“No, you sure aren’t.”
I bite my lips and test out my heart.
Margaret is moving to Denver.
But I’ve traveled further than Denver.
Hell, I’ve traveled through Denver to Telluride three times.
I can visit her.
Not whenever I want. That’s true.
But I can text, call, and FaceTime. Almost whenever I want.
Still, my heart wears a bruise.
Why didn’t she tell me?
I look back at Farm Boy, my bottom lip trembling. “I don’t like secrets.”
His smile fades. “Is someone keeping secrets from you?”
“My family.” The words come out choked just as two tardy tears make their appearance. “Dammit.” I mash the napkin against my face.
He sighs. “That must feel shitty.”
I like that he says this. That he doesn’t say things that aren’t true. Like:
I’m sure they didn’t mean it.
Maybe they had a good reason.
It’s okay.
“It does.”
His narrowed gaze softens. “Want to tell me about it?”
The question is an offer. So casual. No pressure at all. But it also feels like a gift. I’m nodding almost immediately before the words fly from me.
“We’re here for my sister’s bridesmaid luncheon, which, honestly wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be—even though this dress feels like wearing a cheese grater and I had to suffer through a meal with my sour-faced grandma?—”
He blinks twice before his face cracks with a big smile, showing me those brilliant teeth again.
“When my sister handed out the bridesmaid gifts, I worried I’d have to wear a necklace or bracelet—” I sweep my hands down my neck, reassuring myself that it’s still unshackled. Farm Boy’s gaze follows the path of my hands down below my collar bones before snapping back to mine. “But she gave me this brooch instead.”
I smile when I finger the little sewing machine, watching the gold leaf wink in the sunlight, but when I look up at him, Farm Boy isn’t admiring the pin. His neck looks stiff, his jaw tight.
“Do you not like brooches?” A terrible thought occurs to me. “Or sewing machines.”
He swallows and clears his throat. “I think I’m a huge fan of both,” he says, his voice sounding rough. Maybe he’s thirsty.
I smile huge. “Me too! I was so excited when I opened it. Especially after I unwrapped the specialty presser foot Margaret gave me.” At the flicker of his frown, I hold up a hand. “Sorry. Margaret’s my sister. Sometimes, I get ahead of myself.”
His mouth twitches. “Just a little.”
I like the way little brackets frame his smile when he’s not trying to smile. Not quite dimples, but punctuation marks. I touch the brooch again and press the back of it against my skin because the way my heart is jumping is an odd sensation.
