In The Weeds, page 3
“Your face does not say you’re thinking about bell peppers. It says you’re thinking about Evelyn.”
“Stop looking at my face.”
“Stop making the face you’re making and I’ll stop looking at it.”
I sigh.
“I just think it’s a shame, is all,” Layla reaches across me and grabs another handful of popcorn and a kernel lands in my lap. I flick it off and hit Becky Gardener right in the back of the head. Christ. I wince and sink further in my chair. “You two seemed to hit it off.”
What we seemed to do is circle each other like two skittish kittens. After I went to visit her at the bed and breakfast, I promised I’d give her a wide berth to do her job. It had been harder than I expected, keeping that promise. Seeing her standing among the rows and rows of trees on the farm, a smile on her face, her hands passing over the branches—well. It was like taking a baseball bat to the face. Repeatedly. But the contest meant everything to Stella, and I wasn’t about to ruin our chances with a … with a …
A crush? A flirtation?
I don’t even know what.
All I know is that it was a challenge for me to be around her. I couldn’t stop thinking about my body curled around hers. The way the skin just below her ear tasted. How it felt to have all that hair brush against my jaw, my shoulders, the tops of my thighs. I found myself wanting to make her laugh, wanting to talk to her.
I can count on one hand the number of people I want to talk to.
But we figured it out, settled into a routine while she was here. Cordial conversation and polite nods. A single slice of shared zucchini bread on a quiet afternoon—plenty of space between us. That same electric current that tugged us together at a dive bar in Maine knit slowly back together in a thin thread of connection.
And then she left. Again.
And unfortunately for me, I still haven’t figured out how to stop thinking about her.
“What kind of peppers?”
I shake my head once, trying to pry loose an image of Evelyn standing in between two towering oak trees on the edge of the property, her face in profile and tilted towards the sky. The sun had painted her in shimmering golds, leaves fluttering lightly around her. I clear my throat and adjust my position in the folding chair, my knee knocking sideways into Layla’s. I’m way too big for these chairs and there are too many damn people in this room. “What?”
“What type of peppers are you planting? I haven’t seen any markers for peppers out in the field.”
The back of my neck goes hot. “You never go out in the fields.”
“I’m in the fields every day.”
She walks through the fields, sure, on the way to the bakehouse situated smack dab in the middle of them. But she never finds herself in the produce crop. Not unless she needs something. I scratch at my jaw, frustrated. I’d bet my savings she finds something she needs out there tomorrow morning.
“Bell,” I manage between clenched teeth.
Shit, now I need to go out and plant bell peppers.
Layla hums, eyes alight with mischief. “What color?”
“What?”
“What color bell pepper—” she puts an annoying emphasis on the words. “—have you planted?”
“He planted red bell peppers in the southeast fields in two rows next to the zucchini. Which you will get absolutely none of if you do not pay attention,” Stella snaps. Layla and I both glance at her in shock. It’s not like Stella to get aggravated. Not to mention that is … not a true statement. And we both know it.
Some of the steel melts out of her shoulders and she slumps, handing Layla back her popcorn bowl.
“Sorry. I’m stressed.”
“Clearly,” Layla says in a laugh, hand back to rummaging around in her snacks. Her eyes find mine and hold, narrowing until all I can see is a glimpse of hazel. She still has some jelly in her hair from baking earlier today. Strawberry, by the looks of it. She points her finger right between my eyebrows and taps me there once. “Don’t think I’m going to forget about this.”
I swat her hand away. She could persist on this topic for the next six months for all I care. It’ll just sound like background noise.
I turn my attention to Stella and wedge my boot against hers. She stops the nervous tapping of her foot and grimaces. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize over,” I shrug and scan the edges of the room. “Luka not coming?”
If Luka were here, he’d smooth his hand between her shoulder blades and she’d melt like butter. They were like that before they got together, and it took them a stupidly long time to see what was right in front of them. I didn’t win the town-wide betting pool, but it was close. Gus over at the fire station hasn’t shut up about it, going as far as making a plaque to hang above the ambulance bay at the firehouse. It says Inglewild’s Top Matchmaker, like he had anything to do with Luka and Stella orbiting each other for close to a decade. I slip down further in my seat and try to rearrange my legs so I actually fit in this damn chair.
“He’s on his way,” she says, eyes darting to the door and holding like she can make him appear by sheer force of will. A hand pushes tangled black curls off her face. “But he’s running late.”
“He’ll be here,” I assure her. Pretty sure Luka wouldn’t miss this for anything. Even if his tiny Italian mother and all her ferocious sisters were blocking the door. If he said he’d come, he’ll be here.
“Hey,” I lower my voice and lean closer, conscious of Layla still snacking away on my right. She’s started tossing pieces up in the air and catching them in her mouth. Accurate every time. “I didn’t plant any bell peppers.”
That seems to relax Stella a bit, a coy smile turning the corners of her lips. “I know that.”
“Why’d you lie then?”
“Because you looked like you needed an out. And I know a thing or two about having to sort through feelings before you can share them with everyone else.” The door to the rec hall creaks open and Luka steps inside, eyes searching. His hair is sticking in every direction, the edge of his shirt half-tucked into his jeans. He looks like he ran straight here from the Delaware border. Stella breathes out a sigh and a grin pulls her mouth wide. An answering smile blooms on Luka’s face the second he finds her in the crowd. Watching them together is like shoving a cupcake directly into my face.
“Plus,” Stella’s eyes don’t blink away from Luka as he tries to climb his way through rows of people to get to the empty seat next to her. He knocks over a folding chair and almost sends Cindy Croswell to the ground with it. “I’ve been wanting bell peppers on the farm for ages.”
“Ah, okay. There it is.”
“Luka makes really good stuffed peppers,” she chuckles as Luka slips into the space next to her. His hand immediately sneaks under her hair and her shoulders do a little shimmy as she leans further into him. I avert my eyes to the front of the room where Sheriff Jones is getting ready at the wooden podium, but I don’t miss the low murmuring between them, the way Stella folds her body into his. How Luka’s foot hooks in the bottom of her chair to pull her a little bit closer.
Not for the first time, I’m jealous. I’ve never had that with another person. Never been able to slide into someone’s space and press my fingertips to their skin, watch them lean further into me.
I think of my thumb against a full bottom lip, red as a cherry, and shift in my seat. The metal squeaks ominously beneath me.
I’d really love to stop thinking about Evelyn.
Layla leans around me, her bowl digging into my ribcage. “The maintenance closet is available if you two want to get a room.”
I snort a laugh. Stella groans. Luka bends forward and scoops his hand in the popcorn bowl.
“Does it have a lock?”
Layla cackles loud enough to attract attention from the front of the room. Some of the salon ladies stop their conversation to give us a look and Alex from the bookstore raises his coffee in greeting. I notice Deputy Caleb Alvarez standing just behind the Sheriff, a smile twitching on his lips, his gaze fixed on Layla.
I catch Stella’s eye and she grins.
“Alright, let's get this show on the road.” Sheriff Dane Jones clears his throat and then clears it again, the chatter in the room quieting as everyone settles in for the meeting. “First order of business. Ms. Beatrice, the police department would appreciate it if you stopped trying to tow the cars in front of the cafe on your own. You don’t have the equipment for it, and using your vehicle as a battering ram has resulted in a few complaints.”
“She tried to kill me,” Sam Montez shouts from the back of the room, his hat falling off sideways as he jumps from his chair. “I was out of my car for a minute—two tops—and she tried to kill me!”
I hide my smile behind my fist. Sam has a bad habit of double parking. Not usually a problem on our small town roads, but annoying all the same. I can just barely make out the top of Ms. Beatrice’s head sitting at the end of the front row, her gray hair pulled into a messy bun. She mutters something that I don’t quite catch. Dane frowns, and Caleb practically swallows his tongue.
“Well, there’s no need for that kind of language. If someone is blocking the loading dock, you can give me or Caleb a ring.”
She mumbles something else and Shirley from the salon gasps. Dane pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Bea, what have I told you about making threats of physical violence in front of a police officer. Sam, sit down.”
Sam drops down in his seat and scoops up his hat. Luka reaches across me for another handful of popcorn from Layla’s bowl.
“You undersold this meeting, La La.”
“They’re not usually this colorful,” Stella tells him, accepting a piece of offered popcorn.
“Yes, they are,” Layla and I reply in unison.
“Next up,” Dane glances down at the stack of papers on the podium and lets out a muffled groan. He glances at Caleb with a pleading expression. Caleb shrugs and Dane turns back to the room. “Ms. Beatrice, if you could kindly remove the WANTED posters from the window of the shop, that would be great.”
This time I’m not the only one who has to stifle a laugh. The room breaks out into a low murmur and Caleb has to completely turn around to hide his grin, his back facing the audience and his shoulders shaking. Ms. Beatrice has been putting up WANTED signs in her windows for months now, ever since she caught two tourists in the back bathroom using the sink in new and creative ways.
Dane tilts his head to listen to whatever Ms. Beatrice has to say on the matter. “I agree public indecency is a crime, but again, just give me or Caleb a call.” He holds up his hand to cut off her response and glances down at the podium, eager to move the conversation along. But whatever he sees has him folding up the whole stack of paperwork with a grunt. “Alright, Beatrice, clearly you and I need to have a side conversation. We’ll table the—“ he flips over the paper and glances at it again. “—other seven things for another time.”
“Do you think someone complained about how she refuses to buy almond milk?” Layla whispers out of the corner of her mouth. She did buy it, actually. She just put it in a canister that says hipster juice on the side.
“Probably something about Karen and the latte incident,” I reply. I rarely come into town during the afternoons, but I happened to be walking by the day Ms. Beatrice refused to serve Karen Wilkes on account of her being rude to the wait staff. A latte somehow found its way all over Karen’s faux fur bomber jacket. Can’t say I blame her for that one.
“Alright,” Dane’s voice booms over the room and everyone settles again. “Next up. The pizza shop is, uh—” he hesitates, rubbing his fingertips over his mustache and down his chin. He taps there once and glances around the room. “Matty would like you all to know there’s a special this month. Half the profits on Wednesdays go to the elementary school to fund their science trips.”
Stella’s hand shoots into the air. Dane looks like he wants to walk out the door and keep walking. “Yes, Stella?”
“Is this an appropriate time to share that I think you two are the cutest couple I’ve ever seen in my life and express my congratulations that you’ve finally moved in together?”
“I like the wreath you put on your door,” Mabel Brewster adds from somewhere in the middle of the room. “And the birdbath in the front yard. Didn’t know you had such an eye for gardening, Sheriff.”
The rest of the room bursts into a series of comments and questions on the Sheriff’s love life.
“Did you see them at the farmer’s market? I swear I’ve never seen Dane Jones smile so much.”
“Do you mean he smiled once? Because I think that’s the standing record.”
“They were holding hands. He bought Matty flowers.”
“Where is Matty? You can’t keep him locked up just because you two are an item now.”
I sink further in my chair, the hum of sound rising up and over me. It’s like a buzz in the back of my head, a ringing in my ears. I press my thumb deep into my palm and try to focus there instead.
Dane looks about ready to burst at the front of the room, his cheeks a flaming red above his beard, hands fussing with the hat tucked under his arm.
I nudge Stella with my elbow. “You’re not worried this is going to turn on you?”
“What do you mean?”
I gesture between her and Luka. “When are you two moving in together?”
“Oh,” she waves her hand, unconcerned. “As soon as we can figure out how to add more space. I don’t think Luka is ready for me in my full messy glory quite yet.”
Stella lives in a cottage on the opposite side of the farm from my cabin, a tiny house filled to the brim with old magazines and half-empty coffee mugs. It looks like an eighty-year-old woman with a hoarding problem lives there, Luka’s interference be damned. I once heard them arguing about kitchen towels with gnomes on them. Stella didn’t want to throw them away because, apparently, they’re a conversation piece.
“We’ll move in together when we can add a bedroom or two so he has someplace to cry when I don’t fold his t-shirts exactly right.” She shrugs, jostling Luka’s arm around her shoulders. He pinches her lightly without even looking and her smile spreads into a grin. “I’m happy to share that with anyone who asks. All of this—Dane needs to know we love him. We love them. He told me once he didn’t think he was enough for Matty. He was afraid to take the chance.” She leans into Luka, her temple against his chin. “He deserves to know he’s got the town rooting for him. That we’re glad he’s happy.”
That’s all well and good, but Dane looks like he’s about to melt into the floor.
“Even if it derails the rest of this meeting?”
She grins. Luka shouts something about matching china patterns. There’s an answering cheer throughout the small room and Dane presses his fist to his forehead. “Especially then.”
I lean back in my seat with a chuckle and cross my arms over my chest, pull my baseball cap low over my eyes, and stretch my legs out as much as I’m able. Best just to wait these things out, in my experience.
I close my eyes, breathe in deep, and think about peppers.
CHAPTER TWO
EVELYN
“Uh, hey.” A throat clears somewhere above me, a rough rumble. “You waiting on someone?”
I glance up from my phone to the tall figure leaning with his hip at the edge of the table, a frown tugging his lips down. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile once since I got here—on the limited occasions I have seen him, of course. I think he’s been hiding in one of the barns every time I’m touring the grounds.
It makes me sad.
A little annoyed, too.
“I’m not.” I push the empty seat across from me back with my boot. A silent invitation.
He waits a beat and then folds his body into the small seat across from me. I watch him over the edge of my coffee mug. Elbows on the table, hunched shoulders. His body curls forward as he stares at his plate like it holds the secrets to the universe. Minutes pass, and he doesn’t say a word.
“So,” I drop my chin in my hand and take a noisy sip of my coffee. I keep my voice light and bright, markedly different from the awkward tension that’s curling in my gut. My mom says I’m impervious to the moods of others. That I could brighten even the darkest storm cloud.
With Beckett, I feel like we’re both the storm cloud. Together, we’re a monsoon.
“How is your day going?”
He glances up at me, a bite of zucchini bread perfectly poised on the end of his fork. “Hm?”
“Your day,” I repeat. If he wanted to sit in silence, he could have gone to any of the empty tables lined against the wall. Instead he sat down here, with me. “How is it going?”
“Oh,” he shifts in his seat and traces the edge of his porcelain plate with his thumb. “It’s fine,” he mumbles. Blue-green eyes peek up at me and then dart back down. Another awkward pause, the silence stretching a moment too long. I can’t believe this man walked right up to me in a bar and put his body next to mine. Leaned into my space until I could smell the summer rain on his skin and asked me what I was drinking. “Yours?”
“Fine.” I want to fling his plate across the bakehouse, if only to get a reaction out of him. I wait for him to say something else and when he doesn’t, I sigh. “Stella is taking me on a tour through the fields later.”
He makes a vaguely interested sound.
“It really is beautiful here.”
Another sound under his breath.
Alright, fine.
I collapse back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest, busying myself with looking out the floor-to-ceiling window to my left. From this angle, I can see a couple of kids weaving in and out of the trees—a tiny squirrel hiding in the brush, digging a hole in the dirt. The bakehouse is hidden in one of the fields, a surprise for visitors to stumble upon when they’re out hunting for the perfect tree. Inside, condensation gathers at the bottom of the windows, a perfect frame of gray-white. Tree branches brush at the windows. It feels like I’m in one of those vintage Christmas cards, and I bet it’s damn near magical when it snows.
