At this small point of contact, I can feel the drumming of his heart like it’s a part of my own body. I hope the connection fuels him. Makes him brave. But he says nothing.
“I told you about my job, or at least my frustrations with my job,” I coax. “What's going on with yours?” He nods, butagain, he doesn’t say anything. I feel like I’m treading a fine line between convincing a shy animal to trust me enough to take a morsel of food and scaring the creature away. But I sense that we’re on the cusp of a deeper connection, and I want it.
“You can tell me something small and insignificant. One little detail. I just want to know you better.” I wait. Still nothing. Just the even sound of his breathing, which has slowed since I took his hand. “Otherwise, I'm going to have to keep asking the people around town, and who knows what they're likely to tell me.”
His gentle laugh reverberates through my body. The sound lifts my spirits. It’s worth anything I can give to feel it again. “Have you been asking about me, Duchess?”
“You better believe I have. Not that anyone's too quick to tell me much, but I did learn that you supply most of the restaurants in the county with pristine produce that they brag about on their menus. And that you raise cattle. Wouldn’t surprise me if you own all the land we’re looking at right now.” I don’t know if it’s true, but that’s only because I’m slightly disoriented as to which direction we are relative to the town.
“Not really.” I can hear the smile in his voice without looking up. I look up anyway because I like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He’s gazing out with the kind of satisfied expression of someone who does own the land we can see, yet there’s something I can’t quite name behind that smile. Something unsettled.
He seems calmer, so I ask what I’ve been wondering about for weeks. “So do you pretty much run this town, or what?”
“Bit of an exaggeration.” He swallows his words like they hurt to admit.
“Is it?”
“Yup.” He looks away, and I can tell from the pink creeping over his ears that I might be closer to the truth than I realized.“My family’s been here a long time. It makes people listen to what I have to say, but lately, I haven’t been able to help much. I have to do better.” He clenches his jaw, and I feel the tension in his body, overwrought because he carries so much responsibility on his shoulders.
He huffs out a breath. “I can’t do shit if my business goes under because I can’t water the plants.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him put it so starkly. “Are you in danger of that?”
“Yes.” The word feels like a bomb, and the pain on his face hurts me like it’s my own. Fitz releases my hand and it hangs limply by my side, amplifying the hollowness I feel.
He may want to push me away, but I still have fight in me.
“I’m sorry. I want to help. And look, you can have the water from our aquifer. Take it. You’ve seen our property. We’re not watering anything, so you should use it for what you need.”
The sliver of relief doesn’t blunt the pain on his face. “Thank you. But that wasn’t the point of this conversation. To pressure you.”
“I know. But until now, I didn’t understand the situation. You have to tell me these things or I can’t help. And still, the aquifer will only get you so far.”
His eyes flame with an intensity I’ve never seen before. Anguish mixed with pure exhaustion. “Right now, I can only think short-term. Where to drive the cattle so they can graze. Next week’s water. This year’s crops. A baby coming in a few months. The future…who can count on anything?”
His words are like a dagger, a new reminder to stop fantasizing about his sweet gestures like they mean we’re becoming a couple. Yet I want to erase his pain. Maybe more than I want anything else. Being there for other people is what I know how to do.
“I want to help you, Fitz.”
Still watching his face, I see his mouth press into a hard line. Seems like he’s opened up as much as he wants to for now. Then he shrugs.
It’s enough. A beginning.
I don’t want to tell him yet that I’m cautiously optimistic about a possible way forward for Willow Springs. I’ve been doing research in my off hours, looking at how other water-starved communities have handled arcane laws that box them in. It’s too soon to make any promises, but I at least need to know he’s open to ideas. His shrug gives me the permission I need to keep digging.
Fitz goes over to where Dolly grazes in the grass and slides the saddlebags off her back. Walking back over to a flat area to our right, he unzips a bag, pulls out a soft plaid blanket, and spreads it out on the ground. Then he takes out a metal cooler that already holds a bottle of white wine, along with a couple of plastic zip lock bags filled with grapes, several hunks of cheese, and a sliced baguette.
My mouth waters. “Are you kidding me? You packed us a picnic?”
Is this something men do?No one I’ve ever dated has put a quarter of the thought into doing something so nice for me before. I don’t even know how to respond.
“Can’t have you going hungry on me. You’re eating for two.”
My chest swells with appreciation, and I feel a giddy thrill, even as I remind myself that this isn’t a real date.
“True. I may just eat for ten. But sadly, I can’t drink that wine.” It surprises me that he forgot that small detail when he’s clearly paid attention to nearly everything else.
He turns the bottle around and shows it to me. “It's nonalcoholic. Basically just carbonated grape juice, but I thought it would be fun.”
