After We Fall

by Melanie Harlow

  “That’s OK.” I didn’t want to stir up any more trouble where the middle Valentini brother was concerned. He wasn’t happy about my being here to begin with—he certainly wouldn’t want to take time out of his work day to show me around.

  Georgia shook her head. “It’s not. I’m sorry he was rude today. He’s such a sweet guy underneath, but he hides it. The last few years have been so rough on him.”

  Since it was just us women and I was curious, I decided to ask more about him. “I noticed he wore an Army shirt. Is he in the military?”

  “He was,” she said, tucking her blond bob behind her ears. “He’s been out about six years. But he served in Iraq and Afghanistan, and when he got back, he—” She grappled for words. “Well, it was hard for him to adjust.”

  “Hard how?”

  “He had a lot of anxiety. My dad was in the Army too, served in Vietnam when he was really young. It affected him his whole life. Sometimes Jack reminds me of my dad.” Her voice was wistful. “Moody, sullen, defensive. It’s hard for them to connect with people. And they keep their feelings locked up inside. My dad had my mom, at least, but Jack has no one, and his brothers can be hard on him. They don’t understand. So I try really hard to be someone he can turn to.”

  Something squeezed my heart. “How sad that he lost his wife.”

  “Devastating. They were so in love. But anyway.” She waved a hand in the air. “That doesn’t give him the right to be mean to you.”

  “No, but at least I can better understand where he’s coming from. Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep it confidential.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  We said goodbye, and I told her I’d be in touch tomorrow.

  As I drove the short distance back to the cottage, I thought about what she’d said. They were so in love. What was that like? Tripp and I had been together for three years, but never once had I felt “so in love” with him, nor could I imagine him thinking that way about me. “So in love” sounded so passionate. And it must have been visible to other people. Maybe they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  For a moment, I let myself wonder what Jack was like in bed. Rough or sweet? Selfish or generous? Fast or slow? That hard, muscular body…what would it look like naked? What would it be like to feel his weight on me? Was he a good kisser? Did he use his hands? Did he have a big dick?

  My stomach whooshed, and suddenly I realized I’d gone from imagining Jack with his wife to picturing him with me. What the hell was wrong with me? The man hadn’t even offered me a smile today! In fact, he’d been downright rude! Muscles were nice, but manners were better, and Jack’s were sorely lacking.

  Still, what Georgia had told me about him made me think there was more to him than boorish bluster.

  Someone who’d loved like that had to have a big heart, even if it was buried beneath prickly layers of grief and bitterness.

  I’d give him another chance.

  Seven

  Jack

  I stayed away from the house all afternoon, even though it drove me crazy to think that they were in there talking about my farm, making plans that would affect its well-being. Plans that would affect me. Sure, I technically owned only one third of it, but neither of my brothers had invested their heart and soul here like I had. Pete just cared about his restaurant idea, and Brad would be happy to chop the land into bits and sell it.

  So go in there and stand up for yourself. Put your boot down. Say no.

  But I couldn’t do that. It was two against one, and I wouldn’t win.

  And now they had that fucking Barbie on their side too. How the hell could they think that woman knew anything about farming? She looked like she wouldn’t know the difference between a cock and a hen. Maybe I’d ask her.

  The thought actually made me crack a smile as I left the barn after checking on one of the older horses who seemed to be struggling with the heat more than the others. You ever seen a cock before, Barbie?

  I chuckled as I imagined the expression on her face. Her cheeks going pink. Her eyes going wide. She had pretty eyes, I’d give her that. Huge and bright blue. A pretty smile, too.

  But she wasn’t my type. I liked natural. Down to earth. No makeup. Steph had lived in jeans and boots, her nose freckled in the sun, and I don’t even think she owned a hair dryer. She always let her dark, curly hair dry on its own.

  Barbie had been wearing some kind of business suit, probably with high heels. Her skin looked like she never left the house, and her lips had been artificially pink. Her hair was nice, though, smooth and gold and shiny. What would it feel like slipping through my fingers? Wrapped around my fist? Brushing over my bare chest?

  When my dick answered the question by twitching in my pants, I forced myself to quit thinking about her and move on to the next task.

  She was nothing to me.

  Around five, Pete came out to the little greenhouse I’d built with our dad and found me prepping some kale seedlings for planting. I needed to rotate some beds this weekend.

  “Hey. Want help?”

  “I’m about done in here. But I could use help repairing some fence along the western property line if you have time.”

  “I do.”

  We took a four-wheeler and drove in silence, me dying to know what had been discussed at the meeting but too stubborn to ask, Pete probably trying to figure out how to broach the subject without my taking his head off. I caved first.

  “How’d it go with Marketing Barbie?”

  Pete sighed. “She’s very nice, Jack. And she’s smart too. I think she’s going to help us a lot.”

  “For how much? Did you see what she drives? A classic Mercedes in mint condition. Do you have any idea what those cost?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. But I bet it’s a fuck ton of money.”

  “You know, you don’t have to be such an asshole about this. No one is conspiring against you or wants to take anything away from you.”

  “What the fuck would they take, anyway? Like you said, I don’t own this farm, I don’t own my house, I don’t even have a family.” I threw his words back at him as I pulled up at the fence that needed work and parked.

  Pete stared at me for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I refuse to argue with you anymore. And I’m done trying to bring you in on this. You want to know what her ideas are, you can ask her.”

  “I don’t,” I lied.

  “Fine.” He jumped to the ground. “Let’s just get this done.”

  I finished working for the day, cleaned up, and made myself some dinner. But I felt so tense sitting around the cabin by myself that I decided to go into town and grab a beer. I chose a little pub called The Anchor, sat at the end of the bar, and hoped I wouldn’t see anybody I knew. Nothing worse than wanting to nurse a beer and some self-loathing and being constantly interrupted by people who wanted to chat. They’d ask how I was doing with that sympathetic look in their eye, but they didn’t want the truth. They wanted to hear I was doing fine and then move on to small-town gossip, or better yet, get some to spread.

  It was Friday night and the place was busy, but thankfully the last couple seats at the end of the bar were free, and the baseball game was on the TV right above them. I sipped my beer and tried to appear like I was really into the Tigers so no one would take the stool next to me and try to talk. My plan worked for about ten minutes.

  “Excuse me. Jack Valentini, right?”

  I looked over my shoulder, and there she was. Up close, she was even prettier than she’d looked across the kitchen, which did nothing to help my mood. “Yeah?”

  She smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth between those painted lips. “I thought that was you.” She held out a hand. “I’m Margot Lewiston. From Shine PR? We met today at Pete and Georgia’s?”

  I didn’t want to touch her, but I saw no way to get out of it. I slipped my hand into hers. Her fingers were pale and slender, and mine wrapped around them easily. Our eyes met,
and something strange happened in my chest—a hitch. I pulled my hand away. What the hell? Directing my attention back to the screen, I hoped she’d take the hint and leave me alone.

  Nope.

  “Is this seat taken? I’m dying for a cold drink.” Without waiting for me to answer, she slid onto it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw those legs extending from short shorts and ending at sandals with straps that twined up her legs like vines. I shifted nervously in my seat as the bartender approached her with a smile.

  “Hi, what kind of gin do you have?” she asked. He rattled off some names, which she apparently did not find up to her standards. “Hm. How about a wine list?” He handed her one, and she looked it over briefly before sliding it toward me. “Any recommendations? I see they have some local wine. Should I try one?”

  “Get whatever you want.” I tried not to look at her as she leaned toward me. Jesus, I could smell her perfume—something floral and summery and sexy and probably hundreds of dollars a fucking ounce. I held my breath.

  She looked up at me a moment and then settled back on her stool. I exhaled.

  “I can make a recommendation if you like,” offered the bartender, fucking college-age sap who probably thought he could get in her pants tonight if he poured her the right Riesling.

  “That would be lovely,” she said, handing the menu back to him.

  A few minutes later, she was sipping on a glass of local Pinot Noir, and I quickly finished my beer, feeling like I should get out of her presence sooner rather than later. Something about her made me uncomfortable. Well, not her exactly, but my body’s reaction to her.

  “You don’t want me here, do you, Jack?” she said after I’d put a twenty on the bar.

  “It’s not that. I’m just done with my beer. I’m ready to go.” I braved a glance at her.

  “I don’t mean here in this bar, I mean here in this town. At the farm. Working for your family.” She smiled tightly. “It’s pretty obvious. No use denying it.”

  I frowned as I pocketed the change and left a tip. “Look, it’s not personal. I just don’t think we need to spend money on publicity. There’s plenty of real things we need.”

  “But publicity is a real need.” She shook her head. “What good will all your investment do if you don’t get the word out about your farm? The food you grow? The animals you raise? The benefits of eating and buying local from small, sustainable farms like yours? I spent the entire afternoon researching your practices, the costs and the benefits, the hazards of industrial farming. People don’t know about this stuff, Jack. You can help teach them.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off, a hand in the air.

  “Don’t tell me. You don’t want to be a teacher. OK, fine. So you let me do it.” She touched her chest right below the pearl necklace she wore. (My mind immediately took an unauthorized detour.) “Or you let me map out the strategies for you, and family members can do it. Bottom line is, your brothers are right. Just from the initial research I’ve done so far, competition is only getting tougher and you need to set yourself apart.”

  “And do what?” I crossed my arms over my chest, which seemed to distract her for a moment. She stared at it for a solid five seconds, her cheeks coloring slightly, before she answered, looking me in the eye again.

  “What about agritourism? Have you ever considered that?”

  “You mean whoring out my farm so people can traipse all over it and complain about the high price of my funny-looking tomatoes when the ones at Meijer are a lot cheaper and prettier? No.”

  “It’s one of the fastest-growing segments of the travel industry!” she went on, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. She was tenacious, I’d give her that. “An opportunity not only to educate and increase profits but also to offer an experience. There’s an entire generation of young people—which, by the way, is the most likely to be concerned about their food and more willing to pay more to get healthier options—who value experiences over things.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  “I mean they prize doing things—and showing off pictures of themselves doing things—more than cars or jewelry or electronics. And they’re willing to pay to do them. So they come to the farm, have whatever amazing and authentic and delicious experiences we come up with, and then they post pictures of themselves on social media with a bunch of fun hashtags that make all their friends and followers go, ‘Hey! I want to do that or make that or eat that or buy that’ or whatever. Then they’re doing the PR work for you. For free!” Her smile lit up her face. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

  Good? The last thing on earth I wanted was a bunch of people at my farm looking for me to provide them with entertainment. Fuck that. Not that I’d have a choice—I could just see Brad and Pete and Georgia getting all turned on by this idea. It was enough to make me pissed and resentful again, plus I could still smell her, I couldn’t stop looking at that pearl necklace at her throat, and every time our eyes met, my stomach tightened. I needed to leave.

  “No. It sounds like a fucking nightmare. I gotta go.” Ignoring the twinge in my gut when I saw the way her face fell, I strode down the bar and out the door.

  I wanted her out of my sight.

  Eight

  Margot

  “So how’s it going?” Jaime asked. I’d called her on the walk home.

  “It’s going well, I think. I met the clients today and they were very nice—well, most of them were.”

  “Uh oh. Someone’s not nice?”

  “Not to me, anyway. It’s the middle brother, Jack.” I pictured him sitting next to me at the bar and my heart pumped a little faster. He filled out a t-shirt like nobody’s business. Had he noticed the way I’d stared at his chest? I liked his eyes, too. They were dark but had flecks of gold in them. And I hadn’t missed the way he’d looked at my legs, the care he took not to get too close, the spark when he took my hand. Something was there. Why’d he have to be such a jerk?

  “Is that the hot one? I saw the family picture.”

  I bit my lip. “You think he’s hot?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you?”

  “I guess so,” I said cautiously, then quickly followed it up with, “but he’s not my type at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, besides the fact that he’s a scruffy, sweaty farmer who needs a haircut, he’s stubborn, grouchy, and ill-mannered.” Truthfully, I hadn’t minded his hair, his scruff, or his sweat earlier in the day. And tonight, he’d been cleaned up, combed and trimmed and smelling faintly like a beach bonfire. I kept wanting to lean over and sniff him.

  Jaime laughed. “What’s he grouchy about?”

  As I walked, I described my meeting with the family and what they’d told me about Jack. When I got to the part about his wife, she gasped.

  “Oh my God, how?”

  “Drunk driving accident.”

  “That’s so sad!”

  “Isn’t it? He still wears his wedding ring.” I’d noticed it right away tonight. “Georgia said they were so in love.”

  “God, that sucks. Poor guy. This is why people shouldn’t get married. Bad things happen.”

  I had to smile. “Is Quinn hinting around about proposing again?”

  “Yes. God, if he really does it, I’ll fucking kill him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You guys are madly in love, you’ve been together for a year and a half, and you’ve lived together for months. Why not get married?”

  “Because we’re happy!” she exploded, as if that explained it all. “Why fuck with that?”

  Sighing, I glanced around. Had the walk to the bar taken me this long? “OK, whatever. Don’t get married. I think I’m lost.”

  “Lost where?”

  I stopped walking and turned a full circle, positive I hadn’t seen that park on the corner before. Nothing creepier than a playground in the dark. “Lost walking from town back to my cottage. What the heck, there weren’t even that many turns.�
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  Jaime laughed. “Hang up with me and use Google Maps or something. Then text me when you get there so I don’t worry about you wandering alone in the dark somewhere.”

  “OK.”

  “And then call me tomorrow so we can talk more about what you’re thinking for strategy.”

  “I will. I want to do some more research and brainstorming, but I have a few thoughts. Their budget isn’t much.”

  She sighed. “I figured.”

  “But that’s OK. You know what? I really want to help them. I’d do it for free.”

  “You need to stop doing things for free,” Jaime scolded. “You’re not working for Daddy anymore. You’re a grown woman with her own company.”

  “And her own trust fund.” I laughed a little. “I don’t mind doing things for a good cause, and I like their cause. Plus it’s not only for them, it’s for the community and the economy and the common good! Did you know there’s such a thing as food insecurity?”

  “What the hell is that? Tomatoes with trust issues?”

  “Lack of access to adequate, nutritious, affordable food. And it’s not only in urban areas, it’s in rural areas too. People who live surrounded by farms might never eat what’s grown and harvested right in their backyard! We export what we grow and import what we eat. It’s crazy!”

  She laughed. “You’re starting to sound a little crazy.”

  “Sorry. I got sidetracked today by poverty statistics when I was researching sustainable agriculture and food justice.”

  “Food justice?”

  “The right of communities to grow, sell, and eat healthy food. It’s a huge movement I had no idea existed, but now I’m really inspired. I want to get involved.”

  “Gah. You’re such a softie. Let me know when you’re home.”

  “I will. Night.” I ended the call, and punched the address of the cottage into Google Maps. While jabbering away to Jaime, I’d kept walking when I should have turned, and missed my street by about three blocks. I backtracked, found my way home, and texted her that I made it.