The man I’d said hi to standing at the railing shot me an embarrassed look, and it made me want to shrink to know he’d heard the exchange, but I lifted my chin higher and continued my slow walk away from the Sawyer home.
When I’d only made it a few steps away from the house, Mrs. Sawyer’s voice came to me through the open kitchen window, obviously speaking to someone else in the room. “Ick. Throw this in the garbage. It’s probably not fit to eat.”
A lump rose in my throat and I sped up my pace, unwilling to cry while on this property. I walked back to my car and climbed inside, shutting the door and pulling hot air into my lungs. I’d left the windows down so my car wasn’t an oven when I returned to it, but even so, the heat was stifling and I felt mildly woozy. I leaned my head back on the seat and fought to regain my strength, waited as the pain of what had happened at the Sawyers’ door lessened.
You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.
When I felt less shaken, I reached for my keys, movement in my peripheral vision causing me to glance out the window. Preston was walking very slowly toward my car. My heart jolted, the hand holding my keys freezing on the way to the ignition. He approached me slowly and as he did, I unconsciously opened the door of my car and stepped out, drawn to him without thought.
Our eyes held as I closed the door behind me, pressing my butt against it and waiting as he drew nearer.
“Lia.” He sounded shocked, his eyes moving over me quickly, coming to rest on my face. He roamed my features, too, blinking as he took another step closer. “My God, I thought it was you.”
“Preston,” I breathed, swallowing nervously. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry about your father.”
His eyes met mine, blank for a moment, as if I’d reminded him of something he’d momentarily forgotten. Then he nodded, his expression becoming solemn, that same serious expression he’d worn since he was just a kid.
Preston . . . Preston.
Despite what I’d just experienced with his mother, I couldn’t help smiling. I’d missed him so much, more than I’d admitted to myself. It was a sudden swelling inside of me as if a balloon had been inflated in my chest.
I let out a shaky laugh. And before I could blink, he’d scooped me into his arms, holding me tightly against his body. I let out a startled squeak and then hugged him back tightly. He was so solid against me, and I melted into him, needing the comfort, the affection, to help me let go of the feeling of being seen as dirty and unwanted. Preston had never seen me that way. I had wanted so much from him that he couldn’t give, but he’d always been generous with his acceptance, his praise.
He seemed to need the physical contact, too, because we held each other for several long moments. I finally pulled back, realizing I had to feel just as soggy to him as I felt to myself. I shook my head slightly, giving him an embarrassed smile. “I’m a sweaty mess.”
He chuckled softly. “Hard to help in this weather.” He gestured down to his own button-down shirt and I saw the dampness despite the T-shirt I could see outlined beneath. “Do you want to go inside and cool down? I’m sure Cole would like to know you’re here.”
I glanced nervously at his house and he followed my gaze, frowning. “Have you already been inside?”
I shook my head, my eyes sliding away from his. I wasn’t going to tell on his mom, especially today of all days. “I just dropped off a pie. I hadn’t planned to stay.”
He studied me for a moment as if he didn’t quite believe me, but he nodded to the barn and said, “I’ve been hiding out there. I’d like to hide for a little while longer if you’ll join me?”
I let out a breath. I had wanted to get as far away from his mother as quickly as possible, but I couldn’t imagine her coming out to the barn in her heels and lipstick, and I desperately wanted to spend a few more minutes with Preston. I nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”
It didn’t escape me that I was a woman now and yet I was still sneaking around with Camille Sawyer’s boys behind her back. And it still felt worth it.
I followed Preston across the road and through the side yard of his house. A wall of lilac bushes obstructed the view of the house so I didn’t think his mother, or anyone else, could see us as we walked. I remembered the smell of the lilacs and that long-ago day I’d waited beside them as Preston had run inside to get the money to fix the disaster of my orange-dyed hair. The memory brought both a warm feeling and a sad melancholy.
Inside the barn wasn’t much cooler than outside, but it was dim and open and there was a very slight cross breeze between the open front doors and the back windows. Preston closed one of the doors, but kept one open presumably not to lose the little bit of airflow.
There were several large wooden storage boxes sitting against the wall and Preston took a seat on one. I sat on another one beside him, glancing around. We’d played in this barn once when we were little kids. It still looked the same. High-beamed ceiling, dusty wooden floor, farm equipment and machinery stored in the back, and tools hanging from hooks on the walls.
When I looked back at Preston, he was gazing at me with an unreadable expression. “How have you been, Lia?”
I shrugged dismissively, smiling slightly. “I’ve been good. How about you? Cole told me you were enjoying college.”
His jaw ticked slightly and he glanced away, staring out the back window. “I was never the one who wanted to go away. That was always you and Cole.” He looked back at me, his lips tipped up. “I liked it fine though. I stayed busy. But I guess I found out what I always suspected—my heart is here.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “In the fields and the hills and even in this unholy heat.” His eyes squinted slightly with a crooked smile and my heart flipped over.
“You never came home . . . even during the summers.”
He shrugged a shoulder, one side of his full lips turning up so very slightly. He was silent for a second and then he let out a sigh, appearing almost pained. “I couldn’t leave twice, Lia. If I’d have come back—even for a short visit—I wouldn’t have been able to leave again. Pitiful, right?”
I shook my head. “No, Preston. You love it here. I always admired that about you. Your deep love of home. The way you’ve always been committed to this farm the same way your own father . . . was.” I flinched slightly, not wanting to hurt Preston with my use of past tense when speaking of his father, whether it was accurate or not. I could only imagine that was something that would have to be accepted slowly.
He gave me a small, sad smile before his eyes shifted upward for a moment as if in thought. “My dad wasn’t much for technology, at least not when it came to computers and such. But he wrote letters while we were gone and I wrote him back. He told a few stories, imparted farming wisdom.” He gave a small shake of his head. “They were usually short and sweet, but I’ll always have them, you know?” His voice filled with emotion and he cleared his throat. “I’ll always be grateful for those letters.”