My eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
She was all innocence, suddenly leaning back in her swing and closing her eyes. Not looking at me. “What do you mean?”
I was unsure of how to put into words the tangible things she had actually done. Checked me out? I had also done my fair share of checking her out this summer. Flirt? I had flirted plenty with her. I peered at her again, which was easier to do with her eyes closed. Tessa's blonde tresses were draped around her shoulders like a beacon to my hands which wanted to bury themselves in the softness. My legs twitched while I shoved my hands in my pockets. Watching her made me feel like I wanted to run a half marathon. For the record, I had never once experienced that feeling. Tessa was definitely up to something and whatever it was it seemed to be working.
I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion. I was tired, but I was also one step away from either kissing her or hyperventilating. “What was the treat today?”
“Raspberry-lemon bars.”
I swallowed, my mouth instantly watering and not just for the dessert. Maybe it was just a coincidence she made my favorite treat on the day I got back after not seeing her for a week, but again, it felt…pointed.
“Any left?”
“I know your first rule was no treats between us, so I didn’t save you one, but I made a little plate for you to take to Stitch in the bunkhouse.”
“About time you start following the rules around here. And that’s cute you think I’m going to share with Stitch.”
“How are the cabinets coming?” she asked. I peeked an eye open and saw she was now watching me again. A vision of us sitting together on our own front porch one day came out of nowhere, slamming into my brain before I could push it away.
“Good. I’ve got a good start.”
I’ll have to come see them sometime.”
I cleared my throat and found myself agreeing. “Catch me up on Betsy May. Has she fired you yet?”
“She swore at me during our last session, but then she patted my head and gave me a cookie on my way out. So…I think we’re making headway.”
“You should give all that up and be the next Little Debbie. You can package your mini cakes and sell them.”
She laughed, leaning back into the swing. “I’d love that.”
“Jailbait Cakes.”
“No.”
“Jailbait Bakes.”
She kicked my foot with hers. “No Jailbait stuff.”
“You’re right. That’s just for me.”
We both stopped our gentle sways at the same time, our knees pressing against each other. Let me be clear, I didn’t move away because I was done rocking. I wasn’t sure of her excuse. We spent the rest of the evening talking on the porch. The summer sun had been set for almost two hours by the time I forced myself to leave.
The next couple of weeks, I kept myself busy. I was everywhere, but never anywhere too long. No real reason. I was busy at work, busy at home building cabinets, busy helping out on the farm, and most afternoons, “busy” with Frank Robbins’ front porch. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me, beyond feeling skittish anytime I thought about a certain blonde, which was a disconcerting amount of time.
We had gotten into an easy rhythm since my coming to work on the porch. After the fruit stand closed, I’d help her take the leftover produce into the greenhouse. Then, she’d feed me whatever she’d saved for me that day. She tried to make me think what she gave me was the day’s leftovers, but I had heard her, on several occasions, quietly turn away someone who asked about the daily treat. She told them she had sold out, but I hadn’t gone a day without a treat. The rest of our evening usually passed with conversation and teasing on her porch. Sometimes she’d hand me a tool. Sometimes she’d touch my leg. Or tug at my hat. Or swat at my arm when she’d reached her limit to my teasing.
I arrived at her home each day, terrified that she would be outside to watch me work and terrified that she wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure if Frank needed his railing touched up with paint or his porch sanded four times over, but I found it neighborly to go the extra mile.
A person could notice a great deal about someone while watching them not-so-discreetly from the porch. Tessa laughed a lot with people. Her friendly manner and sarcasm endeared her to everyone. Her back usually began to ache at the end of a long day of leaning over the short tables. She’d bend and twist when she thought nobody was watching.
She kept half of the fruit on the ground in boxes and would refill the tables as needed. That was another thing. I could have sworn the tables were set up closer to the orchard when the summer had started. Now, they were a stone’s throw from the front porch—the front porch I worked on every evening.
She twirled her hair a lot while she read, although she rarely picked up her book when I was around. By the time I showed up after 5 p.m. each day, her flip-flops were kicked off. She wore her denim cutoffs a lot.
I sent a silent apology to her shorts. I had nothing but good things to say about them now.
As much as I tried to keep my distance, I couldn’t kick her off her own porch when she came to sit by me while I was sanding, claiming she needed some shade.
