Page 68 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

I settle back against the seat. I came here this morning to help Emma with the dogs. Instead, I spent almost an hour learning about tomatoes, squash, herbs, and soil from the most irritating farmer in Oakridge.

Yesterday, Javier Martinez intrigued me. Today, I understand something I didn't before. He doesn't simply grow exceptional food. He understands what makes it exceptional.

Now I really want to know how he learned to do all this.

Which would be fine, if that were the only thing I wanted to know about Javier Martinez.

Chapter Eight

Javier

Hart has become a regular at the farm. I'm not sure when it happened. Somewhere between her first pair of ruined sneakers and the morning I caught her hiding behind vegetable crates, she stopped being a visitor.

Now she comes two or three times a week, usually after dropping Noah at school. She helps Emma with the dogs, Cole with whatever needs doing, and anyone else who asks.

She knows where we keep the coffee. She knows where the extra gloves are. She knows which cabinet sticks in the kitchen and that the side door to the equipment barn needs a hard pull before it closes.

No one asks what she's doing here anymore. She simply arrives.

And somewhere along the way, I started noticing when she does.

This morning, she's helping Cole pack produce for the community delivery. I'm supposed to be checking irrigation lines. Instead, I'm standing at the edge of the field watching her explain to him why squash should never be packed on top of tomatoes.

Cole looks into the crate.

"They're not that heavy."

Hart slowly turns her head. Even from here, I recognize the look. Cole doesn't. Poor kid.

"Martinez," he calls.

Hart turns at my name. Her eyes find mine across the packing area. And there it is. That little pause we've developed lately. The one where neither of us seems in any hurry to look away. Her mouth curves. Mine almost does.

"Hart."

"Martinez."

Cole looks between us.

"Are you two done?"

She doesn't take her eyes off me.

"Probably not."

Something warm settles low in my chest. I walk toward them.

"What did you do to the tomatoes, Cole?"

"Hart says I'm crushing them."

"I said you're going to crush them."

"With squash."

"Yes, Cole. With squash."

I look inside the crate. She's right. I look at him.