I settled into the front seat of Bo’s Bronco and held my hands in front of the vents.
“You can turn the heat up, if you want,” Bo said as he backed out of my parents’ driveway.
“The rest of me feels okay,” I said. “But my hands are always cold.”
He eased the Bronco to a stop at the light just down the street from the house and held out his hand.
I slipped my fingers into his, and he gave them a squeeze before raising my hand to his lips and kissing the back of my palm. “You’re right. They are cold.”
My cheeks warmed at the blatant gesture of affection. I still couldn’t believe that this thing between us was even real.
Once we were on the highway, Bo held my hand for most of the drive as he cataloged the things we would see and the people we would meet once we reached the farm.
I had vague memories of visiting as a kid, of walking through the store and roaming the pumpkin patch in search of the perfect pumpkin. They’d always had free mugs of apple cider when the pumpkin patch was open, served hot or cold depending on the finicky Lowcountry weather.
“So what do all your employees do through winter?” I asked as we took the Ridgeville exit.
“I have a lot of seasonal employees,” he said, “but there’s still a dozen or so who stick around to keep things running. There’s a tree farm up in North Carolina that brings down Christmas trees, and we fill the store up with Christmas decorations and wreaths, that kind of thing. And we bring citrus up from Florida to sell. That always does really well this time of year.”
Bo pulled onto what looked like a newly paved drive and eased between two enormous stone columns. Above us, a large, wooden sign stretched from one column to the other, bearing the farm’s name.
“That’s new,” I said, glancing up at the sign. “And this road wasn’t paved before, was it?”
Bo grinned. “You’ve got a good memory. The sign and the paving just happened last year.”
We passed by field after field until we reached the Bradshaw Farms store, a spacious building designed to look like a barn, complete with red paint and white trim.
Bo circled the car and met me as I climbed out of his Bronco, his smile wide and his eyes bright. He turned me around, one hand resting on my shoulder as he pointed across the fields beyond the store.
“There, across the strawberry fields, you can see the roofline of the house.”
“Oh, I see it,” I said.
He nodded. “I wanted to pick a location that would still feel close, but not so close that people going in and out of the store will be able to see whether or not my kids are playing in their backyard.”
His kids. Be still my ever-lovin’ heart.
“Planning ahead, are you?”
He shrugged, his smile playful yet still sincere. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Inside the store, Bo greeted everyone like he’d been gone months instead of just a handful of days. Jeanine, his store manager, hugged him and kissed him like he was her own child, fussing over whether or not he was warm enough and had had enough to eat over Christmas. It was hardly different with every employee I met. They all obviously loved Bo. From the cashiers to his wholesale production coordinator, they all talked to him like he’d hung the moon himself.
He was always gracious, introducing me and keeping me engaged in the conversations, even when they ventured into farm business that had piled up in the days he’d been away. But it was easy to catch a glimpse of what might have made Sophia uncomfortable when she’d dated Bo. There was no denying how much he lit up a room. For a person who loved to be the star herself, it was easy to imagine her feeling threatened.
My eye caught on a large silver door at the end of the hall, just beyond the offices where we’d congregated with his shipping manager and the education and event coordinator.
“What’s back there?” I asked, gesturing down the hall.
Bo turned. “That’s the kitchen,” he said casually. “It doesn’t get used much. When we have weddings or other events, the caterers will use it, but otherwise, it mostly goes unused.” He walked toward the door. “Want to see it?”
Bo had a commercial kitchen on his farm. I tried not to think of the baking I could do, the cookies I could make with such a kitchen at my disposal.
He backed into the door, holding it open for me as I passed in front of him and waited while he flipped on the lights.
“It was my aunt who had the kitchen put in. She wanted to sell her pies in the store and needed the commercial space to do it. It was a good investment, too, because her pies sold as quickly as she could bake them.”
The kitchen was glorious. Enormous. Fully decked out with four separate ovens and marble countertops that would be perfect for rolling out sugar cookies. A surge of envy pulsed through me. Bo had, at his disposal, the exact kind of space I would need to live my dream.
“You could use it, you know,” Bo said as if he could see the desire written on my face.
We made eye contact and hope stirred in my chest. What was he saying?
I could see it as clearly as I could see him standing across from me. Me, standing at the counter, apron around my waist and flour on my cheek, and Bo coming in through the door smelling like summer sun and watermelon, taking me in his arms and—
Bo cleared his throat. “We . . . um, we could work up an agreement of some sort—a business agreement—that gives you use of the kitchen and some retail space in the store,” Bo said.
Right. A business agreement. I had to get a hold of myself. I was imagining waking up in his arms and riding the Gator from the house down to work every day, and he was imagining the terms of a rental agreement.
A surge of embarrassment pulsed through me. Hopefully, Bo hadn’t seen all that written on my face.
He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s an option anyway, if you ever find yourself back this way.”
My heart sank. If I ever found myself back this way? That didn’t sound like he was anticipating much of a future between us. Something like a question flickered in Bo’s eyes, but I couldn’t guess what it was about.
Was he sorry he’d offered? Maybe worried he’d given me the wrong impression? He obviously wasn’t thinking about things—about us—with the same intensity that I was. But just like high school, that was on me, not him. It was only my teenage-fantasy-fueled imagination that was making things weird.
“I need to ride out to the west barn and check on the goats,” Bo said suddenly, as if grateful he had a reason to change the subject. “You want to come?” He moved to the refrigerator on the opposite side of the kitchen. “After that, I had thought we might take a picnic up to the house.” He pulled a picnic basket out of the fridge and held it up hesitantly. “I had Jeanine put this together for me, but we don’t—”
“A picnic sounds perfect,” I said, cutting him off. I could handle a picnic. A nice, normal, not-asking-for-life-commitment picnic. At least, I hoped I could. My sinking heart wasn’t so sure.
We took an all-terrain vehicle Bo called a Gator—like a golf cart but with bigger wheels—out to the barn, the picnic basket nestled in the bed behind us. “I didn’t know you had goats. What do you use them for?”
Bo made a sharp left and drove us toward the wood line in the distance. “Nothing, right now. My uncle bought them thinking Aunt Margo would want to learn how to make goat cheese to sell in the store. But then her arthritis flared up and instead of cheese, they started talking about retirement.”
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“Nah. I don’t think she ever really wanted to make goat cheese.”
“So why don’t you sell the goats?”
He shrugged. “I’ve gotten kind of attached to them. And who knows? Maybe I’ll learn how to make goat cheese.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because you’ve got so much free time on your hands running this place?”
He shot me a sideways glance and grinned in a way that made my heart squeeze. “Where th
ere’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Hmm. If only it were that easy. I do admire your optimism.”
After we loved on the goats for a little bit—I understood why Bo was so taken with them—we headed up to the house. Well, a shell of a house, anyway. It was fully framed, and the exterior walls were in place, but the inside was nothing but a skeleton. Still, Bo walked me from room to room, talking me through where everything was going to go when the house was finished.
It was going to be gorgeous, that much was abundantly clear. Bo had put such careful thought into the design, focusing a lot of his attention on, adorably, his desire to make the house kid-friendly. He didn’t even try to hide his excitement. He had a plan, a vision, and a determination to do whatever he could to make sure it happened. I was all for appreciating a good plan.
It was endearing that he would be so transparent, but also a little disconcerting. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about whether or not he wanted me to be a part of that future. Is that why he’d brought it up? Or was he just speaking generally? Either way, I was still flying back to Chicago in a couple of days.
It made me feel itchy. Almost irritated. He’d said we would take things one day at a time. Was that just a nice way of saying we’d fool around while I was home then he’d send me on my merry way? I had exactly zero confidence that, with our complicated history and my muddled feelings, I’d be able to read the situation like a reasonable adult. Where did that leave me?
Bo spread a picnic blanket out on the back deck. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, the temperatures warm enough for us to be comfortable. The view was incredible, and the food, delicious. And yet, I still couldn’t settle.
My brain had latched onto the “What’s next” question with a vengeance, and I couldn’t seem to let it go enough to just relax and enjoy myself. Somewhere deep inside, a little voice was telling me there was more to my unease. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront exactly what that more was.
“Hey,” Bo said, extending a package of gingerbread cookies. “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind. You okay?”
I grabbed a cookie and took a bite before dropping it onto my plate.
“They aren’t as good as yours, are they?” Bo said.
That, at least, made me smile. “Too much nutmeg,” I said. “The texture’s good though.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Bo leaned back on his hands and extended his legs, crossing his feet at the ankles. “You going to tell me what you’re thinking about?”
I was silent for a long moment. He maybe didn’t want to know everything I’d been thinking about. “Just remembering, I guess.” I looked out across the fields that angled down from the house. “Do you remember the party you threw your junior year? Just before Halloween?”
“Oh, man, I got in so much trouble for that party. I almost burned down my dad’s shed.”
I remembered the fire, but not nearly as vividly as I remembered watching Bo and his girlfriend making out on his back porch. I had spent the afternoon making decorations, little garlands of bats and witches and ghosts to hang from the doorways and across the windows. When I’d taken them over to the house, Bo hadn’t been home, but his mom had helped me hang them up. I doubted Bo had even noticed. He definitely hadn’t noticed once his girlfriend had arrived. I remembered feeling so small, so completely out of my league while I watched them together. I had decorations, and she had . . . well, all the things Bo actually cared about.
In retrospect, it felt so silly, so embarrassing. Bo had lived right next door for years and he’d never paid me any real attention. Had I really thought Halloween decorations would be the thing to push him over the edge?
“Did you know I was the one who made decorations for that party?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the fields in front of us.
“You did?”
I nodded. “Your mom helped me put them up. I always wondered if she’d tell you I made them.”
“I remember wondering where they had come from, but I don’t remember Mom saying it had been you.”
“She had to know how much of a crush I had on you. She never told you that either?”
“Mom thought everyone had a crush on me,” Bo said dismissively. “That’s just the way she was. She might have told me, but you would have been one of many girls she mentioned if she said anything at all.”
“Wow. So humble.”
“I didn’t say I felt that way. Just that my mom did. She was always trying to get me to notice some nice girl from church or the little sister of her tennis coach or whoever.”
“But never me?” I asked, suddenly curious as to why.
Bo shrugged. “You were two years younger than me. And you were her best friend’s kid. Maybe she thought if things went badly it would make things weird?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Or maybe she just thought I was the last kind of girl her son needed to date.
I took a slow deep breath and tried to push the thought away. Bo’s mom had loved me. I’d always felt secure in that. But conjuring up those memories, the way I’d felt as I’d watched Bo with another girl, brought a swift gut-punch of reality. My earlier unease caused by our weird conversation in the kitchen sparked into full-blown fear, my doubts feeding the flames as fast as the gasoline Bo had tossed on the bonfire that had nearly burned down his dad’s shed.
I’d all too easily spent the morning wandering around Bo’s farm, imagining how perfectly I might fit into his world, his life. I’d been doing it for days. Ever since that first kindling of interest when I’d found Bo in my parents’ entryway. A huge part of me wanted it all to be real. Craved it, even. This was Bo. How could I not? But I had no idea how the man even felt. He definitely hadn’t hinted that he was ready for me to move home and move in with him. He’d seemed nothing but casual about the possibility of me ever moving back to South Carolina.
Meanwhile, I had been dreaming of giving up a life in Chicago I actually quite liked just because Bo had glanced my way. I suddenly felt incredibly foolish and juvenile. It was too much, too fast. I heaved a sigh in frustration. I should have known better. I should have listened to my instincts and kept my distance. I should have been more careful with my own heart.
When Bo excused himself to answer a phone call, I pulled out my own phone, scrolling through the messages and notifications I’d been ignoring all morning.
Jenna had texted a few hours before. We are engaged! her text read. Flying home tomorrow so we can turn the New Year’s Eve party at the club into an engagement party. PLEASE tell me you’ll be back in time. I cannot celebrate without you!
Jenna’s fiancé owned a night club, aptly named Costa’s, that hosted an enormous New Year’s Eve party every year. It wasn’t exactly my scene, but for Jenna, I wouldn’t miss it.
But what about Bo?
I looked across the deck, admiring the lines of his body as he leaned over the railing, discussing something about soil quality and water drainage. Sophia hadn’t been right about Bo. He was a good man. But his life was in Ridgeville, and my life was in Chicago.
Maybe, if our circumstances were different, I could slow my brain down enough to date Bo like a normal person. But I couldn’t risk the life I’d built for myself on a maybe. Especially not when I still wasn’t convinced Bo would ever actually feel about me the way I felt about him. I just couldn’t shake the fear that if I wasn’t the kind of girl Bo would have noticed back in high school, then ultimately, I wasn’t the kind of woman he would notice now. Our Christmas together was an anomaly. With the snow and the cookies and the Christmas magic. But it wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be.
My hands trembling, I pulled up my search engine and checked flights out of Charleston. The airport was up and running again; I could be on a flight first thing the next morning.
I glanced at Bo one more time, ignoring the tug on my heart, and keyed out a response to Jenna. I’ll be back in time! So excited for you and Costa. Can’t wait to celebrate.<
br />
Chapter Nine
“So I guess this is it then,” Bo said as I pulled my suitcase down the last of the stairs. My flight was early enough, I’d wondered if I would end up leaving before he woke up. But I’d heard him up and moving around before I’d even made it into the shower.
He was showered and dressed, wearing a faded flannel and jeans, a mug of coffee in his hands.
I glanced at my phone, suddenly wishing I had time for a cup. My Uber was five minutes out. I’d probably be better getting something at the airport.
Bo had offered to drive me, but things between us were already weird enough. He’d been understanding when I’d explained my sudden need to cut my stay short—my original plan had been to stay through New Year’s—but he’d also seemed confused and a little hurt that I’d suddenly decided to leave. The drive home from the farm had been awkward, and I’d spent the evening in my room supposedly packing, but mostly hiding.
“I guess it is,” I said.
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “I’m not sure I really understand what happened, Maddy.” He shrugged. “I kinda thought we had something here.”
I dropped my gaze. “I’ve had a great time this past week, Bo, but you have a life here and I have a life somewhere else. It doesn’t make any sense for us to pretend things would work out.”
“How will we know it doesn’t make sense if we don’t try?”
I didn’t even know what it was he wanted to try. I was risk-averse, yes, but a long-distance relationship after only a week spent in each other’s company felt doomed for anyone. At least, that was the reason I was willing to utter out loud. I had a whole bundle of reasons festering beneath the surface, fears and insecurities that my run-in with Sophia and our trip to the farm had triggered.
Those were not reasons Bo needed to hear.
Still, when he pressed me one more time for an explanation, I couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out.
“Do you remember the homecoming game your senior year? You were quarterback and team captain and we were playing our biggest rival. So I decided to have posters made with your name and jersey number on them and made sure they were all over the student section so you would know just how much everyone was rooting for you.”
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