She strangles a guttural laugh in her throat. “Better a hillbilly than what you’re wearing. You look like a city slicker straight out of a Hallmark movie who needs to learn a lesson in the country. Who wears white sneakers to a farm, Will?”
I look down and cringe at the dirt smudges already forming. “It was an oversight for sure. But it’s better than dressing like Elly May Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
I give her shit about it, but the truth is, I like this new side of Amelia. She seems lighter and more fun. Country life suits her the way adventure suits me. I just didn’t realize until she was here with Noah how much she needed this place—these people.
She touches the brim of her straw hat. “It’s basically farm dress code. Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
“Don’t think so. I’ll be out of here before there’s enough time for any of this to rub off on me once you persuade my boss to let me go.” The grass crunches under our feet as we walk to a wide clearing behind each of the greenhouses where Amelia and Noah are planning to hold their ceremony and reception.
Amelia squints up at me. “You really don’t want to stick around after the wedding?”
This morning, on our drive to the farm, I talked to her about the conversation I had with my boss. That’s one of the perks of having a nontraditional relationship with the client. I can be honest. Amelia wasn’t too thrilled, though. The only thing that seemed to ease her mind was when I told her to call me when she’s ready to tour again.
“I can’t,” I say, looking down at her with a genuinely sad smile. “You’re hands down my favorite person to work for—and a good friend—but you know me. I need a fast-paced life. I’ve only been here a few days, and I’m already pulling my hair out.” Sort of. Okay, in truth it hasn’t been all that bad, but I don’t want to admit that to Amelia, or she’ll be like a kid in a candy shop.
“Is a fast-paced life really what you need?” she asks, surprising me with the seriousness of her tone. She has spiritual guide eyes right now, and she’s freaking me out.
I turn toward her and frown. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind.”
I don’t trust that “never mind” one bit. “Will you tell my boss you’re okay with being assigned a new EPA?”
She looks at me with a meaningfully sharp expression and a taut smirk. “I’ll consider it.”
Meaning no.
She raises her hand to the top of her hat as she turns her gaze to the open field. “So what do you think? Great place for a wedding, right?”
I look out over the sprawling green grass dusted with little white wildflowers and dandelions that fade into a lush tree line under dark blue skies. “It’s beautiful.”
Even a cynic like me can appreciate how perfect this spot is for a wedding.
“I think so too.” Amelia bounces lightly on her feet and then starts out in front of me, excitedly describing what’s in her imagination. “We’ll have a row of adorable wooden folding chairs here. And one here. This is where the center aisle will be.” She points to her left. “Over there we’re having a temporary dance floor installed, and there will be all these dreamy lights and velvet fabrics draping over it like a canopy. And then over there is where we’ll have the food.”
I watch silently as Amelia bounces around the empty field—joy bursting from her like sunlight as she describes her wedding. What’s it like to feel that unbridled excitement toward sharing your life with someone else? To be full of hope and anticipation rather than dread and cynicism. I envy her.
“All right, are you getting bored over there?” she yells across the expanse of grass.
I shut my eyes and pretend to snore, making her laugh.
“Fine, let me just take this picture and we can go,” she says, fishing out her phone.
The whole reason we are here right now is so she can take a picture of the area for her wedding planner, who has been working remotely, and then I’ll escort her into town, where she’s going to spend the afternoon with Noah in The Pie Shop. And then I’ll be on my own for the rest of the day. Where that thought used to cause dread, now I feel a stir of anticipation. I wonder what Annie’s doing?
Once Amelia is finished with her photos, we make the trek back through the farm toward her truck. We fill the silence easily as usual.
“It’s a nice farm,” I say, pretending I know anything about farms. “Good grass.”
Luckily, Amelia shares my brand of sarcastic humor. “Right? That’s clearly the best tractor too.”
“Yeah. The…green is good.”
“I’ve driven it,” she says proudly. “It’s pretty slow.”
I hum noncommittally as we again approach the greenhouses full of produce and one of flowers. In my limited knowledge of farms, this one feels massive. It has outdoor crops in addition to the greenhouses. Some dairy cows too.
Amelia and I continue to make farm-ignorant comments back and forth until I see a figure several yards away in one of the rows of huge pink flowers. My eyes are snagged immediately, and I do a double take. Annie. Her blonde hair is braided to the side, her face shielded by a big straw sun hat. She’s wearing work gloves and holding a pair of gardening scissors. Today she has a tight white short-sleeved shirt underneath her cutoff jean overalls. I swear the sunlight hits this woman differently than other people. It seeps into her skin, makes her glow.
I imagine running my hands over that sun-warmed skin, and desire punches me in the stomach. Or rather, somewhere farther south than the stomach. I stare—and everything gets worse as Annie bends over to clip a few long stems from the row of flowers. My gaze sweeps over the soft curve of her ass, down her tan legs to her brown work boots. She looks mouthwateringly sweet.
“How come you’re not commenting that she looks like Elly May Clampett?” asks Amelia, bumping her shoulder into my arm.
“Who?” My voice comes out as dry as the desert. Amelia barks out a laugh, and I shake myself from the daze to look at her. “I was just trying to figure out what the name of those flowers is.”
She smirks. “Uh-huh. Sure. Why don’t you ask the woman you’re gawking at?”
I wiggle my fingers in front of her smug face. “Can you do less of this please?”
She bats her eyelashes. “Less of what?”
“The matchmaking. I can feel it. This town has seeped into your brain and turned you into a disgusting hopeless romantic.”
“And I can turn you into one, too, if you’d just quit fighting it so hard. You’re not going to want to be a player forever, you know? And if you happen to meet a cute blonde flower shop owner and want to give dating a go…well, then—”
“I knew you had ulterior motives by asking me to be Annie’s dating coach. You’re going to be very disappointed when this doesn’t work out the way you want. I’m not going to fall in love with Annie or whatever it is you think is going to happen.”
“Yeah…the love part. That’s exactly what I think will happen.”
“Like hell. I don’t think I’m built for love.”
She narrows her eyes, still not convinced. “Then why did you say yes to helping Annie?”
Why, indeed. Because she has a hold on me that I can’t figure out. Because her eyes do this sparkly thing when she’s excited and the light hits them just right. Because the curve of her bottom lip is perfect. Because I feel desperate to know what wild thing she’s going to say next anytime she’s around.
“Because there’s absolutely nothing to do in this town, and I need something to keep me busy when you don’t need m—”
I cut off, my eyes drifting to follow the new scene playing out in front of me. James appears out of nowhere and walks down the row of flowers toward Annie. He’s carrying a bucket full of cut roses and the muscles in his arms bulge obnoxiously. He smiles at Annie and she looks overjoyed to see him. He sets down the bucket, and she launches herself into his arms for a nice big bear hug. The squeeze he gives her in return feels like a bit much.
Amelia hovers in my vision again, following my gaze. “Someone feeling a little jealous?”
“Not in the least.”
“Your jaw just flexed.”