by Abby Knox
I let her have a head start before I chase after her.
“You don’t have to slow dance with me if you don’t want to,” I say when I meet her at our table.
She smiles up at me as the server delivers another round. “Good,” she says. “Because that was too much fun for my broken heart to handle. So sit down and drink with me and let’s compare all of our worst breakups.”
The house is dark when we return, fairly buzzed, and we slip our boots off on the porch and quietly creep inside. Fortunately, I’d remembered to put Gertie to bed with her baby goats tonight. Helen pads over from her cushion, and both Eliza and I keep her quiet with a quick belly rub.
It’s past midnight, and the four of us, including Nora and her husband Jake, sat and drank several more rounds while rehashing all of our most horrifying dating experiences. Everyone decided it was best to walk home.” It made me happy to see Eliza laugh with us at all of our stories, and it made me hope she realizes that she’s not alone. We also danced some more, but I was a good boy and kept my hands to myself. Mostly.
If all that happens is Eliza and I end up friends, I’m grateful for a friend.
That’s what my brain tries to tell my body anyway.
My arms want one more dance. My nose wants to be close to her hair. And my lips want to explore every inch of her.
I’ve had too much beer. Too much of a good time.
I carefully hold the door open for Eliza and whisper, “Well, this is where I get off.”
She covers her mouth, snorts, then shushes herself. “Oh, but I hate it that you’re sleeping on the floor. That’s going to kill your back.”
“Hey,” I say sloppily. “Have you tried sleeping on Betty’s couch? It’s way worse.”
Eliza protests. “No way, I’ve slept on that sofa a million times, and it was fine. Of course, back in the day when it was still covered with plastic, I would wake up covered in sweat, but still not uncomfortable.”
I pat her on the head and whisper, “That’s because you’re five foot nothing, and my body is ninety percent legs.”
“Hey,” she says, drunkenly pointing a finger in my face. “I’ll have you know I’m five feet eight inches, and your chest is way more impressive than your legs, mister.” She raps her palm repeatedly against my sternum, close to where my heart hammers two hundred bpm for her. I’d like to let her continue doing that to me. Whatever she wants, as long as she’s touching me.
She’s a friend. Friend. Can’t take advantage of her drunken state.
“Thanks for letting me tag along on your girls’ night out,” I say.
Eliza’s face falters. “Oh. You weren’t tagging along. You’re an essential member of the club, now.”
“Club?”
“My exclusive list of people who are allowed to take up my time. It’s all in my planner. Top of the list: Grams, then Nora, and you, sir”—she points at me dramatically—“are now tied with Nora.”
“You have a list? You wrote it down?”
She nods vigorously. “I make lists. My whole life is lists and planning pages. I don’t just buy planners; I make planning systems. When your life is spinning out of control, more planning is the answer.”
“That’s quite a catchphrase for your new business enterprise,” I say.
I’m still holding the door open, and yet, Eliza is not going inside. Instead, she grabs the front of my shirt. “Garrett! We are so on the same wavelength. I just don’t have the time. That’s the thing. If I wasn’t working 60 hours a week, I might use some of the business planning pages that I created! Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?”
I laugh, “Not nearly the saddest. OK, time for you to sleep it off.”
“Me? What about you?”
“Me too. Come on.”
With my arm around her shoulder, I give her no choice but to walk with me inside the house, through the kitchen, and down the hall. We creep as we pass Grams’ closed bedroom door.
“Hang on,” I whisper, pausing for a second. I listen at the door.
“What are you doing?”
I hear Grams’ even breathing and nod. “I just like to make sure I hear breathing, stirring in there before I lock up her house for the night.”
We make our way down the creaking hallway and stop at the guest room door. She puts her hand on the doorknob to steady herself. “You lock up at night? You listen for her breathing?”
A particular memory sobers me up slightly, and I explain in a whisper, “About a year ago, she let it slip that she never locks her doors. Of course, I already had a spare key to the house, so every night after she’s asleep, I lock up.”
As my eyes adjust to the dark, I watch as Eliza bites her bottom lip and her eyes drop to my mouth. She has one hand on the door and one hand fisting my shirt to steady herself. Her face is turned up to me.
“Garrett, this is above and beyond being neighborly. You’re a fucking hero, and I’m the worst granddaughter ever.”
“Come on,” I whisper, a little too roughly, pushing the door open and clumsily ushering her into the guest room. I quietly close the door then peel her fisted hand off my shirt. “Now listen. That’s not true. You are her favorite. I told you already she’s not upset with you for being far away. But you’re here now, and you’re still her superstar. You’ll always be her MVP. Whether you go back to New York or not.”
She blurts out a bunch of words that I’m sure she’s been holding in. “I don’t know if I want to…”
“Want to what, Eliza?”
In the dark, I can see her shake her head. I’m still holding her hands in mine, though I know it’s a bad idea.
“Making declarations about my life plan is a bad idea when I’m tired and a little drunk.”
“Very wise.”
She sighs. “And you’re…so nice to look at. Like how are you single? And how did we never meet before, because honey, you stand out in Piper’s Grove. Like a tall, sweet, tall, Hollywood movie actor.”
Now’s not the time to get into the whole story about why she’s never met me before. The single question is rhetorical; she already knows the answer to that, as we’ve just spent the last two hours lamenting all our terrible relationship experiences.
The compliments affect me, though, and I don’t want to let go of her hands just yet. I slant my face down and kiss the knuckles of her left hand, gently, and then her right. “Oh,” she sighs. “Wow.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
For a few beats, Eliza and I hold that moment and gaze at each other.
“Stay—“
I know what she’s going to say, but it’s better if I don’t let her finish that. I don’t want to be her rebound guy. Especially if she’s not entirely sober.
“Goodnight, Eliza,” I say, cutting her off, letting go of her hands, and head back to my temporary campsite on the porch.
Once there, I pick up my guitar, Bessie, and pluck out a tune that’s been rattling around in my head all night. If I’m honest, since the first time Eliza and I made eye contact.
I pluck the melody over and over again to get it into my head permanently. At the same time, my eyes gaze across the meadow toward my house. At this moment, I’m happy my house isn’t completed yet, because I sure am enjoying the journey.
Chapter Five
Liza
Does Garrett know I can hear him plucking away on his guitar through the open window and humming to himself?
Earlier that night, he felt embarrassed when the singer called him up on stage. I wonder if he knows what a beautiful singing voice he has.
I lie in bed on top of the covers, open to the night air. Turning over to drift off on my side, I watch the fireflies dance in the dark outside. The sound of crickets and gentle guitar plucking carries me off to sleep with a goofy smile on my face.
For once, my conscience is quiet. There are no reminders that my heart is broken and needs time to heal before getting to know a brand new stranger. Maybe that’s the effect of all the
beer. Whatever the case, I’m enjoying the moment and the fact that I can still feel his kisses on my fingers. Why does that feel so much more intimate than if he would have simply grabbed me and kissed me on the lips?
My bedtime thoughts might be innocent, but once I’m asleep, my visions take a turn for the utterly horny.
We’re back at Hijinks and making out like teenagers on the dance floor. Everyone is watching, and I don’t care. Jared, of all people, is on the stage and narrating our every move via the mic. Soon, Garrett is not just kissing me but groping me over my shirt, then under my shirt. The next thing I know, I’m topless. Somehow I’m not even embarrassed, and I want him to keep going. I close my eyes when he sucks one nipple into his mouth, and I’m in a different room entirely when my eyes open. Not so much a room, as a tent, which is hilarious. The last time I slept in a tent was on a hiking trip with Jared, and we did not have sex in that tent. I had thought it would be fun to snuggle in a giant sleeping bag, but he was such a severe over-the-top camper, he’d spoiled the mood. Every minute was regimented, and he’d been unimpressed with my kindling-gathering skills. And then he’d fussed at me at bedtime when I needed my phone light on so I could write in my journal. I can’t get to sleep without that. This dream tent has soft lighting, relaxing music, and nothing I do is wrong in Garrett’s eyes. He’s whispering nonsense in my ears while I’m wrapped around him. I’m seated in his lap, grinding into him. He’s making my head spin with how attentive he is to every inch of me, making sure I feel every inch of him inside me. He’s really skilled at the slow thrust, which takes some work in this position. “Eliza, you missed your flight,” he says. “I don’t miss things,” I say. “It’s in my planner, that’s imposs—“ His mouth on me hushes my words, as does his thumb on my clit. The strumming of that tight button rockets me into an orgasm so hard that I wake myself up.
When I get my bearings, I shoot straight up in bed at the realization of what just happened. I had a sex dream about Garrett. With the window open, the window within earshot of the back porch.
So help me god, if I made a noise…
Well, if I did, I’ll just pretend nothing happened. Indeed, he’s enough of a gentleman to never bring up the subject.
The following day, I rise early to help Grams in the strawberry patch.
I find the shirtless Garrett already out there, but he’s not working. As I approach, I see he’s beyond the berry patch and sitting down by the creek, cross-legged. His eyes are closed, and I realize he’s in lotus pose.
Feeling intrusive for interrupting his morning meditation, I start to back away slowly, then trip over a tree root because I’m not watching where I’m going. I fall flat on my ass in the grass.
“Ow! Dammit!”
“Whoa! Eliza, are you okay?”
Garrett has me back upright on my feet and is brushing the dirt off my outfit. “I’m fine. You don’t have to…I mean, I’m sorry if I startled you.”
I expect him to laugh at my clumsiness, but he doesn’t. Not even a little bit.
“Are you sure you’re okay? How’s your butt? That was quite a tumble.”
I instinctively cover my bum with my hands, as if somehow he’s just going to reach out and inspect it without my permission. “Fine! I’m fine. Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he says. “You didn’t interrupt me in the slightest.”
“You’re a bald-faced liar.”
He rises back up to meet my eyes, and I don’t appreciate the heat I see there. Combined with his current state of undress and the fact that the strange, woodsy-sweet feral scent is back, hitting me in the face.
“I can’t think of a better way to end my morning yoga session than to see your face,” he says.
The intake of my breath is impossible to hide. “Wow. You’re good. You come off as shy, but then you say these smooth words that can rattle a girl’s foundation.”
He leans up against the tree in a pose that’s entirely unintentionally sexy and totally unfair. So is the current state of his scruff and his messy hair. “A little bird told me it’s been a while since you had your foundation rattled. Maybe it needs a good hard rattling.”
My mouth is agape. “I…wow… so, uh …should we pick the berries now?”
He pushes off the tree and gestures for me to lead the way. “We should. A lot of ripe berries are waiting on us.”
I try to keep my distance as we trudge over to the berry patch together. Why does everything he says sounds sexy this morning? Foundations? Berries? What’s gotten into him?
“By the way, those sandals are cute, but that ain’t gonna cut it. Your Grams has a pair of rubber boots in the tool shed. Put those on.”
This strange edge to his voice feels different from the Garrett of yesterday. Still friendly. But less shy and more presumptuous. What part of last night did I miss? Did I black out and let this man spank me? Oh god, no, I’d want to be awake for that. “Bossy much?”
Garrett shrugs and looks down at my feet with a smirk. “Do what you want, Eliza. But you’re going to need those pretty sandals when I take you out tonight.”
“Who says I’m letting you take me out? I’ll have to check my planner and see if I have the time,” I tease.
The next thing I know, Garrett’s gloved hands are on my face, and his mouth is on mine. My first thought is, is he still drunk from last night? No, he’s not acting silly or slurring his words. Nor does he seem hungover.
My next thought is, the hottest shirtless man in three counties is kissing me in my Grams’ backyard, and everyone is going to see. My third thought is, oof. He’s a skilled kisser. His full lips slide over mine with the perfect amount of pressure. He didn’t ask, but I don’t care. He can have it. He can have all my kisses. Heartbreak be damned. Healing be damned. Consequences be damned. I am on vacation, and I’m kissing this scorching-hot man.
His lips over mine make my heart race like a frightened little rabbit. Those full lips of his are soft but assertive, caressing. Massaging. He’s massaging my mouth muscles. The man is serious about his workmanship, and my body threatens to burst into flames at what this kind of kiss seems to promise. The thing he said about rattling my foundation makes so much sense now. He definitely meant he’s been thinking about kissing me…everywhere. The ache between my thighs screams, “Ya think??”
I don’t know where to look when we pull away from that kiss. He brushes my hair out of my face with his gloved hands, and I have to laugh. The gloves are weathered and stiff and smell like dirt.
My mouth opens to say something, even though I have no idea what to say. Thank god for Gertie. The little bleater nudges me in the leg, and I stumble forward, Garrett catching me against his warm, bare chest with a laugh. “Gertie,” he scolds. “That’s rude.”
I take a moment while he corrals Gertie and get busy picking strawberries.
Turns out, he was right. By the time he’s returned from the small barn in the back of his house, my pretty sandals are caked with mud.
Chapter Six
Garrett
That was the sexiest kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life.
I don’t even care that I’m the rebound. I don’t care how recently her heart’s been broken because that heart, those lips, that cute little butt of hers—they belong with me now.
I don’t want anyone else’s lips for the rest of my life. I’m done.
When we finish with the berries—about an hour after Eliza has given up those sandals and put on the rubber boots—she takes the wagon up to the house. I head over to my homestead to check on things. I’ve got one mama goat—Gertie’s sister—who’s probably going to give birth in the next week or so, and a few dozen baby chicks who will hatch around the same time. I feed and water all the mammas in the barn, and then check on the bees.
When I open the hive, the familiar, happy aroma greets me like none other. The workers are dutifully tending to the eggs, making room for more and building the comb.
�
��There’s no way I’d be sharing that ass with a thousand other drones. I don’t know how you fellas handle that, emotionally.”
Yes, I talk to my bees. And yes, random people have caught me having a chat with the little guys. Do I think I might be a little bit of a town weirdo? Possibly. Do I sort of enjoy that identifier? Also possibly.
When I’m finished seeing to my animals, I head over to my house and have a quick chat with the contractor. The things that are swirling around in my head are completely ridiculous. I can’t ask Eliza to stay and give up her life in New York. But if I want happiness in my life, I need to have the room to welcome it.
I track down the contractor in the kitchen where the drywall is being hung and tell him what I want. We make a plan to meet sometime next week and discuss expanding the project.
I’m not sure yet where the money is going to come from, but I know when it’s finished, I’ll have a bigger bedroom, an en suite bathroom, and an office for a queen and all her planners. It’s outrageous, I know. But my mind is made up.
I’m lost in thought as I return to the berry patch, harvesting still more and wondering where my new sidekick is.
“Hey, boss! Your ho, reporting for duty!”
I spin around, my cheeks flushed, my entire body soaked with sweat. The sun is getting hotter, and Eliza has changed into some tight, ripped-up cutoffs, rubber boots, a pair of garden gloves, and a straw hat to protect her head from the sun. She’s changed from her tee-shirt into a midriff red checked shirt with a print that reminds me of a picnic blanket and all the good things I like to eat outdoors. Her hair is tucked up under the hat except for a few tendrils that hang down, teasing the skin of her shoulders and neck, and she’s carrying a garden hoe. I might pass out. She went inside to change into proper work gear. She stepped outside, wielding a garden hoe, looking like a farmers-daughter porno fantasy.
Yeah, I’m not sure how much work is getting done today.
Stop thinking about porn, dude. It’s gotta be written all over your face.
