by Melissa West
Sophie’s eyebrow knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean she left?”
“I mean just what I said. She left. Carrie-Anne was almost five years old, and Lora, her mom, woke me up, her bag all packed, and said she couldn’t do it anymore—couldn’t be a wife, a mom.”
Pain crossed his face, and before Sophie thought better of it, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. His eyes dropped to the hand and then returned to Sophie. But she didn’t say she was sorry or ask him to go into more details. Sophie knew firsthand that sometimes the simple explanation was all a person could handle. And besides, did it really matter why his wife left? Or what happened that led to her leaving? There was no world, no problem great enough for Sophie to leave her daughter. Her heart broke for Carrie-Anne, a girl so full of smiles you’d never know that she’d suffered such pain at such a young age. Sophie wondered how much of it she remembered, but knew she likely remembered it all.
Silence fell over them as they screwed another wheel into place, and then Zac asked, “What about you? Ever married?”
Instantly, the image of herself at the courthouse flashed through Sophie’s mind, him beside her, an uneasiness to the moment that shouldn’t have been there. It should have been one of the happiest days of her life.
She drew a breath and washed her face of any emotion, then told the same lie she’d told every day since she left Merryville. “No. Never married.” She waited to see if he asked more, if he picked up on the lie, but he simply nodded. They continued around the table, fixing wheels into place until all four were secured to the base.
Zac picked up the table and set it down right side up. He spun it around once to make sure the wheels worked and then grinned at Sophie. “One down.”
Sophie squealed and clapped her hands. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.” She took a step and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close, the moment so full of happiness that she didn’t realize what she was doing until she pulled back, her eyes on his, a new intensity in them.
“You’re welcome.” His head edged toward hers, his gaze flicking to her mouth, then back to her eyes. An inch closer, and then his warm breath hit her face. She swallowed, her nerves twisting, every bone and muscle and fiber in her body screaming that she wanted this, so desperately she wanted this.
But instead of Zac closing the distance, he squeezed her once more, sending a zing of heat from his touch through her core, and then took a step back, diverting his eyes.
He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, before glancing back at her. “It’s late. I should probably . . .” He motioned to the door, and she nodded, though inside she felt more than a little disappointment. What had just happened?
“Of course.”
“Will you be all right?”
Sophie wasn’t sure if he meant about the almost kiss or the phone calls earlier, but suddenly she could only think about one thing and it wasn’t the random caller who refused to speak. “I’m fine.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay. Thank you again,” she said. “It’s perfect.”
“Yeah, perfect,” he said, his eyes on her. “See you Saturday.”
“Saturday?”
Zac opened the door and smirked at her. “Our hot date, remember?”
A laugh broke free, but Sophie’s mind had stopped working at “hot” and how perfectly it summed up how she felt inside and out. Hot. Like a fire had invaded her insides hot.
She swallowed hard. “Right. Hot date. See you tomorrow Zac.”
Sophie closed the door behind him and then leaned against it, her thoughts racing to keep time with her heart. She wasn’t sure what had happened between them tonight, but one thing was clear—there was nothing fake about her feelings for Zac Littleton. Nothing fake at all.
Chapter Eleven
Zac sat in his truck for nearly an hour, a part of him eager to cancel the date with Sophie, another part desperate to get to her, and the rest too confused to have an opinion. He’d never considered himself a fearful man; he was always willing to step up to the plate. To go the extra mile. To do whatever was needed of him. But something had happened last night when Sophie hugged him, and he couldn’t right his reaction in his mind.
It was all so simple. They finished a project, she was thankful, and then she hugged him. And it should have ended there—a hug, a handshake, and a laugh, maybe another drink to celebrate. Whatever. But instead, her body pressed against his and his eyes closed for a moment and all he could think was finally.
In that moment, he would have given anything to pause time, to hold her there without the rest of the world ticking and moving around them. He could draw a long breath, take in her ocean scent, a scent that always brought him back to center. The likelihood of a woman possessing that specific scent as her natural smell seemed about as likely as winning the lottery. But there she was, in his arms, and then she pulled back and stared up at him, and every part of her—from the intensity in her eyes to the relaxed set of her mouth to the way her arms flexed around his neck—begged him to close the distance between them, to press his mouth to hers and find out what happened in the next chapter of their little story.
And he wanted to give in to her badly.
He let his guard down enough to ease into her and draw another breath, releasing it against her perfectly full lips, and then he remembered it all—Lora driving away, Carrie screaming after her—and he thought no. Whatever he was doing, he couldn’t do that again. Couldn’t invite someone into their world, only to throw everything on its head again.
He could date casually, and he could flirt with Sophie. They could smile and laugh and do whatever the hell she needed to convince the town she wasn’t the hateful person they’d conjured up in their heads. But he couldn’t kiss her. That much he knew now. Because the moment he did, the moment he let himself taste her lips and feel her warmth, he knew with absolute certainty that he’d be all in. One hundred percent of his body and mind thrown at this person who had no idea what she’d opened up and very likely wouldn’t be ready for it or want it. And then what?
Shit.
What the hell was he even doing here?
Zac started his truck for the second time, prepared to send a text and cancel the whole thing—give them both a little well-needed space to realign what they were doing—when he caught sight of her Mini Cooper coming down her dirt driveway.
Well, hell. No going back now.
Stepping out of his truck as she parked, Zac closed his door and pivoted slowly, a wall already forming around his heart. But then Sophie stepped out from her car with the most triumphant smile he’d ever seen on her face.
“Hey, you’re early.”
He shrugged. “Yet another one of those flaws I was telling you about.”
Her smile spread, and he wondered if that excitement on her face was all for him. Surely not. “You seem happy.”
She nodded slowly, like she was allowing the idea to settle over her. “Yeah . . . I guess I am. Seems to happen around you a lot lately.” Her eyes met his, pure innocence within them, and just like that, his wall crumbled.
“I know the feeling.”
They stared at one another, and Zac felt like a love-sick boy again, his heartbeat noticeable, his hands twitching slightly at his sides from the effort to keep from going to her, sweeping her into his arms, and claiming her mouth.
“You mind if I change real quick? I’m a mess,” Sophie said, gesturing to her worn jeans and Fresh Foods tank top.
“I think you look great.”
“You’re just being nice.”
“Unlikely.”
She grinned in response.
The truth was he needed a minute to think so he could be around her without acting like an idiot. “But go change. I’ll be out here.”
“You can come in if you’d like.”
“Nah, I’ll just wait. But take your time.”
She threw up an index finger and said, “I’ll be on
e minute.” Then she disappeared inside her house.
Zac released a long, long breath.
“She’s just a girl,” he said to himself. “No big deal.” But as she returned wearing a simple pale yellow cotton dress and white sandals with her endless hair over her shoulders, he thought this woman wasn’t just a big deal. She was a game changer.
“I like it,” he said as he opened the passenger side door of his truck. “Though I’ll warn you, I’m going to have a hard time concentrating now. I hope there’s not a quiz after this date.”
“No quiz, but you might be bored to death. We’re going to Polly Farms outside of Gaffney.”
“I’ve heard of it. What do you want to do there?”
“Research.”
“On how to put them out of business? God, woman, are you trying to make enemies throughout all of America, or are you keeping it to the South?”
“I’m not trying to put them out of business. They’re using some new technology that I’m considering for Fresh Foods. I just want to see it in action before I fork out the money.”
Zac glanced over at her, impressed. “So legit research.”
“That’s what I said.”
“So it is. And I’m your date for this because . . .”
“You look like you, and I hear Polly’s weakness is younger men.”
He choked on a laugh. “So you’re whoring me out for profit. Gotcha. First lying, now this. You know Southern belles are supposed to be proper, right?”
Sophie winked at him. “Now, now, we both know true Southern women have no interest in being proper. They will flash you a smile while they plot your demise.”
“So you are plotting to put them out of business.”
“No! Aren’t you listening? I’m researching how to better incorporate technology they are using.”
“So you can outsell them.”
“Well, yeah.”
Zac chuckled. “How do I keep getting myself into these messes with you?”
“Because you can’t resist my charm.”
He pulled his eyes from the road to look at her. “Isn’t that the damn truth.”
* * *
Two hours later, Sophie had a complete understanding of rewild-ing, a new technique that was said to restore crops back to their wild, original forms prior to selective breeding.
“You realize it’s unlikely you can call yourself organic if you have GMOs, natural or otherwise, right?” Zac asked.
“Well, I have to do something,” Sophie said. “Organic farmers can’t keep up with the productivity of farms like yours. This could change all that.”
Zac wanted to argue against it, but it wasn’t his business and he didn’t want to sound like he knew more about farming than she did, especially about organic farming, which he’d never ventured into. So he continued to listen as they parked outside Polly’s Farm for the U-Pick so they could see the fruit Polly had produced and compare it to what Fresh Foods had for the season.
“All right, so I have a very important question,” Zac asked, stopping Sophie and turning her toward him.
“Which is?”
“Are we . . .” He leaned in closer, and Sophie tensed in anticipation, just as he’d hoped. Yeah, there was definitely chemistry between them. “Going to go on the hayride?”
She pushed him back. “Ugh. I thought you were going to . . .”
“Going to what?” His eyebrows went up in mock surprise, and she pushed him again, causing a laugh to break free.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. And yes. We’re doing it all, so prepare to get your fun on. Because we’re doing the petting zoo and the hayride, and if you aren’t careful, I’ll even make you go down that giant slide over there.” She motioned to the kids play area to their right where, sure enough, a tall, inflatable slide led to a bouncy house.
“Yeah, not happening. But I’ll go on the ride with you. Even hold your hand if you get scared in the woods.”
“Funny.”
“Which part?” He took a step toward her and closed his hand around hers, waiting for her reaction. But instead of pulling away, she threaded their fingers together and glanced up at him, curiosity on her face before that hint of fear he’d seen from time to time took shape.
“You know there’s nothing to worry about here, right?”
“Here?”
“With me. I’m not as scary as I look.” He squeezed her hand and held her gaze, asking her to trust him, though he hadn’t figured out if he truly trusted her.
She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. He thought she might laugh it off, but then she said, “To me, you . . . this . . . isn’t scary. It’s terrifying.”
A soft breeze blew past them, ruffling Sophie’s hair and locking Zac to her and this moment. “I know, but it doesn’t have to be.”
“No?”
“No.”
“But, see, I don’t know how . . .”
He lifted a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Me either, but maybe we can figure it out together. Maybe we don’t need to know the how right now, just the why. And for me, I . . .” He shook his head and ran a hand through her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. “I can’t stay away.”
“So the fake stuff?”
“Isn’t so fake for me.”
For a second, Zac thought he’d revealed too much too soon, his mouth speaking faster than his brain could keep up. But just as he opened his mouth to backpedal, she said, “Well, then, let’s get this date started before all the best strawberries are picked.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Lead the way then, madam.”
She tugged his hand, and he went where she led, that inkling of doubt speaking up that he should hold back, keep all his cards a little closer. But he’d been doing that for years now, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing and no one. So it was time to try something else, and if he landed on his face, then so be it.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d crawled out of a grave and found a way to live again.
“Can we pick strawberries first? I’ve never picked them like this.”
“You’ve never been to a U-Pick?”
She shook her head.
“But what about at Fresh Foods?”
“Sure, I’ve checked them and helped the staff before, but a real U-Pick feels like a competition, you know? Who can fill her basket first? Who finds the biggest berry? It’s just fun.”
“I had no idea you were so competitive.”
Sophie beamed. “You’re looking at the national high school chess champion. Three years in a row.”
“Chess, really?”
“Hey, I won the spelling bee, too.”
He broke into laughter, and she play punched him. “What? Is Mr. Athlete making fun of the nerd? Well, I got into every college I applied to. What about you? How far did those muscles take you?”
Zac almost answered with the truth—that he had received four full rides from major colleges, two in football, two in baseball. But as he took in that sassy look on her face, her hands on her hips, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. So instead he said, “Gotta admit, I’m pretty impressed. You still play?”
“Occasionally.”
“Maybe you could teach me sometime. See if I could go up against the champion. But for now, you’ve got your hands full because, see, I run my very own U-Pick. I know how these berries grow and where the best berries are hidden. So I’ll go ahead and apologize now because you’re about to get waxed.”
She took a step closer, her game face firmly in place. “Is that right? Because if farming has taught me anything, it’s that no two seasons are the same and no two farms produce in the same way. So I’m thinking we should put a little money on it. You know, unless you’re afraid to lose.”
“That didn’t exactly go so well for you last time.”
Her eyes narrowed, and Zac tossed up his hands with a laugh. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”
“Yeah, y
ou’ll be sorry when I destroy your ass.”
“We’ll see.” He paid for their two baskets, handed one to her, and then eyed the strawberry patch before glancing her way. “You ready?”
“Born ready.”
He smiled again. “Fair enough. Winner gets to pick the next date.”
“A little overconfident, don’t you think? Who says you’re getting another date?”
His gaze switched to her and stayed there, fixing her to the spot. “Aren’t I?”
The corners of Sophie’s mouth curved up the tiniest bit, and he found himself wishing he could press a soft kiss to that very spot. “Yes, I guess you are.”
“All right. On your mark.” He eyed her again. “Get set.” Sophie took the runner’s pose. “Go!”
They both dashed into the strawberry patch, nearly knocking over innocent children, which sent them both into fits.
“I’m taking this one, Littleton.”
“We’ll see.”
And then it was on. For the next half-hour, Zac alternated between picking berries and watching Sophie, a thousand details popping out now, when just days before they’d been unimportant. The way she giggled when she found her first berry. The way she talked animatedly to herself the entire time. The way her face lit up when she passed an especially large berry to a little boy who looked as though she’d just given him a prize egg on Easter Sunday.
If not for the fact that he knew it would upset her if he let her win, he’d have sat on the grassy bank, ditched the strawberry picking, and watched her work, that glow of hers touching every person she passed, until half the people in the patch were in on her hunt, helping her, finding more and more berries. In minutes she’d created a team of people willing to sacrifice their berries for her, asking for nothing in return but her charm. And, hell, he couldn’t blame them. Her charm had hypnotized him long ago.
Finally, she rushed up to him, her basket overflowing. “I’m full, and I demand a count.”
“You had help.”
“No one said that was against the rules. You could have asked for help.”
“Like any of them were going to help me when a pretty blonde is the opponent.”
