Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“No, you don’t have to.” I grab his hand, hoping he doesn’t stop touching me. I enjoy it too much. “I was only checking in with you.”
He squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad you did.”
I’m not sure we’re on the same page, but maybe I’m not the only one confused about what we’re doing here. Most of it is for show, but it’s starting to feel…real.
We continue through the festival, lingering at interesting booths, talking to folks, sometimes with our hands clasped, sometimes not, and even that feels as natural as breathing. Everything with Dawson does.
By the time we get back to our tent, it’s bustling. We get to work assisting customers, wrapping gifts and ringing them out, and before we know it, the afternoon has flown by and the fair is finished. Dad stops by again to ask if we need help packing up.
“We’ve got it,” I tell him.
“Okay, good, because we’re busy at the farm.”
Once everything’s loaded in the truck, we’re on our way back to the farm, where indeed it’s hectic, crowded with last-minute shoppers. We help wherever we’re needed before Mom says she needs to get dinner started.
“How about we pick something up instead?” Dawson suggests, throwing me a look.
“Good idea,” I chime in. “Pizza?”
Relief softens her features, making her weary eyes brighten after such a busy day. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” I pull out my phone to order. “We’ll meet you back at the house.”
We pile in the truck and head to a little place just outside of town in comfortable silence. It’s the first time I can process the flurry of the day. It’s always been like this, but maybe I need to pay better attention to how ragged my parents seem in the evenings. Not that they’ll stop working so hard, but Dawson noticing—which is not surprising—just makes it more obvious.
“Better watch out, my mom might want to keep you around.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m being too good a boyfriend?”
I glance at him. “I think you’re just being you, and that’s what makes you special.”
“Stop it.” He playfully nudges me. “It’s not hard to be nice to your family. They’re great people.”
“I can tell how much they enjoy having you here. Thanks for ruining all future boyfriends for me,” I tease.
“Ditto. I mean, where can I get another boyfriend with a hometown straight out of a Hallmark movie? Nothing else will compare.”
I inhale a sharp breath, my skin tingling, even knowing this is simply banter.
“Too much?” he says. “Laying it on too thick?”
God, he always knows what to say. “You’re just trying to get an early invite for next year.”
We laugh as we pull up to the pizza parlor. I hop out to retrieve our order, and then we’re heading home, trading yawns the whole way there.
After dinner, we share a bottle of wine while seated around the fireplace. Dad has shadows under his eyes, and I wonder if he’s getting too old for all this. Guilt prickles in my stomach. “We drove through the apple grove the other day. Are they bearing any fruit?”
“They didn’t this year. Maybe next fall.”
“Certainly hope so,” Mom says. “It’ll be nice to add some bushels to the harvest.”
“You sure you’re not doing too much? You already have a lot on your plate.”
Dad’s gaze swings to me, his forehead wrinkling. “You know how it gets around the holiday. Soon enough it’ll be three months of frozen ground, and business will come to a screeching halt. There’ll be time for rest then.”
“You’re right, of course. I just worry that—”
Mom taps my hand and meets my eye. “We’ve got plenty of years left in us.”
Dawson remains silent, which I appreciate, and he doesn’t look uncomfortable to be privy to the conversation. Just invested and sympathetic.
Once we’re showered and in bed with the lights out, we lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling. “It’s obvious how much your parents love their business. It’s a lifeline for them, and that’s something I can relate to. But your concern for their well-being makes sense, especially as they grow older.”
“Thanks.” I blow out a breath, glad he gets it. “Soon enough plans will need to be made, but that’s a discussion for another day.”
“Oh, at least another few years.”
“I sure hope so.”
He grows quiet, his breaths evening out, but I can’t seem to stop the thoughts swirling in my head. The clouds moving across the third quarter of the moon create shadows on the walls as I whisper, “Dawson?”
“Hmm?” he replies in a sleepy voice.
I turn toward him with my hands beneath my head on the pillow. “What you said in the diner…about noticing me…”
“All true.” He adjusts his body to mirror mine, and we’re so close, I can feel his rapid breaths on my cheek. “I was drawn to your energy. I knew you were a good person, and seeing you always brightened my day.”