Chapter Six
Keri
By lunchtime, I’m convinced Adam is a no-show.
All morning long, I stand confidently by my table, ready to lay eyes on my handsome dance partner as I smile and greet folks arriving for the Lavender Festival in droves.
I hand out brochures and business cards, my smile never wavering, and my positive comments about small-town living landing on deaf ears.
I intentionally wore a short-sleeved dress instead of my usual business attire, the flowy hemline touching the mid-part of my palomino cowboy boots.
I feel comfortable, and I’m excited to see Adam again, knowing he’ll approve of my casual wear.
But when he doesn’t show up by noon, I start to wonder if he decided to leave our one-stoplight town.
Maybe he finally answered his phone, and that Roxy woman convinced him to leave and make the trek back to California to his home, wherever that might be.
I sit on a folding chair in the midday heat, fanning my face with a brochure. I’ve pulled my curled hair into a low ponytail to cool my neck.
“Hey, Keri. How’s it going today?” Madison Jamison approaches the table with a sunny smile. It does little to cheer me up.
“Steady traffic for sure. Y’all have a great turnout this year.”
“Today has been the best turnout since I moved here.” She eyes me with concern, shading her eyes with her hand.
“You look like you could use some lavender lemonade. May I get you some? My treat. I’m heading over to the refreshment stand to grab some for my sister and me.
Beverly’s keeping an eye on the boys while they play in the fenced-in yard by the house. ”
Deeply immersed in Heartsboro’s rural town life, I know nearly everything about the residents—including sisters Madison and Beverly, their husbands George and Ridge, and their two-year-old sons, Joey and Roman.
The cousins, born just months apart, light up the street when I glimpse them from my office as their mothers push strollers together through town.
George and Madison Jamison are beloved here, hosting the state’s most glorious flower festival.
And Hollywood heartthrob Ridge Wilson and his sweet wife, Beverly, are surprisingly down to earth.
“I’m good. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“No problem.”
“Say, do you know if Ridge came with Beverly today? I want to ask him for a favor. Do you think he’d write a testimonial for my web page?”
“I’m sure he would. In fact, I just saw him. He’s right over there, talking with that California guy, Adam.”
I snap my head in the direction of her pointed finger. Right away, I can see Adam and Ridge having a serious conversation near the white-flowered gardenia bushes lining the pathway to the red barn. My heart stops.
“Adam and Ridge know each other?”
Madison nods. “I guess so. When they ran into each other, they hugged like old friends.”
My brow furrows, and I fan myself a little harder. “Huh. Well, they’re both from California, so there’s that.”
“Small world, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say.”
“Well, I’m off to get some lemonade. I hope you’ve got sunscreen on or you’re gonna get scorched being out here all day.”
I stop waving my brochure and nod. “I’m covered. Thanks, Madison.”
“No problem. I’ll see ya later.”
I try to be nonchalant, slipping on sunglasses as I watch Ridge and Adam talk from a distance. I don’t want to make it obvious I’m spying. But Adam’s rigid posture and Ridge palming his shoulder are concerning. It almost looks like Mr. Hollywood is consoling my California two-stepper.
They hug one last time, and Adam turns, swiping his wrist under his nose before disappearing inside the barn crowded with folks purchasing lavender-scented candles and soaps.
When I realize Ridge is walking straight toward me, I quickly gather my fanned-out brochures on the table and look busy stacking them into a tidy pile.
“Hey, Keri,” he says with a bona fide Hollywood grin.
I smile and push my sunglasses up. “Hey, Ridge. How are you? How’s the property?”
He takes a deep breath. “Life is great. The property is fantastic. I can’t complain. How about you?”
I don’t know what it is about Ridge Wilson, but the award-winning actor has a casual grace that puts you right at ease. I appreciate that about him—that he’s one of us and not some highfalutin celebrity showing off in public.
“It’s been slow,” I moan. “I haven’t had a sale since I sold the Milton property to you and Beverly.”
He frowns, his handsome face still a wonder to behold up close. “Really? I find that hard to believe. Heartsboro is a gem. I’m never leaving.”
I giggle. “Glad to hear it. Because you love it so much, would you consider writing a short testimonial for my website?”
His wide grin is back, his perfect white teeth catching the sunlight with a diamond ping. “Absolutely. I’d love to do that for you.”
“Great.” I grab a business card and hand it to him. “My email’s at the bottom. No hurry.”
He nods and tucks the card into his back jeans pocket. “You got it.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure.”
I swallow hard, unsure if I want to know the answer. “How do you know Adam Woodbury?”
He exhales and bites his lip. “As you know, he’s a photographer. We worked on a photoshoot in LA years ago.”
My eyes go wide. “Adam photographed… you?”
Ridge laughs. “He did. But I’ll let him tell you all about it.” His attention diverts beyond me. He pats my arm and walks off. Confused, I turn around and see Adam standing a few feet away.
“Hi.” The one-syllable word comes out of my mouth in a rush of hot breath.
“Hi, Keri.”
“I thought you were a no-show.” I nervously slide my sunglasses into my hair.
“I’m here now.”
“I can see that.”
I can also sense a melancholy tone in his voice. Whatever he and Ridge discussed must have been serious.
“I like your dress.”
“Thank you.”
He lifts up the camera hanging from around his neck. “I’d love to snap a few photos of you in the lavender fields. Not for marketing purposes, or anything else. But because you look so darn good.”
My face instantly heats, and it’s not because of the sun. I hesitate, knowing Adam has a background photographing high-profile celebrities like Ridge Wilson. I’m not even on the same page as someone like him.
“Please? Could you do this for me?”
I fold my arms against my chest and examine his face in the sunlight.
The sharp line of his jaw. The bits of blonde streaking through his messy hair tucked haphazardly behind his ears.
His lips set in a straight line as he looks right at me.
Unlike celebrity Ridge Wilson, I feel like time stops when I look at Adam.
Being around him isn’t forced or flashy.
If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I’m just happy being in the same zip code with him.
He’s comforting, exciting, and unforgettable.
I throw my arms out to my side and offer him a silly grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Why not?”
We walk past one of the flower stands set up for the festival folks, utility buckets brimming with daylilies, sunflowers, and large bundles of lavender tied off with string.
Several picnic tables are arranged in a circle around a huge oak tree, folks snacking and sipping lavender lemonade in plastic souvenir cups with the farm logo clearly stamped on the side.
A lone guitar player strums near the weatherworn siding of a shed housing a yellow tractor, and a few children scamper across dirt paths, chasing butterflies.
The setting is idyllic, and I almost forget about witnessing Ridge and Adam’s conversation.
Almost.
“How do you know Ridge?” I casually ask.
Adam continues walking through the barnyard toward a gentle slope and stops. I’m by his side as we both take in the breathtaking view of the lush lavender fields beneath the powder blue sky.
“Wow,” he says, completely ignoring my question about Ridge.
He lifts his camera and snaps a few pictures in quick succession, the air surrounding us drenched in the heavenly scent of floral, tinged with woodsy undertones.
“Come on,” he beckons, allowing me to walk before him.
His broad smile and carefree attitude are back, probably from the magic of the lavender.
I follow the well-worn path and make my way around a few flower-peepers taking pictures with their phones. Adam and I stroll through the purple paradise together.
“You keep walking,” he says, his booted feet coming to a halt on the dark earth.
“Okay.” I’m nervous, knowing he’s about to take pictures of me. I try to act casual and run my fingers across the tops of the lavender plants. I look over my shoulder and see him crouched, pointing his camera directly at me. A slow smile unfurls from my lips as I bat my lashes at him.
“That’s it. Take your hair out of your ponytail and muss it up.”
I nod and follow his directions, my long blonde hair tumbling over my shoulders upon release from the hair tie.
I smile again and continue down the path, my skirt billowing around my bare knees in the slight breeze.
My giggles are infectious, and I can hear Adam laugh as he scrambles to follow after me, his camera clicking away.
Streaks of violet and purple fly past me, the sun overhead sizzling my skin.
I stop in between pathways and play along with Adam, striking a few different poses while holding the edges of my skirt for fun.
I’m clearly enjoying myself and not as nervous as I thought I’d be.
But I am breaking a sweat. I scurry over to a fencepost in the cool shade for a quick respite.
A substantial stump near the fence line looks inviting, and I sit, crossing my legs and interlocking my fingers together on my lap.
All the while, Adam is clicking away with purpose.
“Good. Atta girl.” He lets the camera hang from his neck and approaches me, gently combing my hair back from my cheek. His touch sends a thrill up my spine. “The lighting is so good right here. Relax a little bit and look out over the field.”
I continue to follow his instructions, giddy with every “atta girl” comment he throws my way.
“Turn a little to the right. Yup. That’s it. Atta girl. Now smile like you see me coming toward you in the distance.”
I jerk my head and look right at him, thwarting a snort-laugh. “But you’re right here.”
He chuckles. “I know. Just… pretend you see me out in the field coming toward you.” He snaps his fingers with an idea. “Like Mr. Darcy at the end of Pride and Prejudice.”
I laugh at his romantic suggestion and look out over the field, imagining Adam walking toward me. My face instantly morphs into a bashful expression, the movie’s soundtrack pulsing to the beat of my thrumming heart.
“Hold it right there. Chin up just a little. There we go. Wow! Gorgeous!”
I wonder if he can see my heart pounding through the fabric of my dress?
Or the trickle of nervous sweat sliding down the nape of my neck?
Adam is suddenly right next to me, looping the camera from around his neck so he can show me the little screen.
“Look at you. You’re a natural. Not a bad shot in the bunch. ”
“Oh, I’m sure there are some with my eyes closed, or scrunching my nose.”
He laughs and sits on the ground beside me. “I knew you were photogenic, Keri. These are stellar. I’m gonna download all of them to my computer and email them to you. You’re welcome to use them any way you like.”
“Wow. Thanks, Adam.”
“You’re welcome.” He sets the camera aside and lies back on the grass, staring up through the tree branches at the bluest sky. I like this version of him, relaxed and happy.
“And to answer your earlier question, I was the photographer assigned to Ridge Wilson’s People magazine cover when he was voted ‘Sexiest Man Alive.’”