This Time Around

by Denise Hunter

A minute later Skye was standing on the spot.

  “Okay, Romeo, where is it?”

  Theo, looking both incredibly uncomfortable and committed, stood in the barest patch of dirt cleared by the tractor and scanned the area. Skye, meanwhile, began stalking through the thick underbrush beneath the canopy of woods.

  “There.” Theo pointed, looking ready to jump on the tractor itself.

  “Theo, it’s a yard snake, not an anaconda. It’s not going to get you twenty feet away.”

  Skye moved toward the base of a lightning-cracked tree.

  “Stop. Not that close.” Protesting spasms came out of Theo’s throat with every step.

  Finally, she stepped directly on the spot he was pointing at and looked up. “There’s nothing here.”

  “Skye Renee,” Theo hissed, pointing at the ground beside her, “do not make me pick you up again.”

  Skye stiffened, her neck tingling at the sound of her name. Theo was so focused on the ground at her feet he didn’t even seem aware of what he’d said.

  “Are you sure it’s even here?” Skye said, returning her gaze to the ground. “I don’t see—”

  A patch of grass rippled but two feet away, and she took a guarded step backward. She squatted, squinting to see through the blades. “C’mooon, black snake . . . ,” she murmured. “Theo wants to hold you.”

  She reached forward, started to sweep aside some blades, and then—

  The beady eyes of a beige snake stared at her, its body already twisted into striking position.

  Skye snapped her hand away, rose, and took three measured steps backward just as Theo started to move toward her.

  “Well, I’ll be darned,” Skye said, pushing both hands in her back pockets. “You called it.”

  Theo took Skye by both shoulders and moved them back five more feet. When he let go, he put his hands on his hips, looking as though he was trying to be both relaxed and smug, but preoccupied by the fact they were still in the woods. “Well, I have done quite a bit of research on snakes. Phobias tend to lend a hand in that—”

  “So you win. And”—she tilted her head back at the snake—“while I doubt it would’ve done anything, it could’ve bitten me if I got too close, so . . . thanks, Romeo. I guess I owe you dinner.”

  Chapter 11

  Theo

  It took another hour to flip the tractor, and another two to return Luke’s, but by lunchtime, with Skye’s persistence, he had mastered the act of driving a tractor five miles an hour on flat land. It was quite the accomplishment.

  They spent the afternoon on their knees planting seedlings, and when the sun started to creep toward the horizon, with sodden pants and dirt crusted beneath every nail bed, Skye set the last seedling from the box into the hole Theo had dug and gave the small, fragile treetop an admiring pat. She stood, flyaways escaping from her ponytail, powdered by the rust-colored dirt. Looked up at him after a long day’s work. Smiled.

  She was breathtaking.

  “You’re up,” she said, and Theo blinked, remembering he was still holding the shovel.

  “Your father is an impressive man,” Theo said, pushing the dirt back into its hole.

  Skye, hands on both hips, tilted her head in his direction. “Yeah? How so?”

  Theo shoveled another clod of dirt into the hole, his hands aching. “How not so? Apart from Christmas season, he’s single-handedly managed this farm the whole of his adult life. I bet the work we did together today he could’ve done alone in the same span of time.”

  Skye laughed. “Theo. The work we did today I could’ve done in the same span of time.” She waited a beat, pushed some flyaways from her eyes. “Anyway, yes, Dad keeps this place alive.”

  There was an undercurrent in her tone as she said it, something uneasy.

  She kicked the dirt and looked up at him. “I don’t think I realized how much he truly deserves for all his hard work until I moved back here. Back in Seattle, I went to a bakery beneath my studio every morning on my way to work. Spent ten dollars sliding my card through for a muffin and honey latte and didn’t think twice. Why? Because I made three hundred times that on every piece and every commission and business was steady. But here it’s different. Dad’s hands crack and bleed for his living. I’d forgotten what that felt like until I came back.”

  She squinted as she looked at him, her brown eyes looking deep into his. “Isn’t he admirable?”

  Theo inhaled as he set the shovel on the ground. Exhaled as he heard the subtle accusation in her question.

  There was so much she didn’t know about her father.

  He worked out the words before he spoke, careful to dodge the minefield. “I can honestly say I’ve never met a more loyal man—to the farm and to his family. And that, most certainly, is admirable.”

  Skye held his gaze, blinked.

  Unspoken words danced in their eyes.

  He kept the secret he’d promised not to reveal. But was he bound from sharing it even with her? He’d have to ask. Get clarification. Or not. After all, the news shouldn’t come from him.

  But what was she not saying?

  As he opened his mouth, he thought he heard her almost imperceptible sigh. She returned her gaze to the receding sun. “Well, let’s get to that dinner, shall we? I’m starving.”

  Theo’s jaw tightened and he hesitated, trying to decide whether to let that shadowy topic slink away. But she clapped her hands and a cloud of dirt drifted into the air. She slapped a determined smile on her face. “And I’m sure you’ll want a shower.”

  Another time then.

  “I wouldn’t complain,” he said, well aware of the dirt covering every crevice of his body. At this point, he’d had the urge to itch something for a solid twelve hours.

  “Fine. Pick me up when you’re done?” Skye said. She seemed to realize how forward she sounded and shrugged. “It’d be silly to drive two cars into town.”

  “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll cook. I have a meal in mind.” He smiled, catching sight of the mammoth tree in the center of the farm. “And a place. If . . . if it’s okay with you. I figure, why not toast to good memories? Because . . . we did have them, don’t you think?”

  A questioning microexpression formed as her lips tilted, and she slowly followed his gaze over her shoulder.

  He saw the merest twinkle come to her eyes.

  He exhaled, truly exhaled, for the first time in years.

  “Time?” Skye inquired.

  He glanced to the sun melting into the trees, ran through the movements and motions that would need to take place in the next few hours. “Seven thirty.”

  “Dress?” she said, her brow raised.

  He chuckled good-naturedly. “What else for a fine meal by a fine chef under the stars? Semiformal.”

  Skye looked into his eyes for one long moment before taking his shovel. “How could I have doubted you’d have it any other way?”

  Chapter 12

  Skye

  Of course the man wanted semiformal.

  Skye rummaged through her closet, each hanger scraping across the metal bar as she swiftly rejected every item. A white blouse she donned back in Seattle for gallery events. A sunflower dress at least a decade old. A pink number she bought half a dozen years ago and never wore.

  The dress options were crammed between baggy sweaters and tank tops in the small closet barely larger than a coffin. Nothing fit for anything resembling the word semiformal.

  Because she didn’t do semiformal.

  Back in Seattle, her favorite places to eat were local, hipster. Her favorite meal consisted of a vegan macro bowl coupled with a light brew. She could get away with wearing anything at those restaurants—anything except semiformal.

  Skye pushed another hanger across the rack and stopped.

  Touched the forest-green silk, trouser-leg jumpsuit.

  Perfect.

  She grabbed the hanger off the rack and threw the outfit on her bed before moving to the bathroom. She
walked past the mirror and pushed open the curtain. Her face was worse than she’d imagined. The mascara she’d applied that morning had run far, far away from her eyelashes. And her hair . . . Skye frowned as she reached for a dirt clod clinging to the elastic band of her off-kilter ponytail. She looked like a wild, mud-covered minion.

  Terrrrrific.

  Theo had worn an orange flannel as conspicuous as an orange cone and managed to out-style her. He sported his share of dirt and sweat, but the effect was the opposite. While she went downhill by the hour, he became more masculine. Wiping the sweat off his forehead. Smiling with those ultrawhite teeth as they caught up on the past fourteen years. And that moment when he picked her up and ran like a wild man away from that snake . . .

  A wild, ridiculous, very debonair man indeed.

  Skye yanked the ponytail holder out of her hair. She gave herself a long look. Watched as her mud-crusty hair fell to her shoulders. Glanced down at her pathetic array of makeup options and irons, at the dried-up hairspray can in the bottom of the drawer.

  She pressed her lips together.

  Felt the childish impulse well within her.

  Fifteen minutes later, her freshly showered hair dripped onto her robe as she shut the door of her house and crossed the road to her parents’, the green silk jumpsuit draped over one arm.

  * * *

  An hour later, Skye glanced at the window as her eyes caught the headlights of Theo’s Tesla passing on the road. She pulled the barrel out of her hair and let the last curl drift off the roll. Her mother stood in the doorway of the small bathroom, watching Skye with eyes bright as a baby doe’s.

  “I’m about to have to go, Mom. Thanks for this.”

  “Oh, honey, anytime. An-y-time.”

  Skye felt like she was getting ready for prom.

  Her mother didn’t have to say it. It was as clear as the spotless glass on the bathroom window that she was pleased as punch about exactly everything that was happening in that moment. Her daughter going on a date with Theo. Her daughter walking across the road to ask to borrow her irons and makeup. Her daughter even living across the road so she could walk across it and ask for irons and makeup.

  The smile on her mother’s face was one of pure happiness. As it had been every day since her daughter had stepped off that plane three months ago.

  It was moments like this that reminded Skye she’d made the right decision to move back. Not just to ensure her family was going to be okay financially, but to see her mother so happy.

  Skye put the cap on her mother’s lipstick tube and set it back in the neat row within the medicine cabinet.

  “I think I know what I’ll be getting you for Christmas,” her mother said, nodding at the curling iron cooling off on the vanity. “And look at you. You look just radiant.”

  “You should’ve seen me an hour ago,” Skye said, deflecting the compliment but still smiling. “Where’s Dad? You guys have anything going on tonight?”

  Her mother shifted in the doorway. “Oh. He went out an hour or so ago to run some errands. He said he’d be back soon.”

  “I thought he wasn’t supposed to be driving with his shoulder.”

  “Yes, well,” her mother said, her smile tightening as she smoothed down her robe, “you know your father. He’s as stubborn as an ox.”

  “But you’re more,” Skye said, shutting the medicine cabinet and turning to her. “I have no doubt you could take the keys from him. You always win.”

  “But first one must know which battles to fight.”

  Skye saw the fiery twinkle in her mother’s eyes. A moment later she patted her daughter’s hand. “Now, you go off and enjoy your evening. I look forward to hearing all about it when you can.”

  “Right.” Skye took a breath. Moved a curly lock out of her eyes. Glanced back to her mother. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t ask the question about her father and Theo she’d been dying to ask since that day. So she said, “You really think this is a good idea?”

  Her mother took Skye’s hand. Squeezed it. “Honey, I’ve been waiting since the two of you toddled down the gravel road together at four years old, you holding his hand and tugging him through the fields to pick out your favorite Christmas tree, for precisely this moment.”

  Chapter 13

  Theo

  A frothy seascape in the paintings across the room watched over him as he cooked. Tie flipped over one shoulder, Theo stirred the pot and lifted a spoonful of the concoction to his nose. The savory scent filled his senses. He dipped a silver spoon in the pot and tasted. Sublime.

  He turned to the kitchen sink, his back to the row of Seattle-coastline paintings.

  It was remarkable how the day had transformed his emotions.

  What had started that morning as a coffee mug full of nervous anticipation had become an uncontainable energy. It leaked out in the lightness of his step as he moved from stainless steel refrigerator to oven range. In the swiftness of his hands as he bounced from replying to a client’s email to ripping open a bag. He was almost sure what he needed to do.

  Almost.

  Theo snapped the last container shut and placed it in the bulging cooler. He withdrew the chilled glasses from the freezer and set them carefully inside.

  With one last glance at the centermost painting, a rocky boulder shrouded by mist and pines in the middle of the ocean, he picked up the cooler.

  It was now or nothing.

  Twenty minutes later, as he sat on a picnic blanket laden with plates and bowls beside the thirty-foot fir, he saw her emerge from the woods.

  Green silk flowed gently from her capped sleeves to the cream high heels at her feet. A belt of the same fabric was knotted at her waist. Her dark locks, twisted in dramatic curls, matched her smoky eyes, and as she stepped silently along the path between ferns and mossy undergrowth, she resembled a fairy.

  A vision.

  He felt his breath stop. He stood there in his suit, gazing and waiting, beneath the giant fir.

  When she stopped at the blanket, she moved a twisting lock out of one eye and behind her ear and gazed down.

  “You are—you look . . .” He paused, unable to select a fitting word from all the synonyms running through his head. So he said simply, “Beautiful.”

  A rare shy smile crossed her lips, and when he saw the heat creeping up her neck, he waved at the spread. “Dinner is served.”

  The rosy blush around her ears faded as she peered down. When she saw what the blanket contained, she threw her head back and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He smiled. “And by that you mean nothing but highest compliments for the chef?”

  “Where’s my caviar?” she said, slowly settling on the cream-colored pillow on the checkered blanket and adopting a cross-legged position. “I was expecting caviar.”

  He raised a brow as he opened the cooler and pulled out the chilled mugs. As he spoke, he filled her glass with authentic root beer. “Do you like caviar?”

  “I’d rather eat crawdads.” She raised a brow. “And in case you’re momentarily confused and assume all hillbillies in these hills eat crawdads, the answer is no. Still, when you said semiformal . . .”

  “You didn’t expect ramen?” He handed her the chilled mug. “Skye, if we were going to eat out here, how could you possibly have expected anything different?”

  She took a sip of the root beer, her cheeks glowing as the last rays swept across the horizon, then raised her glass. “I’ll give you that.”

  He watched as she slowly took in the spread. Paper plates everywhere, featuring these items: Little Debbie cakes arranged like the Eiffel Tower, Swedish Fish candy arranged like one large piece of salmon. A New York–style cheesecake—the one thing he had made from scratch—with raspberry sauce dripping off its sides. Doritos piled on another plate. A pot of ramen noodles sat in the center of their blanket, two bowls empty and waiting in front of each pillow.

  Snacks they’d hoarded throughout their childhood.
>
  “You remembered it all,” she mused. “Down to the last Swedish Fish.”

  “Sounds like you did too,” Theo said, then raised his own chilled mug. “To memories. I hope—” He paused. He felt words building up in him like water pressing against a dam. “I know what I did those years ago was unthinkable, but I hope in time you were able to forgive an old friend for his errors and remember fondly the good moments in its stead.”

  Skye hesitated. Nodded. Raised her mug. “I forgave you for that a long time ago, Theo. But even so, to memories. The good ones.”

  She clinked her glass to his, then raised it to her lips.

  Theo followed suit but frowned slightly as sassafras root and vanilla bean washed down his throat. It tingled. He had what he wanted: her forgiveness. She was here, sitting beside him, willing to eat this meal again. But if his error fourteen years ago wasn’t the silent wedge still between them, what was it?

  Even now, he could feel the tension.

  But why?

  Skye set the mug down and leaned back on both elbows. She looked up at the darkening sky. “Of all the pieces I’ve painted in my life, I’ve never been able to capture this view.”

  A warm breeze swept over the field, and Theo looked up to the sparkling gems above them.

  “It taunts me,” Skye continued, kicking her feet out so they rested one ankle over the other. “This view taunts me every night. In Seattle it wasn’t so bad. I had light pollution to thank for that.”

  “Well,” Theo said, rolling up both sleeves to the elbows, “on the bright side, you now reside in the best place to try again to capture it.”

  Skye let out a low chuckle. “Oh. I’ve tried. I’ve got a greenhouse studio full of trying. It’ll be the death of me.”

  “I’d be . . . incredibly honored to see it.”

  For a long moment Skye didn’t reply. Her clear eyes stayed focused on the stars, so long he began to doubt she’d heard him. But then she blinked. And before he knew it she was standing over him, reaching down to pull him up. “C’mon.”

  Minutes later, they were at the greenhouse, Skye reaching into her silk pocket for a small, single key.