Chapter 4
Levi
The Stonevale Small Biz Happy Hour is speed dating for people who’ve already dated. Or, whose parents went to prom together. My parents used to call it “networking,” but with free wine, it’s the kind of charming disaster Stonevale does best.
Dominic and I wait at the bar. He orders something needlessly complicated, while I stick to a safe red. In this town, you take the predictable route. Like passing by Mrs. Hensley’s bakery for the comfortable whiff of croissants you risk being served stale.
Dominic leans in, eyeing the crowd like a hawk. He’s always one cocktail away from half-heartedly setting someone up. He’s been forcing me to attend these events for years, insisting I “meet people,” as if I don’t already know everyone in town.
“I’m just saying, Levi,” Dominic smirks, “your dating life has the spice level of oatmeal. Live a little. Find someone who at least makes you want to check your phone obsessively.”
I snort. “Right, because nothing screams ‘healthy adult relationship’ like having your cortisol levels tied to someone else’s typing bubbles.”
“At least it’s interesting.” He sips. “Proud of you for chasing after a little unpredictability.”
I sigh, glancing around the room. A blur of familiar faces. Everyone’s got a story, a reputation, and that’s part of the problem. My love life is starting to feel like reruns of a sitcom that got canceled for being too bland, then picked up again in syndication just to spite me.
“I’m not chasing unpredictability, Dom,” I say, tracing the rim of my glass. “I just want something real.”
I wasn’t expecting to say that out loud.
It feels like an admission, like I’m confessing something I’ve been too scared to fully accept.
But lately, it’s the truth that keeps hitting me over and over.
I’m tired of the one-night stands, the random hookups that leave me feeling empty at the end of the night.
I want more. More than what I’ve been getting.
But it’s hard to figure out where that more might come from.
Damn, listen to me. A florist praying for perennials and wondering why annuals keep wrecking my plans.
Dominic doesn’t miss a beat. “You don’t find a husband at a two-dollar-beer happy hour, Levi,” he says with a grimace, appalled. “You find a good time, cheap booze, and maybe a pretty face to help you forget anything and everything.”
“Is that so?”
He takes a sip of his cocktail. “…or to ride.”
I wince. “Someone’s feeling exceptionally helpful.”
He grins, like he’s just cracked the code to my entire existence. “You know I’m right. And would you look at that…speaking of pretty faces,” Dominic adds, leaning in a little too eagerly, “check out who’s making his way over here.”
I follow his gaze, already aware of Ezra walking over.
“Great,” I mutter.
Dominic raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got that look on your face. The ‘I’m about to do something terrible, but it’ll make great brunch gossip’ look.”
“Maybe I am,” I reply, turning back to my glass. “It’s not like I can avoid him forever.”
And just as I say that, Ezra materializes beside us, grinning like he’s just seen an old friend at a reunion instead of…what we actually are.
“Levi!” he calls out, his voice bright with that overzealous cheerfulness. “I had my doubts about you actually showing up this time.”
He pulls me into an embrace that lasts a beat too long. Ezra hugs like a Labrador who hasn’t seen a human in six hours. Enthusiastic, a bit smothering, and makes you wish you’d thrown a tennis ball first.
“Yeah, well,” I say, shrugging. “Small town, you know. Miss too many of these and they put your face on a milk carton and start a prayer circle.”
Ezra pulls back, still beaming at me like I’m the best thing that’s happened to him all day. “I’m really glad you came. Seriously.” He starts to leave, but I can see him lingering, until someone calls him from across the room and he’s gone as quickly as he came.
Dominic nudges me. “So, you and Mr. Fertilizer, huh? How long before he sprinkles you with his seed?” His eyes are sparkling like he’s uncovered a juicy plot twist.
I choke so violently on my wine I’m pretty sure I see stars. “Fuck, Dom! Warn a guy before you weaponize innuendo. I almost died just now!”
He grins wickedly. “Worth it.”
“You’re the worst,” I wheeze, grabbing a napkin to dab at my mouth. “You know it’s not going anywhere.”
Dominic raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, bestie. You’re looking at him like you want to be looking at him. There’s something you’re not saying.”
Dominic’s got that look on his face. The one that says he’s not going to let me dodge the question. “It’s not about Ezra,” I say.
Dominic’s lips twitch. “So, your type has officially shifted to men who could keynote a TED Talk on coffins?”
“What? No, I…come on…”
But he’s already on a roll. “Trading fiddle-leaf figs for formaldehyde, then? Because that’s both niche and deeply, deeply concerning.”
Despite his absurdity, my heart trips over itself at the mention of Hayden. Like it’s been waiting for someone to drop his name just so it can malfunction publicly. I clear my throat, attempting to sound casual. “You’re being ridiculous. Hayden’s…not my type.”
Dominic pats my cheek…firmly. Like he’s slapping some sense into me. “Keep lying to yourself if you have to. But, honey? He’s gorgeous.”
“I know,” I mutter.
“And intriguing.”
“Yup.”
“And tortured in a hot way.”
I groan. “I know, Dom. That’s the problem. He’s…too much. Too intense. Too everything.”
Dominic’s expression softens just a little. “Ah. So he’s your type in every way that scares you.”
I roll my eyes. “Something like that. I just…I’m not sure what I want.”
Dominic smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, it’s not going to come from being confused. That’s the first thing I’ve figured out about this whole ‘finding your person’ thing.”
I’m about to respond when a cheerful voice cuts into our conversation.
It’s Sophie Browning from Stonevale’s Office of Community Development, wineglass in hand and a bright, encouraging smile plastered on her face.
She’s been a lifesaver throughout my whole community garden endeavor, always eager and genuinely invested in seeing it succeed.
“Levi! So glad I caught you.” Her eyes practically sparkle with excitement. “Just checking in on the grant paperwork. Need anything from me?”
I nod quickly, trying to focus on her over the messy feelings I’m still sorting through. “Everything’s good at the moment. But thanks…I really appreciate you checking in.”
“Of course! We’re all rooting for you.” She gives my arm an encouraging squeeze before moving off into the crowd.
Her words pull me back to reality for a second.
Between gossip and wine, I forgot there’s still a whole plot of land waiting for me to turn paperwork into soil.
It’s chaos I actually signed up for, even when I have to remind myself that the exhaustion means it’s working.
Something’s actually growing, even if I can’t see it yet.
As she leaves, I spot Ezra a little too easily. He’s chatting with someone, his smile so wide it might qualify as a dental ad.
Dominic narrows his eyes.
“Alright,” he says, “you’ve officially hit your quota for deep conversation. I can practically hear your inner voice screaming for the subject to be changed.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatically clutching my chest. “Thank god. Let’s talk about anything besides my tragic love life, okay? The weather, taxes, literally anything.”
Dominic laughs, holding up a finger like he’s negotiating. “Fine, just one more question.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Ask away.”
“Your parents still coming into town soon? You’ve had that impending-doom look for days. I need to prepare for how much of a buffering you’ll require with Mommy.”
My stomach somersaults into Olympic-level gymnastics. She’s already texted me a dozen times about their upcoming drop-in; the run-up to these visits always feels like prepping for a white-glove inspection. Clean, neat, completely fake. We’ve danced this one long enough to know the steps.
“So that deep conversation quota went right out the window, huh?”
He raises his eyebrows impatiently.
“Yeah, they’re still coming,” I confirm, forcing a casual shrug. “You know the drill. They’ll tour the shop, smile at everything, and avoid any topic heavier than a feather.”
Dominic’s expression turns sympathetic. “You know they love you, right?”
I wave him off. “They love the brochure version of me,” I say. “High gloss, low resolution. The one who keeps everything neat and tidy so they don’t have to deal with their own mess.”
Dominic leans back, dramatically feigning shock. “Wait, you’re not perfect? My entire worldview just shattered.”
I snort and take a long sip of my wine. “Ha-ha. But seriously, you know them. They need me to fill the gaps. To be their golden son. The stand-in and the understudy. It’s…
fucking exhausting.” The mood is starting to dip dangerously close to therapy-session territory, so I shift quickly.
“Anyway, it’ll be fine. We’ll laugh, talk gardens or birds or whatever latest hobby the parentals have glommed on to, and avoid reality like winners. ”
“To avoiding reality!” He clinks, studying me a moment longer. “But you don’t always have to carry this alone, you know.”
My eyes flick involuntarily toward Ezra again. He’s laughing at something his conversation partner says, carefree and uncomplicated. Maybe that’s exactly why he’s appealing right now.
I stand without even realizing it, my brain hitting the eject button from this deep dive Dominic insists on taking. Sometimes ease feels like honesty. Or just habit.
“Um, hello?” he calls after me, clearly not fooled. “Look who’s running again!”
I turn back, flashing a sheepish grin. “Tonight? Absolutely.”
Dominic rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Go enjoy your questionable life choices. I only allow it because I unwaveringly support getting dicked down as a coping mechanism.”
I laugh, already turning toward Ezra. “Appreciate the understanding.”
Ezra spots me. “Hey, you,” he says warmly, nodding at the door. “Ready to escape?”
“More than ready.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just leads the way, his familiarity settling the anxious knots inside of me. I follow him, wondering if just winging it should be my official slogan.
But there’s still a heaviness that hangs over me. A weight I’m not quite ready to acknowledge. Not here.
Not now.
Ezra and I don’t say much, but the quiet feels full. I don’t think about what comes next…not the emptiness or anything else.
· · ·
I didn’t plan to sneak out of Ezra’s place before sunrise, but here we are. Slipping away quietly has apparently become my signature move. Very on-brand for someone raised to avoid confrontation like the plague.
A few hours later, I’m at the counter in city hall, waiting for the clerk to finish processing my garden permits, when I spot him.
Hayden.
My stomach does that flip-flopping thing again and I’m acutely aware of how much my palms are sweating.
He’s even more striking than I remember.
Of course he is…frustratingly handsome even under city hall’s harsh fluorescents.
The sharp angle of his jaw, the way his slicked-back hair falls freely, the intensity in his eyes that feels like it could pin you in place.
“You’ve had this paperwork for a week,” he says through clenched teeth. “If there’s another issue, tell me.”
The clerk, unfazed and meltdown proof, gives him the official Stonevale shrug. “Like I explained before, Mr. Harlow, the decision isn’t mine. You’ll need to take it up with management or fill out an inquiry form.”
Hayden pinches the bridge of his nose in a move I’ve dubbed “the Migraine Preventer.” For the briefest second, the air around him ripples.
Like heat on asphalt or that weird optical illusion when you stare at something too long.
I blink and shake it off, telling myself it’s the fluorescents. Or lack of sleep. Or both.
“Fine. Just give me the damn form.”
I hover awkwardly, caught between eavesdropping and pretending to be extremely interested in a random brochure about retirement planning. Before I can commit to either, Hayden turns and his eyes meet mine.
“Levi,” he says, clipped, not entirely unfriendly, either. It sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
“Hayden,” I reply, aiming for cool indifference and landing in mild gay panic. Up close, the air feels a degree cooler. Or I’m probably imagining it. “What brings you here?”
He eyes me briefly. “Paperwork.” He says it like the word has teeth.
I offer a sympathetic smile. “Ah, the never-ending joys of adulting.”
His lips twitch. Barely a smile, but I’m counting it as a win.
“And you?” He glances at the thick stack of folders I’m clutching.
“Community garden permits,” I say, tapping the pile way too eagerly. “For my customers. Well, all of Stonevale, I guess. Dirt-covered plant enthusiasts.”
Stop. Talking.
He nods slowly, unreadable, and I panic I’ve said something stupid.
Silence stretches like taffy, but just before he walks away, I blurt, “You should come to the garden. Once it’s open. It’s…healing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Healing?”
“Yeah. Sun, soil, photosynthesis. Side effects may include reduced scowling,” I say, grinning awkwardly. “Plants have a great track record with moods.”
He gives me the faintest smirk. “Hm. We’ll see.”
He again turns to leave and more words tumble out. “Or I could buy you a coffee? Right now…Apology, Part Two. Now with caffeine.”
His eyes narrow, amusement flickering just beneath the surface. “Breaking into my office wasn’t enough for you?”
I blink, momentarily speechless, then grin sheepishly. “I was aiming for charmingly spontaneous, not felonious. Clearly my technique needs work.”
He shakes his head, the barest trace of amusement showing. “I’m not mad. Just suspicious of your motives.”
“Motives?” I reach for my invisible pearls. “My motives are pure caffeine-based apology. One cup, no strings attached.”
He looks ready to bolt. Calculating his escape route, no doubt.
It’s the look plants get when they’re rootbound too long.
Straining against the edges of their pots but too stubborn to admit they need a bigger space.
Hayden’s whole body feels like that. Contained.
Tense. Afraid of what happens if someone gets too close.
He checks his watch like he’s conflicted. Nobody likes city hall that much. But finally, he sighs in defeat. “Fine. One coffee.”
I gesture toward the exit before he can reconsider. “Great, café’s just down the block.”