Eva lights up. “Yes! Mostly for my sisters’ businesses but?—”
“Our restaurant needs help with email marketing. I hate it. Would you be interested?”
“Oh.” Eva was clearly not expecting this to be a networking opportunity. She glances around the room. “I mean, I’d love to talk about it.”
Molly interrupts, “And Udderly Creamy! Alex’s dairy farm. We desperately need a better social media presence. I’ve been so busy marketing the CSA and wholesale side of the business.”
Eva’s laugh floats above the mayhem, and I watch her settle into her stride, talking about branding and content strategy and messaging. The crew slides seamlessly to the giant table, shoveling out heaps of food in between observations about the ways Fork Lick has changed and the ways staying the same has helped create magic for the Bedd family business interests.
Everyone leans in, interested and engaged, as Eva makes connections and builds relationships with my community, while I sit to the side, tracing a finger along the cold metal of my crutches. She’s sounding like someone who might stay.
And that’s a huge fucking problem because… I want her.
Damn it, I want her. I want to know what she’s thinking. Want to hear her laugh at my dry comments. Want to watch her get excited about rusted evaporator pans and old family photographs and this weird little town that’s apparently claiming her the way it claimed me.
I want her to look at me the way she’s looking at this room full of strangers—like they matter, like their stories matter, like she has all the time in the world to listen.
I need to just go out and find a date or something. Find some woman in Climax or hell, New York City, so I can work this tension out of my system.
But… I don’t want a date.
I want Eva, and she’s on her way out of Fork Lick.
I’m sweating. The room is too loud, too crowded, too much. I stand abruptly, forgetting about my injury.
Pain shoots through me, white-hot and immediate. I stagger and catch myself on the table. “Shit.”
Everyone stops talking. Eva is at my side immediately. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. We should go.” She’s already making excuses to Gran, thanking everyone for dinner. I want to protest, but the pain is real, and I feel so anxious I might scream.
Eva helps me into the golf cart—the same as she’s done all week. But her touch feels different now. Charged, electric. Or maybe that’s just me, wound too tight, wanting too much.
She drives faster than before, the cart bouncing over ruts. The silence is thick, loaded with things neither of us is saying.
My jaw is clenched so hard it aches. I’m in pain from my ankle and in pain from wanting her, and I don’t know which is worse.
“Your family has a great vibe,” Eva says, squinting in the darkening farmland as she drives. The dim golf cart lights are not ideal for the terrain.
“They’re not entirely my family,” I say, knowing it’s a lie, not sure why I say it. “But yeah. They’re great.”
Eva swallows and licks her lips. “I’m sure they were kidding about wanting my help with marketing. I mean, they just met me.”
“The Bedd family isn’t known for their jokes.” I force myself to look away from her, to stop thinking about a future where she stays and works closely with all the people close to me.
We reach my house, and Eva parks. What I want to do is reach out, pull her in, and kiss her until she understands exactly what the problem is.
This thought terrifies me, and it doesn’t help when she leans in, lips parted, clearly expecting me to do just that.
I lean in… and reach past her for my crutches propped in the back seat. I clear my throat and extract myself from the golf cart. “Goodnight, Eva.”
I go inside before she can respond. Before I can see the look on her face. Before I do something I can’t take back. I lean against the closed door, breathing hard.
Through the window, I watch her sit in the golf cart for a long moment. She’s not moving. Just sitting there with her hands on the wheel, staring at my front door.
Then she shakes her head slightly, like she’s clearing it, like she’s dismissing something, and drives away.
