I realize then that he’s not angry—I’ve got it wrong again. He’s worried.
“He’s fine, I think.” I watch as Jonas comes to a stop at the edge of a field. It’s muddy, greenery barely breaking through the soil.
“What’s your number?” Anders jolts my attention back to him. “Can we talk later, when you’re alone?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so.” I relay my contact details, my heart picking up the pace.
“I’m calling you now so you have mine. Call me back when you get a chance.”
He ends the call and a few seconds later I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. It stops again almost immediately. Thankfully, it’s waterproof.
I squelch my way over to where Jonas is standing.
“You all right?” I peer up at him. He’s so tall, it’s crazy.
He nods, staring at the field. He’s wearing a faded yellow T-shirt that’s ripped at the shoulder and grubby jeans that look as though they haven’t seen the inside of a washing machine in months. His brown hair has separated into distinct waves, the way hair does when it hasn’t been subjected to shampoo in a while. Definitely more caveman, less model.
“Your brother worries about you,” I say as I hand back his phone.
“I wish he wouldn’t.”
He has such a deep voice. It’s several keys lower than his brother’s on the octave scale, and his Midwestern accent is stronger.
“Shouldn’t he?”
He doesn’t answer, pocketing the device. It’s not a very reassuring response.
I sigh and look down at my appearance. “Guess I’ll be getting home, then.”
“Do you want my T-shirt?”
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine.”
I appreciate the offer, but it’s warmer out here, away from the shade of the trees. Anyway, it would feel superweird if he stripped off his top and walked home half naked.
“I’ll give you a lift when we reach the farm,” he says.
“That would be great. Not on a motorbike, though, I hope.”
He snorts. “I forgot my brother got you on the back of his.”
“It was that or a tornado.”
As memories of Anders come back to me, my stomach is hit by a flurry of nerves. He wants me to call him. I assumed I’d seen and heard the last of him.
“Was there any damage to the farm after the storm?” I ask as we set off.
“Nothing bad, at least not to the property, but it looks like we’ve lost a cornfield.” He nods at my squeaking trainers. “You should take those off. You’ll get a blister.”
He’s right. He waits while I wobble around, yanking off my wet shoes and socks, one after the other.
“Which field of corn was it?” I ask as we set off again.
“The one along the track between our farm and yours.”
“How can you tell there’s anything wrong with it?” I hadn’t noticed any stalks lying down when I’d walked past earlier.
“Hail damage to the tassels.”
