Chapter Twenty-five
The world was a much, much quieter place when one only used one’s phone to accomplish the bare minimum. Genevieve had noted this fact approximately a million times over the past two days since announcing her flaws to the world.
She’d donned layers beneath her jacket in preparation for the brisk temperature she could expect on today’s morning walk. After lacing up her blue tennis shoes, she let herself out of the cottage and looked up—
She came to an immediate stop on her small porch.
Sam’s truck was parked out front. He was waiting for her, leaning against the side door, ankles and arms crossed. The clear, cold November day formed a crystalline backdrop.
Her breath snagged in her chest.
Sam.
He regarded her in his usual serious way. Not happy but not unhappy, either. He had on jeans and a quilted navy jacket open over an unbuttoned flannel shirt and, below that, a snowy white T-shirt. Love for him coalesced inside her. She’d been a world-class idiot to risk her relationship with him. How could she ever, ever, have done that? If given the chance, she’d never risk their relationship again.
She raised a finger. “Can you wait there one second?” she called, then scrambled back inside to retrieve the gift she’d purchased in town for him yesterday. She ran to the restroom to spritz on onepump of perfume and check her hair, which was, surprisingly, in the mood to behave.
As she walked toward him across the grass, he pushed away from the truck’s side.
Don’t mess this uprattled across her brain. That and,He’s true and trustworthy and gorgeous, and it’s impossible thathe likes me. But he does. And he might evenlove me. So don’t mess this up.
He hadn’t been parked here earlier, when she’d been eating her breakfast. Clearly, he knew her weekday schedule well enough to know when she left on her walks. It was a good sign, surely, that he’d sought her out. Surely?
Don’t mess this up.
She halted a few feet from him. That olive skin. That thick hair. That solemn chin. She could feel the attention he leveled on her through every inch of her body.
“I come bearing gifts.” She lifted the one-pound plastic tub she held. “There are enough organic, non-GMO chive seeds in this container to satisfy baked potatoes all across the country.” What was she saying? Those were not the words she’d prepared. “To make amends for the chives I murdered, I bought you more than a quarter million new seeds.” Alert! This wasn’t going well. “Will these keep you stocked for a while?” She tested a smile.
After a few seconds that felt like months, one side of his mouth hitched up. A dimple dug into his cheek. “Yes.”
She was so relieved, she considered fainting. “This is just a small token of how sorry I am.” She extended the seeds.
He took them from her, the emerald power of spring lighting his eyes.
“Because I am,” she continued, “very sorry for filling that stupid prescription and for shutting you out.”
“I read the letter you posted on your website.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “I want to show you something.”
“Okay.”
He set the chives in his truck, and they walked toward his farmhouse. As they went, she told him about her parents’ involvement in Russell’s death and why that had sent her sinking into such a black hole of anxiety. She told him, too, about their visit with Alice Atwell.
He listened carefully but said almost nothing.
A few days ago, before their fight, they’d either have held hands on this walk or her arm would have been wrapped around his elbow, their shoulders rubbing. The physical separation between them now felt painfully obvious.
“Have you seen any of the responses to the letter you posted?” he asked.
“No. I’ve purposely stayed away from all of it.”
They climbed the steps to his front door, which he held open for her. She passed inside and...
Flowers greeted her.So manyflowers.
