“Hey.” My voice scrapes against the tightness in my throat.
Her cheeks flush in response. A beautiful, telltale pink that spreads from her face down to her collarbone, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress.
Mine. That flush is mine. I want all her blushes and all her moans and all her gasps and?—
Sheesh, she just said hi and smiled, for fuck’s sake.
She must barely tolerate me. I’ve been rude to her, impulsive, judgmental, prideful, and short-tempered. An all-around delight.
But she’s still smiling at me, and I don’t know what to do with that.
Rebecca inserts herself into the moment. “Ryder! Perfect timing.” She loops an arm through Faye’s, grinning at me in such an angelic way that makes me want to run. “Faye wanted to pick some tulips. Can you take her around the field and show her how it’s done?”
“Err… I’d love to,” I say, and I mean it. Nothing sounds better than walking through the rows of flowers with Faye, watching her pick her favorites. “But I’ve got the hayride in”—I check my watch—“ten minutes.”
Rebecca waves a hand as if that’s a minor inconvenience. “She can come on the ride, and then you go pick the flowers. Problem solved.”
I blink. “The hayride is sold out.”
“Faye can ride up front with you.”
In the tractor cab that’s barely big enough for one person.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Faye says quickly, her gaze darting between me and Rebecca.
“You have to go, Miss Rose!” Rhys grabs her hand. “The hayride is the best part! It goes down to the river and back, and sometimes Dad lets me honk the horn! But I’ve already done my shift behind the wheel today, so you can take the cabin spot.”
“That’s very generous, Rhys, but I?—”
“Please, Miss Rose? Please?” He’s showing her big, pleading eyes that are impossible to resist.
Faye laughs, the sound soft and a little helpless. She looks at me, her expression caught somewhere between amused and uncertain. “I don’t want to impose…”
“You’re not.” I sound too eager. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s no bother at all. I mean, if you want to do it…”
Her smile hits me like the first cold drink after a day in the sun—biting, necessary, a little too good. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “I’ll come.”
Rhys cheers. Rebecca looks entirely too pleased with herself. And I remind myself to breathe like someone who’s standing still and not running a sprint.
The megaphone crackles to life, one of our seasonal workers announcing the final hayride of the day. Families start migrating toward the big red tractor parked next to the craft-slash-community barn, the flatbed trailer already loaded with hay bales arranged for seating.
“Come on!” Rhys grabs Faye’s hand again, pulling her in the same direction. She glances back at me, still smiling, and follows him.
I fall into step behind them as my internal compass resets. It does not point north anymore, and I’ve no idea where I’m headed.
It’s just a hayride. Thirty minutes in a tractor. It’s not romantic, and I’ve done it a hundred times.
Except I’ve never done it with Faye Rose sitting next to me.
The families pile onto the trailer, kids bouncing on the hay bales, parents settling in with the resigned patience of people who are about to be jostled for half an hour. Rebecca does a final headcount, gives me a thumbs-up, and then—because she’s the worst—winks at me.
I’m going to kill her later.
Rhys climbs into the trailer and wedges himself between two hay bales, legs dangling out the back.
He waves at Faye. “See you at the end, Miss Rose!”
“Later, Rhys!” She waves back, then turns to me. “So… where do I…”
