Chapter 13 #2
With that last little quip, he leaves, and I get started on my food prep, already forgetting all his nonsense. I can’t be so easily coerced into doing something I don’t want to do.
When I’m done with work, I head out onto the porch, realizing Riley and I didn’t make an actual plan of when and where to meet. I don’t even have this woman’s number. I should probably rectify that if we’re going to keep doing... whatever this is.
Luckily, she’s not hard to find. She’s reading in one of the rocking chairs beside the main doors, gently rocking herself back and forth with one foot on the floor.
“Hey,” I say, going over to lean against the railing in front of her. “Did you still want to do something?”
She smiles at me as she slides a bookmark into her book to keep her place. “Yes, I’d love to!” Her smile slipping a bit, she adds, “If you’re not too tired.”
“I’m fine. You wanted to head down to Main Street and walk around?”
“That was my initial idea,” she says, standing up. “But I had another one. Would you be interested in driving over to the farm?”
I tug my hair out of my ponytail, relishing in that first second when the tension releases. “Shaw Family Farm?”
“Yeah.” She smiles at me hopefully. “I’ve been wanting to visit it since I’ve been back.
I don’t know if you’ve been there. The store is cute if you wanted to buy any baked goods or jams. Not that you would, I guess, since you make your own stuff.
But uh, there’s usually some fun stuff to do there too.
Like petting the animals or different seasonal activities.
But if you don’t feel like going, that’s totally fine.
We can go downtown. I’m happy to do anything. ”
When she finally stops talking, she looks a bit embarrassed, and I can’t tell if she’s nervous because we hooked up last night, or if it’s just the people-pleasing part of her personality making her feel like she shouldn’t ask for what she wants.
Either way, I offer her a reassuring smile as I push myself away from the railing and step closer to her. “I’m down to go to the farm if that’s what you want to do.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Absolutely. It sounds nice.”
I’ve never been to the farm, despite being casually acquainted with Connor because I order most of the inn’s dairy and produce from him.
He seems like a decent, laid-back guy. But I’ve been a city girl my whole life up until now, so hanging out on a farm isn’t exactly something I’ve been itching to do.
It’s clear that Riley really wants to go, though. And again, I don’t want to disappoint her. Plus, I don’t particularly care what we do. I just want to spend more time with her. Probably despite my better judgement, but this is where I’m at.
She runs inside to grab her bag, and then we hop in my car.
On the way over to the farm, I catch her a few times out of the corner of my eye turning to look at me before quickly looking away.
I’m not sure if she wants to say something and doesn’t know how, or if she’s subtly trying to check me out.
But I straighten up a bit in my seat in case it’s the latter.
I still can’t believe this woman wants me the way I want her. I can’t believe I even let myself want someone at all. I had no intention of getting involved with anyone anytime soon. Or possibly ever again.
If it’s only sex, though, I suppose that’s safe. As long I don’t go doing something crazy like falling for her. Because that would be really dumb.
At the main entrance of the farm, there’s a large wooden sign featuring three red apples painted on either side of the name shaw family farm & orchards. We pull into the small dirt parking lot behind it, and Riley hops out of the car first, gleefully energetic as she meets me around my side.
I’m surprised she chose to wear a sundress and her red cowboy boots to come here, but then again, it’s not like she’ll be out in the fields harvesting crops. And I can’t say I don’t appreciate the way she looks.
As we walk toward the store, which is in a small red barn, I let her get a couple steps ahead of me so I can check her out from behind.
And damn. Last night I didn’t even get to scratch the surface of the things I’d like to do to her.
But I need to drag my mind out of the gutter, because we’re out here to enjoy the late afternoon together.
If she was looking for another hookup, she wouldn’t have suggested leaving the inn.
“Oh, look!”
I quickly shoot my gaze up and away from her ass as she spins toward me, pointing at a little sign stuck in the ground by the entrance to the store. strawberry picking $5 a basket.
“We could pick strawberries. That might be fun,” she says excitedly.
Without thinking, I reach out to give a piece of her hair a twirl. “I suppose it’s only fitting we do it, Strawberry.”
Her cheeks flush red, but she smiles at me before leading the way into the store. The woman behind the register greets us warmly, and when she recognizes Riley, she becomes even friendlier, asking how she’s been and asking about her parents.
While they chat for a minute, I take a look around. There are shelves filled with jams, a large table with various pies, and loaves of bread nestled inside a couple large woven baskets.
Riley appears at my side as I’m eyeing a display of fancy looking soaps in all sorts of colors. “See anything you like?” she asks.
“They make soap here too?”
She glances at the display and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. But they do sell some stuff from other local businesses near Mayweather.”
“That’s cool.”
“Do you want to do the strawberry picking first, and then we can browse some more when we come back here?” she suggests.
I agree, and we each grab a small basket from Mrs. Shaw. They’re about the size of the pints you buy at the grocery store, maybe a little larger. Mrs. Shaw directs us to the field and tells us to have fun.
I’ve never picked strawberries before. Or picked anything, really. Unless you count picking out a lobster from the tank of them at my favorite high-end seafood restaurant in Chicago.
Riley seems to know exactly what she’s doing, though, so I follow her lead. We take our time wandering up and down the rows of short, leafy plants, and I try not to notice how far her dress rides up every time she squats down to pluck the berries off their stems. Key word being try.
It’s a nice day to be outside. The sun is half-hidden behind the clouds, so it’s not excruciatingly hot. But every so often the sun peeks out and pleasantly heats our skin.
Mrs. Shaw told us we could also walk through the sunflower field, so after we fill our baskets with bright red strawberries, we follow the wooden signposts and head that way.
Seeing how tall the flowers are, I realize the ones that are planted at the inn must have been cut down quite a bit.
We could easily get lost in here if the stalks weren’t arranged in such neat rows.
Riley looks mesmerized, brushing her fingers ever so gently along the stalks as she strolls by them. I walk beside her, feeling the inexplicable urge to hold her hand. But I wouldn’t be foolish enough to do it, of course. That isn’t what this is. We’re not on a date.
Still, it’s probably a good thing that she’s carrying her basket of strawberries in the hand closest to me, because that helps me avoid the temptation.
“It feels funny doing something like this,” she says, “and not taking a dozen pictures for social media.”
“Do you have to take pictures of everything you do?” I ask her, carefully keeping any judgement out of my tone.
She shakes her head. “No. But my publicist likes me to include snippets of my personal life on my feeds, so that it’s not only professional promo photos. It helps with letting my fans feel closer to me. That way they’re more invested in my life, and therefore, in my music about my life.”
“Makes sense.”
“That doesn’t mean everything I post isn’t still carefully curated, though. I don’t let people see everything, obviously. But it’s gorgeous here. A place like this would make for a nice little photo shoot.”
I agree the setting is gorgeous. And she looks gorgeous standing between the flowers. Then again, she always looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?
“I assume you can’t post pictures of yourself here because you don’t want the public to know where you are?”
“Yeah, but also, I’m not supposed to be posting anything at all. Like I can’t let the public see that I’m happy and having fun when I haven’t truly addressed all the scandalous stuff I’ve done.”
That sounds like a load of unfair bullshit to me. She didn’t actually do anything wrong, and she shouldn’t have to punish herself for imaginary crimes. But I’m not sure it’s my place to comment.
Gazing up wistfully at a sunflower that’s taller than her, Riley says, “But it would be nice to have some pictures for myself to remember this.”
The way she looks directly at me then, like she’s peering straight into my soul, makes me wonder if she might be leaving something unsaid there. If maybe she wants to remember being here with me.
“I can take pictures of you,” I offer. “That way you’ll have them in case you want to post them at a later time.” Once you’ve left me and gone back to your real life.
Her face lights up in delight. “Do you mind? I know it’s lame.”
“It’s not lame.” Anything that makes her smile like that isn’t lame.
She hands me her phone, and I set down my basket of strawberries so I can start snapping pictures. Lots of pictures. Different poses, different angles, all featuring a beautiful, smiling, Riley Rowland.
If you told me a year ago, right after my divorce, that I’d end up here, in the middle of a farm in Mayweather, Massachusetts, playing photographer for a country star, I would have assumed you were crazy.
But here I am. And I’m not mad about it.