We’d come a long way since then. When we’d met, we had made snap judgments about each other, hadn’t looked beyond the surface. We were both so sure we had nothing in common. But both our first impressions were wrong.
He took a breath. “Look, Tahira. I’m going to be straight with you. I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I know I was an ass, and I know you’re only here for the summer, and we’re both very busy, andyou just broke up with someone, and we’re doing the Bloom together so it’s probably not smart, and...” His voice trailed off.
“And what?” I whispered, leaning closer to him.
“And...” That little smile again. “I like spending time with you. I really like talking to you. I like...looking at you. And...I don’t think I could forgive myself if I let this summer go by without asking you one question.”
“Ask,” I said, leaning even closer.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. His lips were already so close.
I could barely think with my heart beating in my ears. I had goose bumps even though it was so warm. All the objections I had to getting involved with him faded away as I gave him the only answer I could. “Yes, please.”
We were both smiling when our lips finally touched. It was a small kiss. A soft kiss. A sweet kiss that tasted of raspberries and almonds from the Bakewell tart. He lifted his face from mine, and we looked at each other. I could never get enough of staring at that face.
But I also really liked kissing it. I put my hand on Rowan’s waist, on the soft pima cotton of the shirt I’d sewn, and pulled him close again. He leaned in and took my cheek in his hand. And we were kissing again. Harder. Hotter. His calloused hand on my face, and his soft mouth on mine. In the wide-open air, in the middle of a field of sunflowers, Rowan Johnston’s body pressed against mine.
This, right here, was all I needed.
20
THE SUMMER FLING
Two months ago, if someone had told me the happiest moment of my summer would be lying on a blanket in the middle of a field of flowers on the chest of a guy who spent all his spare time in his garden, I would have laughed my face off. But here we were, and I’d honestly never been so content. His strong body under mine, his heartbeat in my ear. When he spoke, it reverberated through my whole body, like we were one person.
We were both kind of quiet at the beginning of the drive home. I knew we should talk about what had happened in that sunflower field. After Matteo, I wasn’t about to make assumptions or just play it by ear again. I was in way too deep with Rowan to risk that.
I didn’t know how to start the conversation, though. Bringing up relationship talk even before our second (or third?) kiss?
It seemed that Rowan read my mind. “U-um...,” he stuttered. “So, are we, I mean, do you want to do that again?”
I turned to him, smiling. “Do what again? Make out with earthworms under us?”
He huffed a chuckle. “I don’t have an issue with earthworms. But I was thinking more the, you know,date.”
“So thatiswhat that was, then.”
He smiled.
“Can we be honest with each other?” I asked.
He took a breath. “Okay. Honestly, Tahira, I like you. I think I liked you from the moment I saw you, even though you made me a little nutty. I know the timing is bad, and I’m only here for a month before uni. No pressure, but...I want to go out with you again. A lot.”
“Are you proposing a fling for the rest of the summer?” I asked. I couldn’t promise more than the summer. I wasn’t sure Rowan would fit in my life in Toronto.
He chuckled. “A fling is a good name for it.”
A fling was casual. Manageable. But there was one issue with casual. “Will we be exclusive? Or will you be seeing—”
He reached over and squeezed my knee. “Totally exclusive. There is no one else I want right now.”
A part of me wondered if this was a good idea, even for just the summer. The Plan, my portfolio, my online platform—all that mattered too much. I didn’t need distractions. True, I’d dated Matteo without losing focus, but this was different. Matteo wasn’t much of a distraction because he lived farther away from me. Rowan was literally next door. Plus, Matteo was trying to get into the fashion industry, too, albeit in a different way, so our goals overlapped. He always encouraged me, and often helped me do the things I needed to do to reach my goals.
But Rowan would support my goals and my hustle, too, wouldn’t he? Was I still judging him? Assuming he didn’t value the things that were important to me?
I needed to give Rowan a chance. This was just a summer fling. There was no reason to worry—I’d always been able to prioritize my Plan; this would be no different.
“Everyone is going to talk about us,” I said. That was another problem. Trying to hide anything in Bakewell was futile.
