She waves him off. “Fine, honey. Judging by the bucket of kids’ scissors and a reminder to please be careful with them, I’m guessing we’ve gotten to the pick-your-own-bouquet portion of the tour. So I’ll wait here while you two head in.”
Ryder rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a bouquet.”
“Awfully rude thing to say to the owner of the sunflower farm,” she parries.
“Really, Gam. Come on, why don’t we head to the gift shop?”
She smiles, resting her purse on the bench next to her and extracting a paperback that she quickly flips open. “I’ll be here.”
He looks at me, as if silently asking if we can just appease her.
I gesture to the narrow walkway through the sunflowers that takes you on a small loop around the field and brings you right back to the start. “It’s about a twenty-minute walk. You sure you’ll be alright, Nora?”
She nods, waving me off as she turns her attention to her book. “Bye, kids. I won’t be keeping time.”
Ryder shrugs, gesturing for me to lead the way. I give him a pair of scissors as we pass the bucket.
And as soon as we’re within the confines of the sunflowers, I whip out my phone and text Vic to keep an eye on the woman reading by the sunflowers. He texts back a thumbs up a few seconds later.
“Vic is going to keep an eye on her,” I say, slipping my phone into my pocket.
He nods, knocking my elbow with his. “And who’s going to keep an eye on you?”
I shoot him a look, taking the lead as we walk through a particularly narrow part of the walkway. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
He snorts. “No. That’s me being perfectly aware of those shears in the back pocket of your overalls that I’m sure are a hell of a lot sharper than the kid scissors you just gave me.”
“Oh, I see. Just looking out for yourself. Color me surprised.”
He whistles. “Big talk from a girl who deals with supposed threats byrunning away.”
“Awful lot of attitude from a guy who needs his grandmother to wingman him.”
He scoffs. “Gam isnotmy wingman. And might I remind you,youkissedme.”
I stop in my tracks, turning to him. “I didnot.”
He points to his chin. “Right here.Youkissedme, right here.”
“That was not a kiss!”
He throws his hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry, what was it then?”
And now I’m a little… stumped. Because okay, maybe it was arguably a kiss, but I really do not feel like agreeing with him right now.
I’m torn between repeating it and chastising him for not letting me know he was coming.
And between all of those emotions is this queasy feeling in my gut like I’m in over my head. Obsessed with exactly the type of man who pulled my own mother away from this farm. Away from me.
“It was, like, a lip brush. A kiss involves puckering and there was no puckering there.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Really, Eve? You’re going to classify it asnot a kissbecause your lips didn’t pucker? I don’t think your lips were puckering when my tongue was in your mouth, so how do you classify that? A good old-fashioned tonsil check from some guy who isn’t a doctor?”
I hold my hands up. “That’s different.”
He shakes his head. “Fine, you didn’t kiss me. But by your logic, I didn’t kiss you either.”
“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms as I step over an old tree stump.
