Page 33 of Where the Music Grows

“Thanks, Mom. I can’t wait.”

They’ve loaded me down with fresh strawberries, carrots, a zucchini the size of a baseball bat, and some of the other veggies. It’s funny how similar my aunt and mother are, but yet they are the polar opposite. Aggie loves working at the bar. She loves all the people and will stay up until two in the morning on a pretty regular basis. My parents are almost always in bed by eight and up at five. The only people they associate with are those in their co-op and when they go into the farmer’s market.

I’m halfway up Aggie’s driveway when laughter spills from the open kitchen window. Aggie’s voice, and—a man’s.

What the hell?

I pause. Maybe I should come back later. If Aggie is entertaining, I don’t want to interrupt. Good for her. I wonder if she brought home a man from the bar. Very forward of her. She was always a little wilder than my own mother, but even this is a new one.

I glance to the right. I can disappear into the trees and she’ll never know I was here.

“Jinnie!” Aggie calls out.

Too late.

Aggie opens the front door. “I was wondering if you were off today.”

“Hey, Aunt Aggie.” I heft the box. “Mom and Dad sent—”

My words die as the man steps into view behind her.

Tall. Messy brown hair. Eyes the color of the creek in summer.

Oh no.

He’s beautiful.

And that’s a problem.

“Jack, this is my niece Jinnie,” Aggie says. “Jinnie, this is Jack.”

His smile is slow and easy. “Hey. We’ve met.”

“We have?” I blink.

“Your bakery. I bought day-old muffins.”

Recognition hits. The broke guy. “Right. I thought you were passing through town.”

He chuckles. “Well, that would require gas, and I didn’t have it. I used my last few bucks to buy the bread.”

I immediately felt bad. I should have just given him the stupid bread. We ended up tossing the rest of it anyway.

Aggie looks between us. “Well, isn’t that serendipitous?”

Jack takes the box from my arms before I can protest. “Let me get that for you.”

His fingers brush mine, and my traitorous pulse jumps.

Nope. Not doing this.

I follow them inside, hyperaware of Jack’s broad shoulders; the way his T-shirt stretches across his back as he sets the box on the counter.

“Your parents are too kind,” Aggie says, unpacking the vegetables.

Jack peers into the box. “You grew all this?”

“My parents. I just live on their land.”