Page 86 of The Burbs and the Bees
“Well, I’ll let you get back to the movie. Oh, hey, bro. Got a twenty? I want to get some snacks.”
I reach into my wallet and hand over a twenty, and we both know it’s silence money. I roll the window up and turn to Alyson, who looks mortified.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Twenty bucks will shut him up.”
“What if he gets the wrong idea about us?”
I want to say, so what? So what if he does? So what if everyone does because maybe, just maybe I might want more with her? But I don’t say that. Instead, I make two fists and bump them together. “He’s seventeen. He gets exactly what this is.”
“Okay,” she says, relaxing a bit. She stares at the screen and continues to eat the cherries.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say and move the popcorn to the side with my foot.
She waves her hand. “It’s fine. I’ll vacuum it. Here, have some of mine.” She takes hers from the dash and hands it to me. I dig in and sit back, a new kind of contentment settling over me as I watch the movie. Every now and then I steal a glance at Alyson. Every now and then I find her looking back at me, a small smile on her face.
By the time the movie is over, all the snacks are gone. “That was fun,” she says, but then she frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I ate too much.” She puts her hand over her belly, and it grumbles loudly.
“There is only one thing to do about that.”
“Oh, and what might that be?”
“Very vigorious exercise,” I say with a wink.
Alyson grins. “How has this become my life?”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She puts her hand on my lap, and her warmth seeps through me, curls around my heart. “It’s a good thing, Jay. It’s a really good thing.”
She’s right. It is a good thing, which begs the question, How am I ever going to let her go?
Chapter Seventeen
Alyson
With the farm opening up later on Mondays, I take my time preparing the animals for the day, and after a couple of love kisses from Barack, I head to Jay’s place. Nails being pounded into boards echo in the still morning air, and I search for him.
This morning, he opened up his U-Pick, and I’m hoping for a crowd. Farming and sustainability are important to him, and spreading the word is even more important, which means today, something he’s been working on for a while, is a big deal. If I weren’t in the bus
iness, I never would have understood that.
I walk past his cottage and down the hill to the main house to meet with little fanfare. The only vehicles in the driveway belong to his family. Well, damn. I plant my hands on my hips and note the ragged sign nailed to a tree announcing the farm has opened for corn picking.
What kind of welcome is that?
I turn and take pleasure in the sight of the gorgeous crops and the majestic rows of cornfields in the distance. This really is God’s country, as I heard a few people coming into the market say, but if Jay wants to put this place on the map, posting one dinky sign is certainly not the way to go about it.
I spot him coming down the hill, and my damn heart picks up the pace. My God, he is so fine, the mere sight of him alone has the ability to unnerve me and weaken my knees. Although it’s my heart I’m really worried about.
I wave to him as an idea takes hold. Next weekend, this man is going to be in for a big surprise. I might be a farmer now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two, or a hundred, about throwing a successful party.
He picks up his pace when he sees me, like he can’t get to me quick enough, and while I like to think it’s because he’s as drawn to me as I am to him, I still can’t forget the fact that he’s a sworn bachelor for life. Then again, our talk the other night was rather intimate and deep. It opened my eyes in so many ways. Is it possible that it opened his eyes, too? Could he be rethinking what he might want in a relationship? Then again, even if he decides he wants more, something deeper, it doesn’t mean he wants that future with me. Maybe I should just sell the farm and get out of Dodge.
“Hey,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to check for an audience, no doubt, before touching my hair. Warmth and want shiver through me at the contact. “What are you doing over here?” I swallow and nearly lose myself in those soft whiskey-brown eyes that always turn dark chocolate when making love.
