Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  “Jim!” she yelled.

  Veronica hopped off the platform and threw her arms around her boyfriend. Jim looked shocked, unsure where to place his hands as Veronica planted a kiss on his lips. “You made it.”

  Jim removed her arms from around his waist, took her by the hand, and then led her away from the stage, tossing a single glance back in Trent’s direction.

  The way she’d stared into Trent’s eyes at the song’s end sank deep into his soul. Fate. Perhaps it had brought them together for this one song.

  Chapter 14

  The sun warmed Veronica’s shoulders, fully exposed in a halter top she’d thrown on to stay cool while gardening. She tugged another of the pesky weeds infiltrating her butterfly garden.

  After last night’s performance with Trent, she’d sensed a wedge between her and Jim. His uncomfortable and hurt expression at the end of her song had said it all. Flying into his arms—at the time—seemed like the right response. She’d never, ever hurt Jim on purpose. By the time they’d made their way out to Griswold’s parking lot, the earlier discomfort had disappeared, and they were acting normal. She’d invited him to join her at Gail’s party, and he’d said yes. After a gentle kiss good-bye, they’d parted. And yet something was off.

  A faint sound made her glance behind her.

  Jim’s Prius pulled into her driveway, the engine noise a whisper compared to most vehicles. Boomer lifted his head off the ground, leaped into the air, and bolted for the car.

  She stood and removed her garden gloves, walking over as Jim stepped out and body-blocked Boomer from climbing inside the open door.

  “Boomer. Here!”

  The dog ignored her, wedging his body between Jim and the car with the skill of an NFL receiver trying to make a goal.

  She slipped her hand through Boomer’s collar and pulled him back. “Sorry.”

  Jim nodded, barely smiling. He wore his pharmacy smock, opened to a nice dress shirt with a tie.

  “I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Heading to work?”

  “Yes. Stopping by was a last minute decision.”

  “Do you want to come inside? I can make us coffee.”

  He shook his head and pushed his hands into the pockets of his tan khakis. “I don’t have time for coffee.”

  He cleared his throat. “Listen, I could hardly sleep last night.”

  “Oh, I’m sor—”

  He held up a hand for her to stop. “Hear me out. I walked into Griswold’s while you sang with Duncan’s brother. Trent, right?”

  She nodded, but suspected he’d seen all the emotion she’d tried to hide while on stage.

  “I caught your whole act. Watching the two of you was…well, in a word, troubling.”

  “Singing was his idea.”

  “It was more than that, Veronica. More than the way he looked at you.” A notch quieter, he said, “It was the way you looked at him.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean…we never meant to…” She sighed, but couldn’t deny the way the dark liquid pool of Trent’s gaze had tugged her into its undertow, leaving her breathless.

  “Listen, if this was the first time this happened, I might have overlooked what I saw. Only I remembered watching you two dance at Sophie’s birthday party.” He exhaled so deep his pain radiated to her own chest. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No! God, Jim. You think I’m cheating on you? I’d never do that!”

  “I don’t mean cheating, but is there a problem between us? You’re different these days. Watching you with him has made me think about how our relationship is moving.”

  Or not moving. All of her post-Marc relationships always fizzled without much fanfare. A slow and painless death.

  He frowned and the dimple on his chin creased. “Are you happy with me?”

  She looked past him to her front yard, where Boomer sniffed near the bushes. “I’m not unhappy.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” He stared at her, more serious than she’d ever seen him. “Do you have feelings for Trent?”

  “No,” she said quickly, but something jabbed at her chest. “The truth, though, is I’m not sure. Besides, I’m not really sure where the two of us are headed either.”

  Jim’s lips crumpled. “I enjoy our time together, too, but romantically maybe we’re both looking for something more.”

  “It’s not always easy to find.”

  “True.” He studied her in a way he never had. “Are you sure it’s not staring you in the face?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve never once looked at me the way you watch him.”

  Veronica felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Of course not. I’d know.”

  “Of course.” He removed his hands from his pockets, placed them on her shoulders, and drew her into an awkward hug.

  She whispered, “I’m sorry, Jim. Thank you for your honesty.”

  He released her and waved a dismissive hand. About to get back in the car, he paused. “Oh, I won’t be joining you at your friend’s party.”

  “I understand.” Relief she wouldn’t be alone when facing her attacker died after a short life. So she’d face Gary, alone after all. Maybe it was always meant to be that way.

  She sat on the front steps, waving good-bye as Jim drove off, suddenly swathed in a strange sense of loss. Boomer dropped his orange tennis ball at her feet. She lifted the ball, tossed it as far as she could, and Boomer galloped across the yard in pursuit.

  Last night’s performance replayed in her mind—blurred moments, part theatrics and part real life. At the words about true love vows, a flip had switched inside her body. Tripped on by the deep longing in Trent’s gaze. Longing so profound it had turned her heart inside out, but today it felt exposed and raw.

  Jim wasn’t wrong about what he’d witnessed. Her observation was interrupted when a warm summer breeze made the treetops rustle, unexpected on this calm day. Or maybe this was the winds of change, finally making her face everything she’d surrendered on the night she’d been attacked: her lost courage, the life she’d always wanted, and the faith one puts in true love.

  * * * *

  For nearly three hours Sophie and Veronica had busied themselves in the restaurant tasting room’s large kitchen, preparing scented oils, then blending them with a mixture of lye and frozen goat milk.

  Sophie blew a strand of hair away from her face. “These last few batches should help top off our retail area.” Her attention drifted away from the current batch to Veronica. “Griswold’s was fun last night.”

  Veronica smiled. “It was.”

  “You and Trent were naturals on stage.”

  “He picked a great number for the crowd.”

  “Trent’s really a complicated guy, but I’m learning he’s got a heart of gold. He’s trying so hard to fit in. I’m glad to see you two getting along.”

  Charlene’s police station gossip about Trent, shared on the way home from chorus, had left Veronica curious. About to ask Sophie where such a story might stem from, Veronica stopped. To ask intruded on Trent’s privacy and sounded gossipy.

  “I can see he’s a decent guy.” Veronica veered from Sophie’s attempt to garner some inside scoop on her relationship with Trent. She inhaled the sweet scent of strawberry soap. “This smells great. You should set up a table at the Harvest Festival to sell them.”

  “The vineyard’s going to participate. We’ll have a table to sell wine, Jay’s goat cheese, and these soaps. Did I tell you the Luna Boutique owner in New Scotland said she’d carry them, too?”

  “Great. That’s a cute store.”

  New Scotland held memories of Jim, and her mind drifted off to not only him, but to all the servings of vanilla men she’d allowed herself for two decades. Sophie touched her arm and she almost jumped. “What?”

  “I said, I’m really sorry about you and Jim.”

  Before she could
respond, Sophie’s cell phone rang. She put down a mold and answered. “What’s up, Matt?” She listened to her son for a minute. “Honey, I can’t help you with a car problem. Can you call Duncan?”

  When Veronica had arrived, Sophie mentioned how Duncan and Trent were on the far side of the farm, cutting up a fallen tree. Veronica had found herself surprisingly relieved and disappointed at the same time that Trent wasn’t nearby.

  “Okay. I’ll come get you.” Sophie slipped the phone into the pocket of her jeans.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Matt’s car stalled, and he’s on the other side of town. Duncan’s not answering his phone. Do you mind if I get Matt?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re a doll.” Sophie reached into a drawer. “I have these little mesh bags for the soaps I made the other day. After they’re bagged, just bring them into the shop area and put them with the others. We’ll have a glass of wine when I get back.”

  “Perfect.”

  Sophie headed for the door and glanced over her shoulder. “Want to stay for dinner tonight? We’re grilling.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  Veronica turned up the volume on the stereo in the tasting room and hummed along with the soft acoustic rock music. She bagged the soaps and tied them off with ribbon, then went into the adjoining retail area, arranging them on a display. Once finished, she headed back through the tasting room.

  A vineyard T-shirt like Jay wore to Griswold’s last night sat folded on the bar top, yet it hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. On a nearby chair, a dirt-stained T-shirt was plopped on the seat.

  A door opened and she turned. Trent exited the men’s room, shirtless and rubbing his face with a hand towel. Her gaze followed the dark hairs forming a neat path to the waistline of his jeans, and his muscled core, tanned to a reddish brown hue.

  “Pearls?” Surprise registered on his face and he stopped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Helping Sophie make soaps for the shop. Matt’s car is stuck so she went to help him. He said he couldn’t reach Duncan.”

  “Oh, his phone was in the truck.” Trent rubbed his scalp with the towel, leaving the thick damp mass to fall into place, his usual casually unkempt look. He walked toward the folded vineyard T-shirt and lifted it off the bar top. “We finished up with the tree, and he got Matt’s message, so he dropped me off here and went to help.” He motioned to the vineyard T-shirt by glancing down at it. “I figured I’d wash up here and steal a shirt before I run into town for a quick errand.”

  She nodded and tried with all her might not to stare. He studied her face as he pulled the shirt over his head, his blue eyes vanishing monetarily, but reappearing as he smoothed the shirt over his torso.

  “Still mad at me, Sandy?” He walked closer and stopped two steps away, twisting his lips into a spicy grin.

  “I wasn’t mad.” She spoke softly, in a way that would tell him she really meant the words.

  He arched his brows. “No?”

  His clean soap scent invaded her senses. “Spontaneity isn’t my strong suit.” She shrugged. “By the way, you’ve got some pretty nice pipes. What other hidden talents do you possess?”

  “Musically?” His eyes softened, a flirtatious hint laced his voice.

  Heat burned her cheeks. “Yes. Musically.”

  “I can hold my own with a guitar and piano.” He studied her for several seconds, clutching the towel in both hands. “You know, spontaneity can be a good thing. You were spontaneous last night. Knocking me on my ass in class was a pretty impulsive move, too. By the way, I hope this week in class you’ll give me a chance to redeem myself and try those exercises again.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do in class. Remember, I’m only there for—”

  “For your niece. So you’ve said.” He dropped the towel onto the seat of a chair, on top of the dirty shirt. “I’d hoped singing the duet would make you more comfortable with me.”

  “What makes you think I’m not comfortable?”

  He considered her with a slight tightening of his eyelids, a tilt of his head. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s see how comfortable you really are.”

  “You want to sing again?”

  He shook his head, walked behind the bar, and crouched down, continuing to talk while his disembodied voice was muffled by the wood barrier. “There’s a way we can work together, where you can prove to me your comfort level with us as a team.”

  “Why do I have to prove anything to you?”

  He popped upright from behind the bar, now holding a bottle of wine. “Because the way you’re acting in class isn’t setting a good example for your niece.”

  “Gee, hit me where it hurts.”

  “If I have to.”

  “What’s your idea?”

  He put the bottle down. “This might sound weird—”

  “Then I suggest you stop now.”

  “…but I know a little exercise that could go a long way in showing you I can be trusted.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Right.” He rolled his blue eyes. “Here’s how it works. You’re going to locate this bottle of wine after I move it, remove the cork, and pour a glass.”

  “That’s not weird.” She moved toward him with an arm stretched to take the bottle.

  He pulled it away. “Not so fast.” Trent went behind the bar and leaned over, searched for a few seconds, then held up a long dishtowel. “I’m going to blindfold you, and then give you instructions on how to perform each step. You’ll follow my voice. Trust what I tell you and we’ll be a success.”

  She laughed right out loud. “Go do your kinky wine sex trick with your girlfriend. Or the goat.”

  Veronica headed for the kitchen door.

  He hurried out from behind the bar. “Please don’t go.”

  She twirled around and faced him. “Trent, this is ridiculous.”

  “So? What’s wrong with ridiculous once in a while?” His dark brows lifted, his expression hopeful and eager.

  “And this is going to prove what again?”

  “That you can trust me in class.” Enthusiasm prevailed. He tossed the dishtowel on the counter. “No blindfold then. Instead, how about you keep your eyes closed? This is all about my words to your ear. I swear, you’ll be safe. Untouched. Unharmed.”

  The words dangled before her. If only he knew how much each one of those mattered to her. Yet a desperate part of her wanted to give this a try, to trust him at his word.

  “I’ll do this but only to prove you wrong.” She forced a smile, meant to hide the infestation of nerves crawling inside her gut. “Because I already trust you.”

  His face brightened, and he walked over to a tile-topped table in the seating area and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you sit here and close your eyes.”

  He waited but she didn’t move. What the hell was she doing?

  “Come on. Like Meg said the other night, haste is a waste.” He chuckled. “She’s a riot.”

  Veronica couldn’t stop herself from smiling. How sweet he’d appreciated the endearing quirk of her friend. She moved toward him and lowered herself into the seat. “Better start, before I change my mind.” She closed her eyes and folded her hands on her lap.

  Drawers opened and closed, a glass clinked, and something thudded, all mixed with the sound of his work boots plodding on the hardwood floors. He turned off the music, and then something screeched, possibly a stool being dragged on the floor.

  “Done. I won’t leave my seat.”

  She nodded. Awareness that he watched her, while she’d committed to forfeit her own sense of sight, left her feeling exposed. “Ready when you are.”

  He cleared his throat. “First, I’ll direct you to a corkscrew. If you listen carefully, I promise you won’t walk into anything.”

  Her heartbeat thumped rapidly inside her chest. Self-conscious and a little scared, she wanted to remember how it felt
to trust again. More specifically, she wanted to trust him.

  “Push the chair back—away from the table—and stand.”

  She did as he’d asked. Having her eyes closed made her wobbly, so she pressed her fingertips along the tabletop to steady herself.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice so tender she almost couldn’t hear him. “I won’t let you fall.”

  She nodded, but the phrase looped in her head, as if she’d heard the same sentiment before.

  He raised his voice. “Okay, swing your left leg out, like you’re taking a giant step away from the table to the side. Like the hokey-pokey.” He started to hum the well-known song.

  She smiled. “You’re distracting me.”

  Trent chuckled. “Okay. I’ll stop.”

  The side step sounded easy enough, but the second she moved, the safety of the table and chair disappeared, as if the rug were pulled from beneath her feet. Exposed and alone, Veronica tried to steady her rapidly pulsing nerves. “Now what?”

  “Take three—no four—normal steps forward and stop.”

  In the silent room, every sound magnified. Her sandals scuffing the floor, the goats bleating outside. One. Two. Three. Four.

  “That’s great!”

  His pleasure brought her unexpected relief.

  “Now put your hands in front of you.” His voice came from her right, and she tipped her head toward it, catching his soapy scent from earlier. “On your next step, you’ll find the bar. Move slowly.”

  She stepped forward carefully, until her fingertips brushed the hard wood surface. Relief she hadn’t expected rushed through her veins. She rested her arms on the bar. “Now what?”

  “Flatten your right palm and pat the area until you find the corkscrew. It’s to your right.”

  Her hand landed on the cool stainless steel opener. She clutched it to her chest in both hands.

  “Excellent!” Excitement sounded in his voice.

  She wanted to open her eyes, see the look of approval on his face.

  As if he’d read her mind, he said, “Keep your eyes closed.”

  She squeezed them tighter. “Now what?”

  He said nothing. She waited. Her thoughts wriggled into a euphoric trust, freely given to him, making her pulse race.