not a bad guy, or someone I can point to and say look at how he behaves.
He's just... cocky and certain. Certain that what he wants is reasonable, certain that I'll come around. It's been like that since high school.
"I hear you," I say. "But I don't think we're on the same page about what's been happening."
He tips his head. Still smiling. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I think of you as a friend, Kevin. I always have. And I'm not—" I pause. "I'm not interested in more than that."
His smile holds, but he narrows his eyes.
"Is this because of Gates?" he asks.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. "No."
"Because I've noticed him around. At your place." His tone doesn't sharpen exactly. It just gets pointed. "Seems like a lot of proximity for someone who's just a family friend."
"Bo is renting my guest house. That's a private arrangement that has nothing to do with this conversation."
"I'm not trying to start anything." He lifts his hands. Reasonable Kevin. "I just think you deserve honesty. And honestly? It looks like he's sniffing around."
It's like déjà vu.
That phrase. Mom's voice on the phone, she didn't know I could hear. Tyler's name is in the air. The idea of me as something to be monitored, something to be watched over.
I'm really tired of that phrase.
"Kevin." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I'm not trying to be rude. But I'd rather be clear now than let this keep going in the wrong direction. I'm not interested in dating you. That's not going to change."
I see the familiar look of recalibration behind his eyes. The same one he wore years ago, before he and Bo or Tyler would get into it. He's calculating, as he always has been. He pushes off the tailgate and tucks his hands in his pockets.
"Alright." He says it's too light, too easy.
I wait.
"For now," he adds.
And there it is.
"See you around, Falon." Smug. Sure of himself, always.
He turns and walks the other direction. I don't watch him go.
I pick up my bag, cross the street, and head into the diner for the lunch pickup. Mae has the bags waiting at the counter. Two burgers, extra fries, large Dr. Peppers, and a smile. She slides them across with a smile.
"You doing okay, honey?"
"Fine." I smile back. "Just a long morning."
She leans on the counter, not quite letting me go yet. "Tell Bo I said hey. And that the chocolate shake's on special today, in case he swings by."
I blink. "How does everyone already know he's with me?"
Mae just smiles and straightens up. "Honey, this is Everwood. We knew before you did."
The bell above the door jingles as I step back outside, and Bo is leaning against the truck, receipt from the hardware store in one hand, expression set to something that looks dangerously close to amused.
"You're late," he says.
"I know."
"Lunch is going to be cold."
"I know."
He looks at me for a beat. "Kevin Bennett make you late?"
"How did you?—"
"Saw him at the hardware store. Figured he'd find you." He says it simply, with no edge. "Hard to miss the button-down."
I pull out my keys. "He just wanted to talk."
"Hm." Bo takes the diner bags from me without asking and sets them in the cab. Unhurried. "You two have a good chat?"
"Not particularly."
"That's too bad." He doesn't sound like it's too bad. He sounds very careful to sound neutral. "He asked you out?"
"Bo."
"I'm just asking."
"You're just asking."
"Seems like relevant information." He leans against the truck, arms crossed, face completely open and guileless. "You dating him?"
I turn and look at him full on. "No."
"No, you're not dating him, or no, you don't want to talk about it?"
"No, I am not dating Kevin Bennett, Bo."
"Okay." He nods once. Looks out at the street. Looks back at me. "You sure?"
"I am absolutely certain I am not dating Kevin Bennett."
Something moves through his eyes, fast and quiet, there and gone. But I catch it. I see it before he looks away.
Relief.
He's not teasing anymore. He's just standing there, looking at the middle distance like he's working something out, and the tips of his ears have gone the faintest shade of pink.
"Ice cream's still on," he says finally, voice back to easy. He holds the passenger door open. "Salted caramel's a strange choice, but I'll allow it."
"You'll allow it."
"Well, chocolate is superior."
"You're insufferable."
"You're late." But he's smiling now, small and real.
He rounds the truck and drops into the driver's seat, and we pull out onto Main Street headed for home. I lean my head back and let the morning unspool behind me, Carl and the hinges, Gerald's tomatoes, Kevin and his button-down and his for now.
My phone buzzes. Millie is confirming that all five Jenkins horses checked out clean this morning. I text back a quick thank you and put the phone away.
We're barely past the diner when I hear the paper bag crinkle.
I don't even look over. "Bo."
"Hm?"
"Those are my fries."
A pause. Another crinkle. "They're communal fries."
"They are absolutely not communal fries."
"You bought extra."
I did buy extra. Specifically because of this. Because it's just like him, and it's just like always, and somewhere between the garden center and Kevin Bennett and the tips of Bo's ears going pink, I think I've gone and fallen a little further than I meant to.
I reach into the bag and steal a fry right out of his hand.
He laughs, and I have to look out the window so he doesn't see my face.
What Kevin doesn't understand and never will is that there's a difference between a man who circles and a man who simply makes himself known.
I wish I were like that.
Bo was relieved when I said I wasn’t dating Kevin.
I saw it, and I've been pretending I don't feel it, but I do.
I feel it every time he reaches past me for something and doesn't quite move away afterward.
Every time his voice drops when it's just the two of us.
Every time I catch him looking, neither of us says anything about it.
It's not comfortable the way friendships are.
It's the other thing. The restless, can't-quite-settle thing.
The thing I feel right now, sitting in this truck, stealing his fries, trying very hard not to look at his hands on the wheel.
I think about that the whole drive home.
And I don't think about Kevin at all. All I can think about is Bo.