I adjust my glasses on my nose, wishing I’d worn contacts instead.
“How long is this thing?” he asks.
“With setup and shutdown, about six hours. I’ll be back a little after two.”
His piercing gaze surveys over my outfit, but his expression is unreadable. I’m wearing a cotton milkmaid dress in a pastel shade of green. I always like to look cute for farmers market days. My thick hair is in two French braids with silk bows on each end. It took forever and my arms hurt, but I’m fully convinced dressing for the occasion is half the fun in life.
He’s wearing a surprisingly casually stylish fit with loose, oversize jeans that aren’t Wranglers and a creamy-white linen button-down with it. He could be sailing on a yacht on the coast of Italy if he only had an Aperol spritz in his hand.
“I’m coming with you, Dollface.”
I know there’s not much of a point in arguing. Rosie told me another letter came. I’m guessing it wasn’t an apology. I was too afraid to ask what was in it, and she didn’t seem to want to share. The guys spent hours in Holden’s man cave talking about it with their cigars and bourbon before Sam drove me back to his ranch in somber silence.
I watched him carefully lock all the doors in the house and carry his rifle upstairs to his bedroom. All he said before I went to bed was for me not to leave the house without telling him.
“You should probably bring a chair.”
I organize the jellies as he grabs one from the back porch and puts it in the back of the Bronco. He steps over to the passenger door. I start moving toward the driver’s side, but he grabs my hand to stop me. The sudden touch of his callous skin makes my heart skip a beat.
He opens the passenger door and holds my hand as I climb up inside, only releasing it once I’m seated. Our eyes meet briefly before he shuts my door and walks around the car. I need to breathe into a brown paper bag. He climbs into the driver’s seat and has to lean down to manually push the seat back almost an entire foot.
“Are you even legally tall enough to drive?”
“I’m five foot two!”Almost. A quarter of an inch shy, but you can round up when you’re that close.
He eyes me like he doesn’t buy it as he turns out onto the main road. “Surely there’s a law against it if you have to be that close to the steering wheel. Can you even see above the dashboard?”
I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I passed my driving test with flying colors. And they measured me for the height on the license.”
He throws his head back in a laugh. Sam’s laughs are rare and precious because he’s usually a grump all the time. I watch the lines beside his eyes crinkle, feeling all the old trickles of desire swirling around inside me.
“They measured you? Baby Red, that’s not normal procedure. They don’t measure people.” He’s still grinning and shaking his head.
The early morning sun shines through the window, bathing him in golden light. I want to run my fingers through the reddish-brown curls at the nape of his neck. I dig my nails into my palms instead.
“I was only sixteen. I still had some growing to do.”
“Hmm, how tall were you then?”
“I was five foot one, I think.”
“And you grew another inch?”
I grind my teeth, nodding.
“A whole inch?”
I roll my head to the side to look at him. “Do you not know how much an inch is?” My voice is sweet.
He tries holding back a smile. “I do, just not sure I believe you’re a full five feet and twowholeinches.”
I roll my eyes and focus back on the road. We’re pulling up to the market. Sam drives into the parking lot and finds us a space.
“It’s an easy thing to settle. I have a tape measure back at the ranch.”
I gape at him. “You want to measure me? You think I’m lying?”
He gets out of the car and shuts the door. He makes his way around to my side, my heartbeat pounding faster with each step.
