After a lengthy conversation with my boss about the stalled sale, I’ve convinced him the deal isn’t dead and I’m still working hard, hence my decision to stay in Heartsboro.
“Kevin, I just need a few more days. The good news is, I gave Mr. Jamison our offer, and he hasn’t come out and said, ‘No.’ I promise I’ll have an answer by the end of the week.”
He clears his throat, his tone a reminder my job is on the line. “End of the week, and then it’s time to reconvene. I want an in-person update in Savannah.”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you soon.”
I shrug off the underlying pressure building in my chest. If I return to Kevin with a definitive “no,” I might lose my job. But I also know George can’t ever leave the farm and his flowers. It’s his only home. His sanctuary.
His reason for living.
I wrack my brain for a solution that could benefit both parties. After my call with Kevin, I spend uninterrupted time on my research, looking for a resolution or excuse that makes sense. There is no way I can waltz into the Savannah headquarters and tell him the farm is too pretty or too prosperous to sell. Or that removing George Jamison from the property will be harmful to his mental health.
There is no quick fix to my dilemma.
My workaround and explanation to my boss has to be meticulously planned and articulated in such a way that he will trust my findings and give me another project to move on to. I just need to gather more data regarding the workings of the farm and the community as a whole. If I can find something beneficial to my case, I might have a chance to tamper Kevin’s robust interest in the final kill.
He’d said it before when I’d struck lucrative deals in the past, how he loved “the kill,” dismantling generations of land owner’s homes and fields, turning their properties into giant industrial factories.
And now, after a weekend in paradise getting to know the gentlest man I’ve ever encountered, I also realize with shame the depth of my skills. How, in the past, I most definitely hurta few families who were on the fence about selling. How I convinced them to cave, all while making my company very rich in the process.
But today isn’t about my culpability or my deep thought process on how to rescue the Jamison family.
No.
Today is about seeing George and finding that feeling again when I’m with him. Of being my true self with no ulterior motive except to see his smile. To have him hold me so closely I can feel his heartbeat.
I glance in the rearview mirror, and the same swoony feeling comes over me when I touch my lips, a buzzing reverberating throughout my body.
When I think of him, heat pools in my center. His blue eyes. His dark hair. His bulging biceps. His thumb sweeping over my bottom lip as he grins at me. Forever, the lavender smell of this man will live in my memory, tucked away with my father’s poems written in cursive across sheets of notebook paper. Something lovely that will permeate my mind in unexpected moments.
Turning my car onto the dirt road leading to the farm, I look out the window at the lush fields in the distance. I always want this memory of the farm with me. Flowers and fence posts flashing by the windows, the summer sun vibrant and hot in the noonday.
I might never leave Heartsboro.
The thought startles me, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. I want to stay forever after only ten days? This doesn’t make any sense. My apartment and my sister are in Atlanta. And on the rare occasion when my mom visits, she likes to go to Centennial Olympic Park and the Georgia Aquarium. No one will believe me if I tell them I’ve decided I want to live in the middle of nowhere.
I shake my head and anticipate my handsome cowboy greeting me with his eyes, wide and so blue I wish I could dive right into them. And his endearing smile glowing from under his cowboy hat, making it very hard not to immediately smile back.
But I’m not greeted by George. It’s Kip Johnson who grins at me, his cocky swagger causing me to exhale with dread.
“Well, hello there, Miss High and Mighty,” he says, tipping his hat back as I get out of the car.
“Hey, Kip. How’s it going?”
“I’m good. Stopping by to say hello to your friends?”
I slam the car door and walk past him, not about to give him the time of day. “It’s none of your business why I’m here.”
“Oh, come on, Madison. I think we got off on the wrong foot. And it’s no secret my workers have seen your car parked on the property this week while I was away on business. Can’t we be friends? I mean, if you’re friends with Ralph and that handicapped grandson of his…”
“—stop it,” I snap, standing my ground. “George Jamison is not handicapped, okay? He’s a brilliant farmer, and you know it.”
“Okay, okay.” Kip backs away with his hands held up in surrender. “My bad. George and I are actually friends. I was just kidding around. Geez, you must have genuine feelings for the guy or something.”
My cheeks are on fire as I blow out a long breath. I want to say, “Or something,” but keep my feelings for George a secret.
“Kip? Can you please cut it out? George is a friend of mine too, okay?”
