Chapter 26 Rowe
Rowe
“What was that back there?”
“What was what?” Pane asks, acting like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, when I know for a fact he knows damn well what I’m referring to.
He’s stalking away from the party, toward the gazebo, and I’m hot on his heels. “No open shirts? Why did you say that to Donner? He wants to help.”
Pane whirls around, stops. Taps his fingers against his belt. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Unbuttoned shirts are a safety hazard.”
“A safety hazard.”
“That’s right. Nails can get caught in them. You wind up hammering yourself to a board. Next thing you know, you’re decapitated.”
Is he joking? “Are you even listening to yourself right now? We’re in desperate need of making our deadline, and you’re worried about a man with an open shirt.”
He flings a hand back toward our guests. “Did you even see how open it was? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you did. You were staring at his chest.”
My jaw drops. “I was not staring at Donner’s chest. I mean, I may have noticed it because I’m pretty sure he oils his pecs, but I was not ‘staring.’”
“See? You were staring. How can I take you anywhere?”
What is going on? Have I fallen into a different dimension?
Pane studies me, his stupidly handsome face all hard, scowled lines.
I squint at him. “Are you . . . are you jealous? Of Donner? A man who clearly smokes marijuana every night and drums while standing in a circle of naked women?”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Oh, I cannot with you right now.” He stares at me, a look of disgust on his face. “Donner wants to help you—help us. That’s what he’s interested in. Do you think I’m interested in him? So that you know, he’s not my type.”
Pane saunters up to me and stares down into my eyes. Emotion flickers across his face—pain, longing. My heart knots up.
“Who is your type?” he whispers.
You, I want to say. No, I don’t want to say it. I want to scream it. I want to scream, You, Pane, are my type. You are the grunty, broody, sometimes-likable man I’ve been dreaming of.
But I just can’t do it. Kissing him pushed too many buttons inside me. It made me think too much. Made me feel too much. Made me want too much.
If I take one more emotional step forward, I’ll be lost.
“Who is my type?” I repeat his question, sounding robotic even to myself.
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Rowe, look, I know things have been weird between us since—”
“Then don’t make them be weird.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Don’t make them weird.” My heart clogs up my throat. My body throbs just thinking about that kiss, how my fingers tangled in his hair, how his tongue swept into my mouth, making me moan. There was nothing weird about it. Everything about it was right.
He takes a step forward, blocking the setting sun so that all I see is him. My stomach quivers.
When he speaks, his voice is earnest, emotional. “Don’t push me away. Let me in.”
He’s asking me to do this, to put down my guard, to stop running from him every time I see him. Granted, I’m not feeling like running right now. It’s the beer, for sure. I’m thinking of how silky his hair is, how soft and demanding his lips are.
Maybe . . . maybe I could let him in just a teensy bit.
“Okay,” I say.
He flexes his shoulders. “‘Okay,’ what?”
“Okay, I’m going to show you my secret.”
“These are starfizz berries.”
From the look on Pane’s face, this isn’t the type of letting-him-in he expected. But this is a lot for me.
“No one knows about this. Not even my mom.”
Behind a thicket of trees, fenced in so that the piggycorns can’t reach them, are four long rows of hedges. Waxy green leaves sprout from squatty bushes that sit heavy with unripe plum-colored berries.
I open the gate and step through, explaining, my voice high, my body a rubber band ball of nerves, and I think it shows, because I speed through my speech.
“They used to grow here, in Mystic Meadows—and according to my dad, were found on Sally Ray’s land fifty years ago.
Her grandfather used to feed them to his unicorns, but he got so busy breeding the creatures that he stopped growing the berries and outsourced them to a farm in South America, where they grow superfast.”
“Huh,” is all Pane says.
So I keep blabbering on, trying to convince either him or me that this is cool. “But what’s interesting is that the piggycorns showed up about the same time he outsourced the berries, so they’ve never eaten berries that have grown on magical land.”
“So you think that, what? This will give the piggycorns powers?”
I laugh. “I wish, but no. I’m just trying to cut out the middleman and save some money.”
His gaze washes over the hedges. “But you could also sell them to Sally Ray and anyone else who owns unicorns, and at a cheaper price because they’re not imported. It’s a second source of income for you, and if they do have magical properties . . .”
I lightly shove him. “They don’t have magical properties. They’re just starfizz berries, the piggies’ favorite food.”
Pane sweeps a hand over them and pauses. “I don’t know. They’re humming.”
“What?”
I rest my hand on the hedge and nearly jump back.
The bush vibrates. The leaves quake. There’s power pumping through the branches and stems. No, Rowe.
Can’t get my hopes up. But what if . . .
what if the berries do have magical properties?
What could that mean? What if eating fresh berries could help the piggycorns?
Give them . . . ? No. The piggies don’t have magic, and they never will. I’m only doing this to save money.
Pane tugs on a waxy leaf. “How much longer until they’re ready?”
My heart ping-pongs in my chest from excitement. “Some of the berries are nearly ripe. Only a few more days, really.”
“And what will you do with them?”
“See if the pigs will eat them. This is a trial run. I’ll make it bigger next year, contacting unicorn owners to see if they want the feed. I’ll be able to sell it cheaper than what’s currently imported.”
A slow smile curves on his lips. “Rowe Wadley.”
“What?” Is he angry? He could be. Sometimes it’s hard to know.
“You’re amazing.”
A grin splits my face. “You like this?”
“Like this? No. I’m amazed at you. I had no idea that this existed.”
His gaze settles on me, and my body heats up from the inside. This, I ache to say, is me opening up. Please take it. Please take this, because that’s all I can give you. All that I’m not afraid to give you.
He’s right beside me now, standing close. Too close. Alarm bells blare in my head. My skin feels like it’s going to launch right off my bones. The air crackles with the intensity I’ve felt before.
Does he want to kiss me? I want him to.
“Pane, I—”
“Rowe—”
We each speak at the same time. The leaves rustle, bringing with them the smell of smoke from the grill. In the distance, people are talking, chatting, enjoying the party that we left.
Pane rubs his bottom lip with his thumb. “You first.”
Great. Now I have to say something. “Well, I—”
His phone rings. Perfect timing.
“You’d better answer that.”
He shakes his head. “It can wait.”
When it chirps again, I step back. “It might be important.”
Pane slides a hand down his pocket and whips out his phone. He frowns at the screen and answers with, “I got your present.”
It must be his brother.
Pane’s silent for a beat, but then his jaw flexes and his eyes become hard. “What are you talking about?” He listens for another moment, and when he speaks, his voice drips with worry. “What do you mean, Natalie’s missing?”