Chapter 13
[Tate]
“Iwould have expected something a little flashier, Driver,” she says about the rental car I’m driving. The base model, four-door sedan has no amenities, like satellite radio or a phone jack.
“It’s all they had.” I’d flown into Bangor and driven over an hour to get here. The rental company didn’t offer a large selection.
Besides, I don’t care about the interior of the car, only the person in the passenger seat.
Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I’d been worried sick about her emotional state and the baby.
And an early visit to my cousin with coffee and donuts earned me Neve’s address.
It wasn’t like I wouldn’t eventually find it.
It’s a small town. It’s just that I wanted to do things right, like have Neve give me the location of her house herself.
But desperate times call for coffee and donuts.
“So where exactly are we going?” she asks, as I drive us beyond the city limits.
With the ocean behind us and the mountains ahead, her expression is puzzled.
She still has a swash of flour on her flannel shirt, and one pin in her hair isn’t as straight as the other, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone prettier.
Neve doesn’t wear makeup. She doesn’t need it.
Her lashes are naturally long, and her eyes are brilliant blue.
I’ve heard pregnant women described as having a glow about them, and Neve embodies that shine.
While she admits she didn’t plan to get pregnant, didn’t want to be a mother, she looks lovely sitting there with one hand on her round belly and her opposite elbow perched on the edge of the passenger door.
“I can’t tell you,” I say, hoping it reminds her of when she took me to the well on New Year’s Eve.
“Because killing is messy business.” She rolls her head and glances at me.
“Exactly.” I nod, giving her a soft smile. My thoughts are the exact opposite of ending her life. I want to be a part of hers.
I want to kiss her, not kill her.
“Let me just surprise you.”
She runs her hand over her belly, an absentminded move. “Not really a fan of surprises.”
I swallow thickly. “Have you really hated it?”
She glances down at her stomach, smoothing her hand over it more slowly this time. “Not really. It’s just so strange. I mean, there’s a human growing in there. A seed was planted and a garden has grown. One single flower.”
Her voice is soft, and the back of my eyes prickle.
“You should name her Flower.”
Neve snorts and smiles. “She isn’t a love child.”
For whatever reason, the playful comment hurts. That innocent baby wasn’t made in love. Our night together had been pure lust, and yet I don’t regret one touch, one kiss, one moment of that time with Neve.
And I don’t regret this baby.
“So Little Wrench still, huh?”
“Yep.” Neve smiles proudly, staring out the window, absentmindedly running her hand over her stomach again.
When I slow and click on my blinker, Neve says, “Over the Hill Farm.” Her head swivels toward me again. “We’re getting ingredients here?”
Over the Hill Farm isn’t a grocery store. It’s an apple orchard, and from their front display, they have a collection of pumpkins already as well.
“We’re going apple picking,” I casually state as I take a parking spot on the gravel lot.
“I can’t pick apples,” Neve gripes. “I can’t even touch my toes.”
“Good thing you don’t need to bend down then. You only need to reach up.” I set the car in Park and turn my head toward her. She’s still staring at me when I shove open my door. I quickly round the car and open her door. The seat is low, so I hold out my hand to help her stand.
At first, she just stares at it, then glances up at me. “I got it.” She awkwardly shifts, lugging her legs out of the opening and bracing her hand on the open door and the back of the seat.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are stubborn?”
“Almost every day of my life,” she mumbles, struggling to stand, until I slip my arm around her and give her a gentle push. The move draws her close to me, and she glances up once she’s standing.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is low as our eyes meet.
“You could have just taken my hand,” I remind her.
“I couldn’t watch you swipe it through your hair again.” She looks away and shrugs off my arm around her back.
“About that . . .” I say, tempted to run my hand through my hair. “It’s a nervous reaction. I’ve been told everyone has little tics and tells when they are anxious, and mine is digging my fingers into my hair.” I chew at my lip instead. “And you make me nervous.”
“Me?” she chuckles.
“You scare the hell out of me.”
She sets one hand on her hip. “Because I’m stubborn? Or is it because I’m irrational and reactive, as my sisters have told me? I’m too hard on people.”
“Actually.” I sheepishly glance to the side before looking back at her. “It’s because I know what you’re like when you’re soft.” The sounds she makes. The glide of her hand over my skin. The smoothness of hers.
“Oh, buddy,” her voice lowers and points between us. “That ship has sailed. I’ll never have sex again. I haven’t had sex since—” She clamps her lips and pulls her eyes from me, like she’s said too much.
“I haven’t had sex since you either,” I admit, standing a little taller. Almost relieved that we both have the same history.
Her head whips back in my direction. Her gaze roams up my body, starting at my shoes and moving up to my waist, then leaping to my face.
“Why not?” she blurts, like she’s offended for me.
My cheeks heat, but I shrug. “Despite what you might, or might not, think of me, I don’t sleep around. Our interlude was something that hasn’t happened in a long, long time. I’m more of an endgame guy than a one-night stand man.”
Her head tilts, and I brace for her to ask me what the endgame means. Instead, she says, “Who calls an incredible sexual experience an interlude?”
Apparently, I just did, but I agree with her.
Our night was an incredible experience. One I haven’t been able to forget or move past. And glancing to her belly, perhaps I know the reason.
Like something was holding me back, something knew all I ever wanted was around the corner. Right here in Lovewell Landing.
“Is that a compliment? Are you saying we were amazing together?” Because I want us together. At the very least, I want us to have an amicable relationship. A partnership in raising our child.
But deep down, I know I want more with this sharp, hard woman who has haunted my thoughts for months.
A woman who cares deeply about her family’s business and has an obviously strong relationship with her sisters.
Fisk already warned me that if I had nefarious intentions toward Neve, he’d murder me, and it’s difficult to break his shell of a heart.
If he’s protective of Neve, she’s good people.
And I want to be her person.
The one she leans on when she can’t get out of a car. The hand she reaches for, not just the one she holds.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she mutters in response to my question, but the corner of her mouth curls upward.
“And just so we’re clear about the hand holding. I want to hold your hand, Neve. If you’ll let me. I want to be here for you. You and the baby.”
She squints while glancing toward the farm. “Let’s just try to make it through apple picking.”
I can do that. I want to do that.
“Got it,” I say, giving her a thumbs up, like some awkward, high school nerd. That’s what she reduces me to.
She laughs at my thumb in the air, then surprises me when she reaches out and wraps her hand around it, shoving it playfully aside.
“Get out of here with that thumb and your hand holding.” She turns toward the orchard, slips her hands in her pockets, and steps forward.
And just like that night we met, the draw to follow her is strong.