Luca stood. Was already pivoting toward the door before Emerson could object.
“Let’s go.”
Only once he reached the sidewalk did he allow himself to turn. And there was Emerson, sticking his hands in his back pockets, eyes squinting toward the sea. Luca almost bent over in relief, however hesitant that look on Emerson’s face still appeared. Luca had simply plowed through the brewery in the brazen hopes that Emerson would follow. Fast enough so that he himself wouldn’t turn chickenshit on his own plan.
But now that Emersonhadfollowed, now that they were both out here in the daylight, now that Luca could get a good full look at him?—
Well, shit. Emersonwasshort. Like, adorably so. Lucacould plop his chin right on that balding head. Tuck that trim body right into his side.
“I should give you the address to the house,” Emerson was saying, the words slow and unsure as one hand withdrew from his back pocket, clutching a phone. God, Luca wanted to stick his own hands in those pockets. Emerson was lean, but Luca could tell, even from the side, that he had a good ass. “Google Maps doesn’t always find it right when you just put in the name of the farm.”
“All right.” Luca retrieved his own phone, resolving to cease further study of Emerson’s ass.
But instead of giving him the address, Emerson only stared at him like he wasn’t quite sure Luca was real.
“Sorry,” he said after a semi-awkward pause. “This isn’t, like—” He waved his phone in Luca’s general direction. “A way to—I haven’t really—I don’t?—”
“I’m not coming onto you,” Luca stated, making the words clear. To this poor guy and to himself. “I am genuinely interested in working on your farm.”
Emerson’s shoulders relaxed at the same time his cheeks flushed. It was mottled, splashes of dark rose across his sun-worn skin, and Luca definitely didn’t want to trace the pattern with his tongue.
“Right,” Emerson said. “Thank you. Um. Okay.” And then he gave Luca the address, and with a mumbled “See you there,” turned and walked away. Luca studied the directions as he strolled toward his own car, grinning like a fully irrational person the entire way.
three
Short King Farmswas even better than Luca had expected.
It was in Greyfin Bay, for one thing, so Luca would still have access to all the things he’d always known. It was toward the foothills of the Coastal Range, its gravel drive off a curvy road away from the 101. A small sign marked its entrance; Luca might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking. Once on the gravel, he drove through a thick line of trees before emerging again into daylight, the farm opening up around him like a scene from a storybook. Maybe it was the time of day that made that first view so magical. The golden hour, long rays of fading sun hitting a world of green. Or maybe Luca was just so hungry for something new, so ready to finally start a different life, that it would’ve looked magical to him no matter what.
Emerson leaned against a rust-colored pickup truck in a wide parking area in front of a split-level house. A large white van sat next to the truck, Short King Farms’s logo on its side: a wicker basket of tomatoes, a crown hanging at an angle off one of the red fruits. The house was composedmostly of white siding with dashes of red brick; it reminded Luca more of movies he’d watched set in 1980s New Jersey than anything he’d seen in Greyfin Bay.
Emerson apologized for it as soon as Luca got out of his car.
“The house is, uh, kind of a work in progress. We always wanted to turn it into a modern farmhouse, but never quite found the time or the money to get it started.”
“Looks like a fine place to me.” Had more square footage than Luca’s tiny cabin on the bluffs, that was for sure. He squinted into the sunlight as he looked around, wondering whoweentailed. “But why don’t you start by showing me around the grounds?”
Luca was interested to see where he’d be sleeping and eating—potentially, if Emerson actually agreed to this—but the reality of the farm was all around him now. He didn’t want to be trapped in four walls with Emerson again, at least not yet. He wanted this: fresh air in their lungs, room to move their limbs.
“Right.” Emerson nodded in seeming gratitude. “That’s a good idea.”
And like that, Emerson pushed off the truck and was moving, his body suddenly loose and confident, words rattling out of his mouth without a single more moment’s hesitation. “This here holds the processing workrooms and cold storage, and my tool shed.” He motioned to two structures to the left of the main house before crossing a rutted dirt road. Stuffing his car keys in his pocket, Luca rushed to keep up with him.
“Way up there is the orchard and the berry patch.” Emerson’s hand waved toward a small hill straight ahead of them. “Well,orchardis a bit grandiose.”
Luca glanced over just in time to catch the wry smile curving Emerson’s lips. His whole face was easy as he narrated,his forehead smooth. Like for the first time since Luca had seen him at the bar, Emerson was revealing his true self.
“I have a few trees—mostly plums, one peach, a couple pears, few apple back there. Nothing impressive, but I always wanted to say I have an orchard. I’ve planted some more, but you know. Maybe Daisy will be able to enjoy them, one day.”
“Daisy?”
Emerson looked over at him, eyebrows raised in slight surprise, as if he’d already forgotten Luca was there. His guard slipped back over his face in a blink as he came to a stop, looking toward the mythical orchard. Luca paused with him, waiting.
“My daughter,” Emerson said after a beat. “I have joint custody of her, with my ex. Jayden. We alternate—every other week with me here, then with him in Portland. I pick her up again tomorrow.” Another fraught beat. “Should’ve made that clear, back at the brewery. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Luca cleared his throat.Then with him in Portland.He totally wasn’t imagining what this ex looked like, if he was successful in his career, if he was kind, if he and Emerson were still close. “I didn’t really give you a lot of time to give me all the details.”
A small puff of air, a hint of Emerson’s easiness returning.
