The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (302 page)

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s been a lot of help with the medicinal stuff.”

“Good to hear. Your mom and I, we’re both real proud of what you’re doing up there.”

“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

A female voice sounded in the background on my dad’s end, and I waited while my mom added her two cents about something. A minute later, my dad came back on. “Your mom says to tell you she wants you to mail her some more of that one herb, the one she can use for cooking.”

I shook my head. “She means that edible aphrodisiac, doesn’t she?”

My dad chuckled. “What can I say? Your mom’s an adventure.”

“You mean she likes an adventure.”

“No, son. I mean, she IS the adventure. Just wait, you’ll find someone soon enough and you’ll see what I mean.”

“I have all the adventure I need on my own.”

“Hmm,” my dad responded—which was his way of not arguing but still feeling right. I let it go, unwilling to admit that for the first time in my life, I could imagine what he meant. Summer was an adventure unto herself. “Speaking of which, that girl,” he continued, “what’s her name? The farmer’s daughter? Your mom said you sounded sappy about her last time you called.”

“I did not sound sappy. Mom likes to romanticize.”

“Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with you. What’s her name again?”

“Her name is Summer. And I ... okay, fine, I might be sappy about her.”

My dad whooped and the line muffled as he called out to my mom and repeated what I’d just told him. My mom laughed and I heard a clear, “I told you so” in the background.

Damn. Why did I tell those hippies anything? They got so stinking excited about the idea of me in love. Which was funny considering it hadn’t even happened yet. But no matter how long it took, no matter how many times I walked away from the possibility of a relationship, they never lost hope.

“She’s just a girl I’m seeing,” I reminded them—and myself—amidst their hoots and what was probably a happy dance in their living room.

“Sure she is,” my dad replied quickly. Too quickly.

“We’re just having fun,” I added.

“Well, I would hope so. You shouldn’t do it if you’re not having fun.”

I pressed my lips together. This wasn’t going the way I wanted. “What are you so smug about?”

I could hear the grin in my dad’s voice. “Judging by the fact that you actually admitted to being sappy, something you’ve never done before by the way, I think this is going to be real interesting.”

“I’m going to Dakota in a little over three months,” I reminded him.

“I know you are, son.”

“Then why do you sound so calm about it?”

“Because I know you. And you know yourself better than anyone else I’ve ever met. You’ll do what’s right for you, and that’s all I can ask.”

“What’s right for me might not be what’s right for Summer,” I warned.

“It may not.”

His agreement surprised me. I wanted him to argue, to tell me I was wrong for this, for possibly hurting this girl. Somewhere during our little dance around the edges, I’d developed feelings. It was safe to say she had too. I knew where this could end up and I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I wanted someone to tell me it was okay—or to run in the other direction now, before it was too late. My dad was doing neither.

“This time is different,” I said. Maybe if I admitted it aloud, it would make him see. Make me see. And give me answers.

“I know.” His voice was way too gentle and understanding. This is not what I’d wanted when I started this conversation.

“Why aren’t you worried?” I demanded.

“The question is, why are you?”

Summer

“The only thing you have is right now, and that’s where the happiness lies.”

–Angeline Kace, author of Wicked Thing

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O
ver the next week, Ford helped me inventory the retail stock. We counted plants, bags of soil, tools, fertilizer... anything and everything the farm could put a price tag on got logged. Despite the tedious work, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much or spent so little time thinking about balance sheets and bank accounts or the state of my parents’ love life.

Ford was both a distraction and a point of focus.

The things he said, the way he saw the world, made me think from an angle I never had before. It was a constant challenge to answer his questions or to ask my own in a way that helped me understand there was more than one way to view the landscape of life.

Over the course of our conversations, something began to shift. I couldn’t put my finger on it except I felt so ... open. So free. And full of feeling, emotional and physical. I preferred to concentrate on the physical. I’d never had so much sex. Or so many orgasms. Unfortunately, one hadn’t gone with the other in experiences past. I realized now how sad that’d been.

It never failed that when left alone, we’d end up in some form of undress and making out—or more. Usually more. And usually wherever inventory took us. Closets, greenhouses, sheds. The garage. Casey had almost walked in on that one but we’d played it off. The memory still made me smile.

By the time I woke Friday morning, my senses tingled at the mere thought of checking off numbers in boxes.

“Morning,” I said to Mazie as I went for the coffeepot. The kitchen was deserted except for the two of us. Most of the crew wouldn’t pop in until lunchtime since they had coffee and bagels in the main greenhouse. Mazie always made sure of that.

“Good morning, paidi mou,” she said, a smug smile on her lips.

“What’s that look for?” I asked before blowing on the steaming mug.

She didn’t look up from the small circles her dish rag made on the already clean counter. “No reason.”

“Uh-huh.” I didn’t believe her one bit. Especially after that stunt she’d pulled getting me to my mom’s party. She still acted like she’d been the one to bring Ford and me together. And I’d bit back an argument since technically, she was right. Underhanded but right.

“Your boyfriend was in this morning, asking me questions about you,” she said.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mumbled over the rim of my cup.

I’d told her this already. I’d told everyone this already. The problem was, I had no idea what Ford was. Anytime I tried calling him “just a friend” the person laughed in my face. Especially Mazie.

My dad frowned a lot. He, least of everyone, understood or approved of casual relationships. Frank had slapped him on the back and called him “old school” before admitting it confused him just the same. Casey was the only one who got it but instead of agreeing with me about being “just friends” with Ford, he winked and changed the subject. It grated on me, not having a better answer. I had zero experience with a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere.

“If you say so,” Mazie said, still wiping spotless counters. “But his questions said otherwise.”

“What did he ask you?”

She shrugged. “Things about your childhood. Your favorite sports and subjects in school. What you were like. First boyfriend.” Her expression turned sly. “First kiss.”

I set my mug aside and groaned. “You did not tell him about that.”

“He needs to know what he’s up against,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not ‘up against’ anything.”

Her laughter escaped in a snort. I shook my head, picked up my mug, and headed for the hall. “I’ll be in my office,” I called over my shoulder. Mazie’s answer was more laughter. That woman was evil.

After lunch, I put aside the account files and went in search of Ford. He spent his mornings either helping Dad or hunched over the baby sprouts in his greenhouse. I found him doing the latter, so intent on his work he didn’t hear me come in.

I stood there, watching his suddenly delicate fingers handle the tiny leaves and stems. His lips moved silently as he bent over the raised planter’s box. Whispering to his babies.

“Ford?” Halfway down the aisle I called his name, but he didn’t look up. Then I noticed the ear buds he wore and the wire connecting to his iPod. Not whispering to the plants. Singing. I smiled and crept sideways so that his back was to me.

When I reached his shoulder, I ripped the ear bud free. “Ford!”

He jumped and let out a yell. “You should’ve seen your face,” I said, laughing.

“Oh, you’ve started it now. Just wait,” he said, removing the other ear bud and switching off the iPod.

I grinned. “I’m terrified.”

“You should be.”

“Uh-huh. Are you ready or what?”

“I was born ready.” I turned to go but he grabbed me and pulled me to him. “One thing first,” he said, lowering his lips to mine. I ran my hands up his chest and locked them around his neck, the motion eerily familiar, like I’d been doing it forever. His tongue traced my bottom lip and then the roof of my mouth, just behind my teeth. I shivered, instantly turned on.

“You like that?” he murmured.

“Gets me every time,” I whispered, reaching for more.

The kiss lasted just long enough to make it difficult to stop. When he pulled away, we were both breathing hard. I dropped my arms from his neck reluctantly. “We should get to work,” I said.

He kissed my cheek one last time and whispered into my ear, “When’s our first break?”

“Soon,” I said, grinning at him.

Outside, he fell into step beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I hung on, shoving out the little voice that wanted to know what it meant for him to hold my hand. It didn’t matter what it meant. It only mattered that he was holding it.

We spent the next hour inside the barn’s storage room, Ford calling out items while I marked it down on my clipboard. When all the rakes and shovels had been recorded, we went back to my office to input the numbers.

I shoved aside the contents of boxes I’d brought in that now littered my desk and fired up the computer. I’d barely had time to put away Mom’s things left behind since being back. The room was still bare of my own personal touches.

“It’s a work in progress,” I explained.

Ford sat in the empty chair across the desk. “No explanation required. Have you seen my work space? Controlled chaos.”

“Controlled?” I lifted a brow.

“I know where everything is.”

“Yeah, because it’s all lying on the floor in plain sight.”

“Don’t question my system. It works for me. Besides, all the creative types are messy.”

I looked around my half-decorated, half-packed office and made a face. “I would say you’re converting me but this is just me procrastinating.”

He picked up a framed document laying on top of the stack. My diploma. “Congratulations, by the way,” he said, scanning it. “Heard you graduated with honors and a dean’s letter. That’s something to be proud of.”

“Thanks, but how’d you know about the dean’s letter?”

“Your dad likes to brag.”

I smiled. Yeah, he did. Ford nodded at the open boxes sitting underneath the window. “What’s going on there?”

“New management,” I said. His brows lifted. “My mom left a lot behind. I’m purging.” I left out the part that I’d only this week started the process after my mom had called for me every day since her party. I’d ignored every call—and every dirty look from my dad when it happened.

“I see, and how’s that going?”

“Slow,” I admitted.

“I can’t imagine why. The whole thing sounds like a blast.”

I smiled ruefully. “Exactly. I’m pacing myself. Wouldn’t want to end the fun too soon.”

“I’ve never seen you not be fun.”

I planted a quick kiss on Ford’s lips, forcing myself not to overthink the compliment. I lifted the frame from Ford’s hands and set it on the exposed nail I’d found when I’d removed a piece of artwork my mother had hanging.

When I’d finished, I found Ford paging through an old farmer’s almanac that was in a stack headed for donation. “Interesting,” he said absently.

From this angle, his face was a contoured outline of nose, cheek, and jaw. The picture he made, shoulders slightly hunched and nose stuck in a book, made him look at once both rugged and gentle. And endearing.

No, no, I wasn’t going to think like that. We weren’t in a relationship. This was just ... well, I wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t so meaningful that I could allow the sort of feelings that threatened. But damn if there wasn’t something about him that made me want to care.

“Did you know this one recorded snow flurries in our county in May one year?”

It wasn’t “our county.” It was mine. He wasn’t staying long enough to claim it for himself.

I couldn’t help thinking that way, and it distracted me from answering. When I didn’t readily respond, he looked up. Our eyes met and a jolt of something electric shot straight up from my toes. My pulse sped. “Umm ...”

Snow. We were talking about snow.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Somehow, I managed to blink my way free of the spell. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just ... distracted, I guess. I’m throwing those out.”

“What? All of them? You can’t throw these away. They’re classic.”

“You take them then. I don’t have the space.”

He gave me a strange look. It made me feel like he was trying hard to understand an unsolved puzzle.

“What?” I demanded.

His voice was gentle as he asked, “Does it make you feel better about her to throw things away?”

My back stiffened. “Maybe.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I shouldn’t—it’s none of my business.” He ran a hand through his hair. A few pieces stuck that way, making him look younger and less confident. Somehow, it erased any insult the words had caused.

“It’s fine. I just—Yes, throwing things away makes me feel more in control, like I’m being proactive. And ... It means fewer memory tsunamis when I walk through the house or work in this room.”

“Memory tsunamis?”

“Everywhere I look I see her things or I see the empty place where her things were before. And this room has the most of her.” I looked around as I spoke. “She spent a lot of time here and didn’t take much of it with her, it seems. The more I purge, the more it might start to feel like mine, instead of something that used to be hers.”