The good things.
I’d been so close to kissing George all night. Outside by the grill, while he cooked kabobs wearing a frilly apron that once belonged to his grandmother. At the dining room table, when his hand brushed against mine reaching for his fork. In the kitchen, with my hips an inch away from his, laughter filling the air as stray ice cubes skated across the kitchen floor after falling from the hand-cranked ice cream maker.
But I’d held back, knowing Ralph was always nearby, confounded by my attraction to George in such a short amount of time.
And now, pressed against him in the serious moonlight, it feels nice, his skin warm and his staggered breath gentle against my ear. From the moment I first met George at the produce stand, I felt a strange pull toward him.
I like spending time with the gentle farmer, and I’m happy when he shares bits of himself I know he hides from the others. His routines and his obsession with order and sameness are not weird but heartwarming. And so is his loyalty to his grandfather and his quiet solitude on the big farm that often overwhelms him.
George steps back from me, his fingers tenderly sliding across my cheeks and into my hair. His deep, muddled blue eyes fixate on mine, and blood roars in my ears, knowing what is about to happen.
Our eyes lock, and the roaring intensifies, the heat beneath his hands sending a spark curling through my stomach. He blinks, eyes shining with tears but smiling. I watch him lick his bottom lip, his eyes scrolling my face and the tangle of my hair hanging over my shoulders.
George backs me into the porch post, caging me in with his arms. And then he devours my mouth with a searing-hot kiss that sets fire to every cell in my body.
His tongue sweeps between my lips, nipping and kissing. I run my hands down his strong, muscular back. He groans and crushes his mouth against mine over and over again, the kiss so passionate, so unexpected, I think I mightpass out.
His voice startles me, deep and sexy against my ear, like it’s coated with warm whiskey. “Was that okay?”
I take a breath, my lips lingering with the sweet taste of vanilla. The verdant scent of this man defies all description. “Yes.”
“Just so you know, being different doesn’t mean I’m broken.”
“I know.”
He smiles with relief. “Mmmm… Madison.” My name falls from his lips like a reverent prayer before he kisses me again, long and hard and deep, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. Fingers threading through my hair.
Contrary to what George had just told me, earlier Ralph had pulled me aside and explained there was no hiding George’s happiness. Or disguising his sadness. He said if George liked you, then he just liked you. He had no other agenda.
But I know to my core, Ralph was wrong. George definitely has his own agenda. And right now, the handsome farmer has clarity about what he wants.
George Jamison wantsme.
And he’s making it his mission to kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before.
Chapter Sixteen
George
The liftgate of my pickup truck squeals with rusty age as I slam it shut, the utility buckets of flowers and crates of fresh-picked produce blanketing the back end in seasonal color. I whistle a happy tune and turn around just in time to see Kip traipsing toward me. I immediately frown and stop what I’m doing.
“Hold up, buddy. I have a task for you when you return at lunchtime.”
I stiffen, instinctively taking a step back. “What?”
“What?”Kip mocks using an over exaggerated Southern accent. He slaps his hands against his hips, legs spread wide in a domineering stance. “Just once, it’d be great if you could say something like, ‘Hey, Kip. How’s it going? Need any help with anything today?’”
I remain passive and don’t say a word. It’s just like Kip to bait me first thing in the morning, calling me “buddy” one minute and getting snippy with me the next. It seems like his sole purpose in life is to make sure I know he’s the boss.
So much for our new friendship.
Kip harrumphs. “I’m sorry. My bad. It’s been one heck of a morning. I didn’t mean to bark at you.” He slides his arm across my shoulders and turns me toward his shiny black truck.
“You see, my truck is acting up. I think there might be a belt loose or something. Take a look at it when you get back, but don’t take too long. It’s my mama’s birthday today, and we’re treating her to an early supper.”
He eyes the flowers in the bed of my truck. “In fact…”
I fist my hands at my sides and watch as Kip confidently plucks a huge arrangement from one of the buckets similar to the one I’d gifted Madison the night before. My premade bouquets are always a big hit with tourists and are usually the first things sold. They’re also the most expensive items at my stand.
