Page 42 of Worth the Trip

By the time we reached my car, the remaining jug had left a red line across my fingers. Landon stopped beside the passenger side and handed Nana’s tea back to me, his knuckles brushing mine around the handle.

“Let me buy you another peach tea.”

“You’re the one wearing mine.”

“Then let me replace yours and find something less wearable for myself.”

“I need to get these gallons back to Nana before her card game starts.”

“Can’t keep Nana waiting.”

“No, you really can’t.”

He glanced toward the festival, then back at me. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Willow Run isn’t that big.”

“That sounds almost promising.”

“It was geography.”

He nodded slowly. “I coach football. I’m trained to find an opening. I’m counting that as one.”

“That is not what I said.”

“I know what you said.”

“Then why are you rewriting it?”

“Optimism.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Very.”

I laughed and reached for the driver’s door. “Enjoy the festival, Coach.”

“Enjoy your tea, Hershey.”

I looked over my shoulder and found him still watching me, his interest easy to recognize because he made no effort to disguise it. What I didn’t find was pressure attached to it. He’d flirted, teased, noticed too much, and somehow never made me feel like any of those things required something back.

Heat moved beneath my skin again.

The July sun had officially lost the right to take credit.

“Don’t make me spill the gallon.”

Landon raised both hands and stepped backward. “I done learned my lesson. Drive safe, Nolani.”

The sound of my actual name after all those Hersheys did something inconvenient to my pulse.

“You too.”

“I’m walking.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”