18. Rose
rose
I meet Reed at the craft fair and artisan market Sunday morning. Bottle rockets ping around in my ribcage the moment I spot his head of messy dark hair over the crowd. The fireworks crank even higher when I wave, and he gives me a soft little smile in return.
“We’re getting closer,” I announce when I reach him.
His gaze drifts down my yellow sleeveless blouse and tie-front Army green shorts before bouncing back up to my eyes. His throat bobs, his chocolate brown eyes warm. He seems almost shy today, which doesn’t fit Reed at all.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in shorts before,” I say. He still makes the shorts and tee combo look surprisingly rugged. Maybe that’s the beard effect. Or those crazy broad shoulders. Or possibly the peek of muscular thighs.
Definitely the thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute. “We’re getting closer to what?”
“Oh.” I lift a finger but restrain myself from touching his mouth. “To seeing your full smile.”
“Is that your goal?”
“Definitely.”
“You could have just asked.”
“That’s not how smile-watching works.”
Now, his mouth twists like he’s trying not to smile. Even though he just offered to give me one for free, like a gentleman. Or a dealer ready to get me hooked.
I hold out a hand to him, and he takes it without question.
His big palm sliding against mine rivals the heat of the summer sun beating down on us.
Lacing my fingers through his, I lead us into the market.
It’s set up in the same park where the concerts are held each week, dozens of booths and awnings spread out in lines on the grass.
Unlike our regular farmers’ market, this one is dedicated to crafters and artisans.
Crowds linger around each station, but even from here, I catch glimpses of custom-made wind chimes, fancy cutting boards, and a sign offering specialty goat’s milk cheeses.
He shifts closer to speak in my ear. “What did you want to practice while we’re here?”
I mirror the action, leaning on him to reach. “PDA.”
He draws back just enough to look me in the eyes. His hand briefly squeezes mine tighter, and one of his eyelids twitches. “Elaborate.”
I drop onto my heels, patting his arm. Tugging us along to the next booth, I explain my plan. Whim. Whim-plan.
“If we’re going to be convincing for your family at dinner tonight, we need to spend more time together. Like this.” I hold up our joined hands.
“We couldn’t have done this in private?”
“We could have.” I slow in front of a booth draped in shirts with geese in various costumes printed on them, trying not to let my imagination run wild. “But it’s called public displays of affection.”
“So, you…” His gaze dips to my mouth. “Want to practice?”
“Yes.” I sound remarkably calm for someone with nerves bubbling through her system. “We should probably also cover more basics about ourselves, since I messed up with Nathan.”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“Did you smooth it over?”
A muscle in his jaw tics. “Yes.”
“That’s good, then. I’ll be more careful tonight, though. No offering information they could potentially contradict me on.” Following Nathan’s lead was a rookie mistake I won’t make twice.
“My family’s not going to grill you.”
I look up at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Maybe Jovie,” he says.
“Exactly.”
We wander the fair, checking out everything. Life-sized metal sculptures of Sasquatch. Earrings made from old skateboards. Every kind of dried mushroom. Perfect little pottery cups to rinse and drain berries. If you can imagine it, someone’s selling it.
All the while, we’re holding hands. Bumping against each other. Getting used to being relaxed and cozy together. I’m honestly not sure I needed the refresher, but I’ll take it.
I can’t resist the draw of little jars of honey lined up in rows and pull Reed over to the display.
The jars glow in the sun, half a dozen subtle shade variations, depending on the type of honey.
Honeycomb in plastic containers and wooden honey stirrers are laid out along with fat crocheted honeybees.
The adorable display has me craving something sweet.
“Would you like to try a sample?” the woman behind the table asks. She’s got a box of small popsicle sticks and squeeze bottles of the honey varieties set out in front of her.
“I’d love to try the vanilla-infused one.”
She squeezes a dollop on the end of a stick and passes it over. I take a taste and have to close my eyes for a second to savor the flavor combination. The honey-vanilla mix dances on my tongue, rich and sweet.
When I open my eyes again, Reed’s watching me, his dark gaze stuck on my lips. I’m sucking on the end of the stick to get every drop, my tongue darting out for one last lick. It’s a sexier show than I intended, but the honey is too delicious to resist.
“Good?” His voice is gravelly, as if he hasn’t spoken in years.
My cheeks flame, but I can’t look away from him. “So good.”
His thumb swirls over my knuckles. I sway closer, that gentle touch radiating up my arm.
“It’s wonderful on yogurt,” the honey woman chirps.
Yes. Right. Honey. I swallow hard and toss the tester stick into a small trash can. “I’ll take a jar, please.”
I pay for the honey and stuff it in my reusable tote bag. Reed and I move on to the next booth, ready to admire a stunning assortment of clay earrings.
“Do you think your mom will like it?” I ask.
“My mom?”
“I thought I’d bring the honey to her tonight. As a thank you for dinner.”
He squeezes my hand. “She would. Don’t you want one for yourself?”
My gaze drifts to the golden jars over his shoulder. That honey was decadent. I can imagine it drizzled over everything I eat for the rest of my life. “I’m practicing self-control.”
He frowns. “Wait here.”
I stand beneath one corner of the awning as he goes back to the honey woman and buys another jar of the vanilla-infused goodness. He returns to me and gently slides the jar into my tote, resting it alongside the one I bought. Then he takes the straps off my shoulder and slips it onto his own.
His gaze lights on me, somehow stern and gentle at once. “Self-control is not something you need to work on.”
He takes my hand back in his, leading us farther down the row of booths.
My heart can’t stop fluttering over his sweetness.
What did he say to me the other night? “Your wants and needs are valid.” That’s a tough lesson to learn when the loudest voices around me share the opposite message.
But for now, those voices are currently on the other side of the globe.
And I’m here with Reed. Indulging.
We pass watercolor art prints of the surrounding mountains, hand-tooled leather wallets and bags, flavor-infused olive oils, and handmade luxe bathrobes.
Reed gestures across me. “It’s your friends.”
The booth he indicates is hung with brightly painted prints of raccoons up to ridiculous shenanigans. I laugh at one on a bike, his legs splayed out like he’s coasting. “These are perfect.”
I smell the next booth before I see it and lead him in a wide arc around it. “Ugh. Not today, Satan.”
He looks over at the table covered in jars of pickles.
I assume they have a bunch of varieties, too, maybe even different vegetables they’ve tainted with their pickling, but I don’t look closely enough to see what they offer.
They’re handing out samples, the stench of vinegar and dill covering the area like a chemical spill.
“Not a fan of pickles?” he asks.
I shake my head, rushing us out of the vicinity. “You know those giant dill pickles they sell individually? I got sick after eating one when I was little. Unrelated—probably. But I haven’t been able to stomach them since.”
“Sounds rough. Maybe you need something sweet to—”
“What have we here?” a woman’s voice says.
We stop face to face with Nora and Fran as people stream around us between the market stalls. They’re both beaming, even if the gleam in Fran’s eyes holds more excitement than seems appropriate. Their gazes travel from our faces to our hands locked between us and back on a loop.
“How fun to run into you.” Nora’s got a market bag slung over one shoulder, weighed down with goodies. They both have a sheen of sweat on their foreheads, but their chipper attitudes don’t seem to be flagging in the bright sun.
“We’re having fun looking at the crafts,” I tell her. “It’s a gorgeous day. Hotter than we expected, too.”
Fran’s holding a big bouquet of flowers in one hand and fans herself with a folded piece of paper in the other. “Oh, yes. It’s certainly hotter than expected out here.”
Good gracious, these women are something else. They would have burst from joy if they’d caught Reed and me at the honey booth.
Nora purses her lips at her friend before shooting smiles our way. “Your mother tells us everything’s progressing well.”
I hate to think what she could possibly mean by that. Mom’s called me every other day this week, but surely she hasn’t informed her friends of her high hopes for Reed and me.
As soon as the thought forms, it pops like a balloon animal twisted too tightly. Of course she’s told them. They wouldn’t be looking at me with quite so much glee if they were just going off of their own imaginations.
“You look so good together,” Fran says. “You should come to our book club. Having another young couple there would set the mood nicely.”
“They can’t join us at the book club.” Nora widens her eyes, telegraphing a warning to Fran.
Fran must catch her drift. “Oh. That’s right. They can’t come to book club. We’ll just have to find something else.”
They nod, seemingly satisfied by their own compromise. Despite their cheerful show, each of them casts tiny, pitiful glances my way. I want to roll my eyes to the heavens. It’s been years, ladies.
“We won’t keep you.” Nora hefts her bag strap higher. “We just wanted to say hello.”
“Here.” Fran pulls a stem covered in tiny blue flowers from her bouquet and hands it to Reed. “For your sweetheart.”
They bustle past us with enthusiastic goodbyes, and we start walking again.
Reed slowly twirls the flower stem between his finger and thumb, its petals gently swaying. “What was that about? We can’t join their book club? Do they think I don’t like to read?”
“I’m sure it’s not that.” I nibble my lower lip, not loving where this conversation has to go. “It’s probably because Shepherd and Wren are already in their book club.”
As secret as those women used to keep their romance book group, they sure talk about it openly now.
I’m glad they’ve finally learned there’s nothing to be ashamed of in reading romance books.
Although I suspect a good share of their pride is how they’ve taken credit for Shepherd and Wren’s relationship.
They probably think it’s advertising to lure more single Sunshine residents to their group.
Reed goes gargoyle at my side, his eyebrows tugging down and his hand tightening on mine. “I take it you used to date Shepherd Callahan.”
“They acted like they thought I would combust on the spot if they mentioned him by name.” It’s not the first time my mom’s friends have treated me like broken glass when it comes to Shepherd. The first year afterward was one long parade of pitying looks.
“Did things end badly?” Reed asks low.
“No. Not at all.”
I guide us away from the craft booths to the shade of a tree.
In the distance, kids play catch in front of the empty concert stage while others run around shooting each other with water guns.
A few picnic blankets dot the grass, and a dog runs off leash with what looks like a stolen sandwich in its mouth.
“He’s a really good guy. I’m happy for him and Wren and wish them all the best.”
Reed still frowns as if he’s considering stalking through town until he finds him. It’s sweet but totally unnecessary.
“Nothing bad happened. Shepherd and I just didn’t click. I think I was too cheerful for him.” My laugh comes out high-pitched. Reed’s even more my opposite than Shepherd was. He could have similar thoughts about my core personality trait. “I probably annoyed him.”
I don’t really know what went wrong, but Shepherd was too good a guy to be hurtful when he broke things off with me.
He ended our relationship in the gentlest way possible—ten out of ten, would get dumped by him again.
Obviously, I was sad about it in the immediate aftermath, but eventually I could admit that we didn’t quite work.
When I found out through Sunshine’s usual gossip channels that he was dating—and ultimately planning to marry—Wren Krause, I really was happy he’d found his person.
I’ve seen them together. He never lit up like that when I was with him, like I was his whole world. That was the part that made me envious. Wanting someone to look at me the same way he looked at Wren.
“You don’t annoy me,” Reed grumbles.
I can’t help my quick laugh. “I absolutely do annoy you.”
He frowns harder as if he might argue, but he must see the teasing in my eyes. His mouth tugs into the biggest smile I’ve seen from him yet. I even get a peek of white teeth. It’s dazzling and open and beautifully unexpected. My heart does a full cartwheel in appreciation.
“Fine. You do annoy me. But…I like it when you annoy me.” He steps closer, his gaze drifting over my face. “You’re bright sunshine and wildflowers and stars in the darkest night. You’re hope and optimism and joy. I’m not those things. But I wouldn’t want you any other way, firefly.”
I don’t think my lungs are working as I gaze up at him. I’m nothing but a tangle of butterflies and nervous energy, my brain furiously working to memorize those honey-sweet words.
His eyes have gone full romance novel hero, black pupil overtaking the chocolate brown like it never plans to give up the real estate. He leans forward, or maybe I do. All I know is, we’re drawn together, his sweet, gently smiling face the only thing I see.
Which is probably why I don’t notice the kids running by with squirt guns until they’ve soaked us.