And she’sthrilledthat she’s convinced the owners ofTravelers Weeklyto come stay in Sunflower Hill. There were no deals agreed upon, but I know how Evie works, and when it comes to the sunflower farm, she schemes with the best of them. Assuming all goes well, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see her little sunflower farm gracing the pages of their magazine.
We wander home late at night, my jacket around her shoulders and my hands stuffed into my pockets to keep warm.
She spins, taking a few steps backward as she grins at me. “I like New York.”
“I can tell.”
She’s quiet for a few paces before she turns around andfalls into step with me again. “I don’t want you to sell your apartment.”
“No?” I ask, my heart dropping at the realization that just becauseI’mready to go all in on Evie doesn’t mean thatshe’sready to go all in with me.
And I might have shown my cards too soon.
“I mean, I know we’re still feeling things out and everything, but I like this.” I watch her face in the glow of the streetlights, cars flying by on the street beside us. “I guess there’s just some fantasy in my mind of, like, summering in Sunflower Hill and wintering in New York,” she jokes.
And maybe Ididn’tshow my cards too soon. Because while I was the one who initially brought up the idea of selling my apartment, she’s the one running with the fantasy. She’s the one imagining what life might be like for us. Not just talking about a real estate deal, but really thinking about what might make her happy long term.
And it sounds like I might be part of it.
“That sounds nice,” I say.
But before we can dive deeper into that idea, her eyes light up. “Oh, we should get pizza!”
She barely glances at the road before darting across to the pizza shop on the other side, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest when she takes off.
But Evie, as always, is aware of her surroundings.
I follow her over, shaking my head as I grab her hand. “Don’t dart off like that. I was so sure you were about to get hit by a car.”
“There were no cars coming!” she says, squeezing my hand even as she turns to talk to the man through the window and orders us a plain pizza to go. “If you haven’t jaywalked at midnight and nearly caused someone to have a heart attack, can you really call yourself a Manhattanite?”
I hand over my card to pay for the pizza. “Well, excuse me for being concerned about the farm girl crossing a busy city street.”
She gestures around us. “Abusycity street?”
I slip my wallet back into my pocket as the man passes the pizza out through the window and Evie thanks him.
“Well, excusemefor being concerned that someone I”—I catch myself before I let it slip that Iloveher—“care about might get hit by a car.”
She holds the pizza out of the way so she can kiss my cheek. “Thank you for caring about me that much.”
I throw an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple in return and redirecting us toward my apartment.
When we get inside, she sheds my jacket and leaves it on one of the kitchen bar stools, throwing the pizza box onto the island and boosting herself up to sit next to it. She crosses her legs, the slit in her dress revealing the tiniest bit of her muscular thigh.
It’s enough to have me salivating.
She holds her slice out to give me a bite and I lean against her, anxious for any contact I can get. I keep my hands on her hips and her thighs, and every time she turns that pizza toward me, I take another bite like it might preserve this moment just a little longer.
The words are on the tip of my tongue.I love you, Evie Harper. Despite the short amount of time we’ve known each other and the project that looms over us, unresolved. I love your smile and your blue dress. I don’t care whether we’re here or in Sunflower Hill. Who we’re with or what we’re doing.
She swallows, licking her lips as she shuts the pizza box. She eyes me, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
I blink, shaking my head. “Sorry.” I run my hand alongher thigh, so floored that I’m allowed to justtouchsomeone like her. “You’re really hot.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Something tells me that’s not really what was on your mind.”
I dare myself to say it. To spit it out. If she rejects me, so what? At least I’ll have spoken my truth.
