Maybe they’d head north, up the coast of Lake Michigan. Past the wineries, where green vines curled around their trellises and thousands of grapes swelled in the sun. Past the cherry orchards in full bloom, pink blossoms blanketing the grass, inviting them to stop and stay.
They’d pick up a local bottle of wine, drink it under the branches. Maybe they’d even make love right there. He longed to know how Zoe’s love of adventure and her spontaneous, chaotic personality would transfer to sex.
She loved nature as much as he did. And he would love to feel the world around them, taste it on her skin, feel the grass beneath their bodies, hear the birds chirp above as he whispered her name like a prayer.
That’s what he would do if this were all real.
He parked the bike in the small lot beside the Maple Falls Public Library. The white-washed brick building looked inviting with the grape hyacinths lining the walkway and the lilac bush looked ready to burst with blooms. Ivy climbed up the back corner and sprawled across the front toward the glass double doors, as if even the plants wanted to take a peek inside. A wrought-iron bike rack sat beside a wooden bench where two retirees were sipping coffee from thermoses, chatting in that slow, easy way of people who have nowhere else to be.
Jackson cut the engine. The sudden silence felt almost startling after the growl of the Harley, and he waited for Zoe to climb off before doing the same.
“How’s my hair?” she asked, pulling her warm locks over her shoulder and making a face. A few strands clung to her lip balm, others sticking out at wild angles.
He grinned. “You look like you just survived a wind tunnel.”
Her mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Rude.”
“Still cute,” he amended, fighting a smile. “Here.” He tucked the helmet under one arm and reached out with the other, gently smoothing a stray curl back from her cheek.
“Better?” she asked.
“Better,” he agreed, turning away and forcing his thoughts not to wander.
Zoe paused just inside the entrance, her eyes lighting up. “You can’t tell me this isn’t the most romantic building in town.”
Jackson huffed out a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure that title goes to your flower shop.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, tossing him a grin over her shoulder as she led the way to the back of the library. “Seriously though, I think part of my heart lives here.”
“In the library?” Jackson looked around the space, trying to picture it through her eyes. To him the library was a place his mom had taken him and Liam when they were kids. He’d rarely stepped foot in it since he was young.
“When I came back home last year and was helping Mom out at Cherry Crush, I had way too much free time and not a lot of money. I pretty much lived here, killing time, reading books, drinking coffee, while I put my life back together. It’s where I first began to dream up the Local Blooms project.”
Jackson knew Zoe had been out west, working at one of the national parks as a ranger for most of her twenties. She was unusually quiet about her personal life over the last few years.
“I thought you moved home because you wanted to?” he asked as Zoe navigated them to the nonfiction section.
A shadow passed over her eyes. “I wanted to come home, but not in the way it happened.” Her fingers trailed along the spines of books as she picked her words. “I suppose we should know each other’s dating history, seeing as we’re a couple now.” She let the word hang in the air with a hint of sarcasm.
Jackson knew bits and pieces about her past. Everyone in town did. Zoe had been with someone for years, a guy named Ben, until it suddenly ended. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t pry. He hated that she’d had her heart broken, but a part of him he didn’t want to acknowledge was secretly grateful Ben hadn’t kept her. Because if he had, Jackson wouldn’t have had Zoe these last couple of days.
“What an idiot,” Jackson said, loud enough for only her to hear.
Zoe smiled. “Of course you’d say that. I am your girlfriend now.”
“So, what exactly are we looking for?” he asked, guessing she didn’t want to talk about Ben.
“Books,” she said simply. “Old ones. And anything about Maple Falls’s history or geography. Mr. Alders mentioned that his wife had pressed flowers from the ridge, but that’s miles of land. If we can find old records or trail maps, we might be able to narrow down where they used to grow—especially near Willow Glen Stream.”
Jackson leaned against the shelf, watching her fingertips trail along the rows of books. “So basically, you’re looking for buried treasure.”
“Something like that,” she said with a smile. “Except mine grows petals.”
They split up for a while. Sunlight filtered through the high arched windows, falling in soft stripes across the worn wooden floors. The hush of the library amplified the faint scuff of his boots, the creak of the ladder on its track, the turning of pages.
Jackson spotted Zoe in the far corner, framed by rows of shelves stacked high with hardcovers and map boxes. She looked completely at home with her hair falling forward as she balanced a stack of books against her hip.
When they finally regrouped, she had a small pile in her arms, and she set them on the table with a soft thud.
