Three hours later I was feeling slightly less appreciative of the task I’d been given.
After I’d explained to the sheriff’s deputies that, no, we did not have video surveillance on the property, they’d listened to my brother’s long-winded explanation of events and then finally gone on their way with reassurances and promises to look into the matter.
Thankfully they’d agreed that it was likely bored teenagers and not our neighbor. Who, according to Brady, was a representative of our number one rival.
My brother had made it exactly forty-two minutes before he tried to get out of helping me paint over the vandalized wall by insisting on confronting Mac over at Grandpappy’s. I’d told him he might hinder the investigation if he charged over there, accusations blazing. Then I’d rolled my eyes behind his back and grabbed the fresh paint can.
On the days when the orchard was closed to the public, we’d taken to eating lunch together at one of the picnic tables in front of the refreshment stand. Occasionally, Mom and Dad would join us, but mostly it was me, my siblings, and Mark in attendance.
Today, I was the last to arrive, and the only open seat was next to Mark.
With streaks of white paint dried on my worn jeans, I sat down at the table with last night’s leftovers in my hand. I’d reheated a helping of Mom’s baked penne in the microwave in my office.
It sounded like Brady and Joan were in the middle of a bickering match over my brother’s vacation schedule. I ignored them and bumped Mark with my elbow, aiming for friendly and hitting the bullseye. “Hey, how are you?”
“Good,” he replied quietly. “I’d ask how it went with the sheriff’s department, but Brady already gave us the rundown while you were getting cleaned up.”
I rolled my eyes and Mark chuckled, his shoulder brushing mine in the process.
“He is such an idiot,” I muttered. And then I used the excuse of reaching for my water bottle to shift on the bench, putting a few more inches between our bodies. It felt safer that way. Friendlier.
The new distance didn’t seem to matter because a moment later I felt Mark’s thumb skim my temple and along the length of my jaw.
On a shuddering inhale, I pulled back in surprise to see Mark’s waiting grin.
He lifted his hand to show me the paint on his thumb. “I think you missed a spot.”
“Oh, geez.” I released another unsteady breath. “I guess I did.” I swallowed. “Thank you.”
Mark held my gaze for a long moment before he nodded and went back to his lunch.
I could feel embarrassment flood my face. But I didn’t really care about the white paint smudged across my skin. The reason for my sudden awkwardness was the way I’d reacted to Mark’s simple touch.
Friends sat next to each other. They bumped legs and elbows and it wasfine. Mark should have been able to casually wipe a drop of paint off my face without me making a big hairy deal out of it. Without my heart racing like a jackrabbit and my awareness dialing up to ten. I shouldn’t have noticed the gentle way he’d touched me or how the rough pad of his thumb made my skin tingle. I needed to get myself together and remember my place.
Guiltily, I glanced at my siblings. At some point, the conversation had shifted to the opening of a new restaurant, but I caught up pretty quickly.
“It’s in that little shopping center in Horse Shoe near the post office,” Brady said after he’d finished chewing a bite of calzone.
“What’s it called again?” I asked as I blew on a forkful of pasta and did my best to ignore the heat lingering in my cheeks.
“Flyers. It’s Abby’s new place. They serve wings and beer and the best rosemary fries you’ve ever had.”
Abby was Cole Abernathy, my brother’s best friend since kindergarten. They’d grown up going to school and playing soccer together. They’d even gone to the same college and roomed with one another in the dorms. Most friendships couldn’t survive that, but nothing seemed to separate those two boneheads.
From what I’d gathered, Cole owned several successful restaurants in town and did everything from front-of-house management to cooking to bussing tables, whatever was needed. Flyers was just the newest one on his roster.
“Y’all are going, right?” Brady asked. “I told him we’d be there to support the grand opening.”
“Sure. I’m in,” I replied.
“I can’t tomorrow,” Joan said with no further explanation.
“What about you, Mercer? You coming?” Brady asked.
I eyed Mark discreetly. I could feel the side of his knee beneath the crowded picnic table, but I was ignoring it.
In the past few weeks, I’d been doing a lot of ignoring where Mark was concerned. We were firmly back in the friend zone, and that was safest for everyone. I was also ignoring the way that knowledge made me feel.
