A muscle in his jaw tics. “Yes.”
“That’s good, then. I’ll be more careful tonight, though. No offering information they could potentially contradict me on.” Following Nathan’s lead was a rookie mistake I won’t make twice.
“My family’s not going to grill you.”
I look up at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Maybe Jovie,” he says.
“Exactly.”
We wander the fair, checking out everything. Life-sized metal sculptures of Sasquatch. Earrings made from old skateboards. Every kind of dried mushroom. Perfect little pottery cups to rinse and drain berries. If you can imagine it, someone’s selling it.
All the while, we’re holding hands. Bumping against each other. Getting used to being relaxed and cozy together. I’m honestly not sure I needed the refresher, but I’ll take it.
I can’t resist the draw of little jars of honey lined up in rows and pull Reed over to the display. The jars glow in the sun, half a dozen subtle shade variations, depending on the type of honey. Honeycomb in plastic containers and wooden honey stirrers are laid out along with fat crocheted honeybees. The adorable display has me craving something sweet.
“Would you like to try a sample?” the woman behind the table asks. She’s got a box of small popsicle sticks and squeeze bottles of the honey varieties set out in front of her.
“I’d love to try the vanilla-infused one.”
She squeezes a dollop on the end of a stick and passes it over. I take a taste and have to close my eyes for a second to savor the flavor combination. The honey-vanilla mix dances on my tongue, rich and sweet.
When I open my eyes again, Reed’s watching me, his dark gaze stuck on my lips. I’m sucking on the end of the stick to get every drop, my tongue darting out for one last lick. It’s a sexier show than I intended, but the honey is too delicious to resist.
“Good?” His voice is gravelly, as if he hasn’t spoken in years.
My cheeks flame, but I can’t look away from him. “So good.”
His thumb swirls over my knuckles. I sway closer, that gentle touch radiating up my arm.
“It’s wonderful on yogurt,” the honey woman chirps.
Yes. Right. Honey. I swallow hard and toss the tester stick into a small trash can. “I’ll take a jar, please.”
I pay for the honey and stuff it in my reusable tote bag. Reed and I move on to the next booth, ready to admire a stunning assortment of clay earrings.
“Do you think your mom will like it?” I ask.
“My mom?”
“I thought I’d bring the honey to her tonight. As a thank you for dinner.”
He squeezes my hand. “She would. Don’t you want one for yourself?”
My gaze drifts to the golden jars over his shoulder. That honey was decadent. I can imagine it drizzled over everything I eat for the rest of my life. “I’m practicing self-control.”
He frowns. “Wait here.”
I stand beneath one corner of the awning as he goes back to the honey woman and buys another jar of the vanilla-infused goodness. He returns to me and gently slides the jar into my tote, resting it alongside the one I bought. Then he takes the straps off my shoulder and slips it onto his own.
His gaze lights on me, somehow stern and gentle at once. “Self-control is not something you need to work on.”
He takes my hand back in his, leading us farther down the row of booths. My heart can’t stop fluttering over his sweetness. What did he say to me the other night?“Your wants and needs are valid.”That’s a tough lesson to learn when the loudest voices around me share the opposite message. But for now, those voices are currently on the other side of the globe.
And I’m here with Reed. Indulging.
We pass watercolor art prints of the surrounding mountains,hand-tooled leather wallets and bags, flavor-infused olive oils, and handmade luxe bathrobes.
