22
I unliked it right away,” I tell Micki the next morning over the phone. “Will he still know?”
She’s laughing so hard she can barely talk. “Yes,” she wheezes. “Oh, this is too perfect.”
“I told you I shouldn’t be on social media.” My cheeks are burning. How will I ever be able to look at him again?
“There are a few pool pics here,” she says, still giggling. “Which one is it?”
“No, don’t look at them!”
“But I want to know what did it for you. It’s the one where he’s stepping out, isn’t it? Yeah, that’s hot.”
I lean my head into my free hand. “So hot, right? God, I’m mortified.”
“Don’t be. He’s not going to say anything.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he likes you. He wouldn’t embarrass you like that.”
“He tolerates me at best. Out of guilt.”
“You keep telling yourself that. But um…” She pauses. “Shit. Hey, you didn’t happen to look at the caption before your little ménage à moi , did you?”
“No. Why?”
“It says Quality time with my baby .”
There’s a mini-pinch in my chest, but I shrug it off. “It would be weirder if he’d never been in a relationship.”
“Yeah, but… hashtag livinglavidaloca, hashtag brightfuture, hashtag honeymoon …”
The line is silent while I let that sink in. “He’s married?”
“Or he was? Harvey said he’s single, remember?”
The plot is thickening. “Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. It’s his life.”
“You’re not even a little curious?”
“Of course I am. But it’s not like I can ask him about it.” Especially not now that I’ve revealed myself to be the creepiest creeper ever. “I’m just going to forget about the whole thing. He could have a whole harem of wives, and that wouldn’t change a thing. Or rather I’d feel bad for him. A harem would be freaking exhausting.”
“Mm-hmm.” Micki’s blasé hum tells me she’s done with this conversation now. If I’m not going to play along with her Hallmark-y fantasies, there’s no point. “You let me know how that goes, okay? Are you training tonight?”
A new wave of shame washes over me. “Yes,” I sigh. Fifteen thousand is worth it, I tell myself. Fifteen thousand and the satisfaction of beating his fine ass.
Despite my resolve to move on, my brain fails to conjure normal topics of conversation on our way to the farm. Leo is in a good mood, smiling and humming along to the music he has playing, but all my focus is spent trying not to blurt “sorry I accidentally liked your thirsty post.”
“You’re quiet today,” he says when we’re halfway there. “Something wrong?”
That smile again. He totally knows.
“Nope, all good.”
He glances at me. “I liked the picture you posted of Cholula. How does it feel to officially join the modern world?”
Dear Lord, he’s going there. “Fine.”
“Let me know if you need any tips.”
“Will do.”
“Or if you have any questions…?”
I look at him, but his face is neutral, concentrating on the road. I do , I want to say. I have So. Many. Questions. “I can’t stay out late tonight,” I say instead. “I’ve got more work to do at the store.”
“Do you ever just chill?”
“You’re the one telling me to be ‘number one in business.’”
That elicits a small smile from him. “That’s a terrible impression of me. But I’m glad you were listening. I didn’t think you would.” He slows at a stoplight. “Does this mean you no longer consider me the human equivalent of the plague?”
I pretend to think about it. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He touches his heart. “Ouch.”
“But I’ll concede you may have some valid points about how to run a business.”
“ Some valid points. I’m overwhelmed with this praise.”
I slap him in the shoulder but can’t fully suppress my laugh.
Now that the mood is lighter, I venture a question that’s been on my mind. “So, Dawn tells me you have a brother?”
Leo’s jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. “I do.”
I hesitate. “Should I not ask about him?”
He glances at me. “Why do you say that?”
“You look all storm-cloudy all of a sudden.”
“That’s not a word.” His chin juts out, but then he makes a visible effort to relax his features. “Our relationship is complicated,” he says, finally.
“He’s the handsomer, more successful one, right? Is that why you can’t stand him?”
Leo shakes his head. “God, you’re a pain. Fine. What do you want to know? Bennett is a year younger, definitely not as handsome, but yeah, a pretty successful lawyer.”
He should have been in my year at school, then. I rack my brain for a Bennett Salinger but come up empty-handed. “Was he at Batavia High School, too? I don’t remember him.”
“No, he was a bit rowdy in middle school, so my parents sent him to Marmion. They figured a Catholic, all-boys high school would set him straight, and I guess they were right.”
That would explain it. “So what’s the complication?”
“You don’t beat around the bush much, do you?” A sidelong glare. “Um… he and my father have opinions about me being out here. Let’s leave it at that.”
I don’t want to leave it there at all. What kind of opinions? Does this have something to do with his lifestyle change around the holidays? But maybe I’ve already pushed my luck.
“Yeah, I’m really not looking forward to having him right up in my business,” he continues.
“He’s coming here?”
“The whole family. Diane says they always come out Halloween weekend. Apparently, the kids love trick-or-treating here in town.”
“The kids?”
“Evie and Oscar, my niece and nephew. They’re four and three. Love those kids to death. It’ll be good to see them at least.”
“Aw, that’s cute. And now they can come trick-or-treat at your store. That’ll be fun.”
“At the store?” Leo looks at me.
I turn more fully his way. “All the businesses open for trick-or-treating that afternoon. It’s a thing. Lots of people come. You didn’t know?”
“Does everyone dress up? Do I have to?” He shudders. “Can’t I just put out a bowl of candy by the front door?”
“Of course everybody dresses up. It’s Halloween—the best holiday of the year. The stores go all out. Which reminds me—could we stop at the pumpkin farm on the way back on Friday? I need some pumpkins.”
“Pumpkins plural?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you need several?”
“For decoration, obviously. You should get some too or Canine King will be the only storefront not decked out.” I pretend to study my nails. “Unless you’re aiming for standing out in a really scroogey way.”
He huffs. “That analogy makes no sense. Last I checked, Scrooge was about Christmas.”
“You get the gist. You’ll be a party pooper. A Halloween pooper.”
“I don’t know. To me, dress-up is for kids. I sell dog supplies, not an immersive haunted house experience.”
I bark a laugh at his self-importance. “Gotcha—Halloween is not ‘on-brand’ for you. Well, more foot traffic for me, then. Thank you kindly.” I tip an invisible hat to him, and maybe it’s my teasing tone or the thought of his Halloween aversion pushing customers away, but suddenly he squares his shoulders and raises his chin.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to participate. I simply hadn’t thought about it. If you want to stop for pumpkins, we’ll stop for pumpkins.”
I look at him as we take the last turn off the road and come up to the farmhouse. “Really?”
“Sure.” He stops the car and puts it in park. “In fact, I bet you I can make Canine King even more ‘decked out’ than Happy Paws.”
“Not likely.”
“You scared you’re going to lose?” He smirks.
The nerve. “Fine, you’re on. Best-decorated store wins. The loser has to wear the other store’s swag for a day and post a picture of it to social media. How about that? I’m not scared. Are you?”
The light from an exterior lamp on the house reflects in his large pupils as he nods approvingly. “Okay. Okay. I see you, Cora Lewis. Didn’t know you had it in you. Deal.” He offers me his hand. Its grip is strong and assured—much like in the picture where he clutched the ladder to pull himself out of the water. The vision before me changes. Blue skies and palm trees, sun-kissed skin. Leo, shaking his hair, spraying me with droplets as he tries to tug me into the glittering pool with him.
“But my clothes will get wet,” I say. It only takes a second for me to realize the words didn’t stay in my head.
“What?” Leo squints on a smile.
I pull my hand out of his, my mind blank. “Uh… um… pumpkins.”
“Wet clothes and pumpkins?” He stares at me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, slowly at first and then faster. My right hand massages my throat as if a logical explanation has gotten stuck there. “Sure, yeah.” Say something better. Now. “Um, if it rains. Pumpkin-picking. It’s muddy. Best to wear a rain jacket.”
“Ah.” He doesn’t look convinced. “I will.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to get, um, wet.” My chin slumps to my chest on a sigh. Damn it, I did it again. I’ve got to get out of here. I open the door but get tangled in the seat belt I’ve forgotten to unbuckle.
He reaches over to assist at the same time I go for the button, and again his warm skin brushes mine.
“I’ve got it,” I say, more brusquely than I intend.
Finally free, I straighten and suck in a deep gulp of cool air to clear my head. “Thanks,” I say. “Let’s just…” I hike my thumb toward the field.
An amused frown lingers on his face. “Whatever you say. Pumpkin.”