AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The farm is perfect. I just haven’t been there since you.” She lifts our linked hands and kisses my knuckles. “I’ve missed it.”
I squeeze her hand. “Me too. Strawberry season is nearing its end, but the raspberries are out early this year. We’re gathering dessert for our picnic.”
“Careful there, Bower. If you set the bar this high, you’re setting me up for disappointment in the future.”
I huff, thinking about Javier’s high-bar jabs and those ridiculous stripping rumors. “Why is everyone going on about me and bar setting? And anyway, this is me on low. You’re not ready for my high bar yet.”
“Someone’s overconfident.”
Or determined to make Jo the happiest she’s ever been. “I know you. Know what you like. There might be a visit to a flea market in our future.”
“Really?” Her voice pitches in excitement.
I chuckle. I have the perfect market in mind, where we’ll invent stories about bets lost, wars won, family squabbles lasting generations. We’ll look at pieces like they’re the photographs on my wall. Stories locked in time, as Jolene and I give them new life while having a laugh.
“That is definitely a high bar,” she says. “I haven’t been to a market or antique store in ages.”
“No time?” I ask, glancing at her.
She runs her nails down the side of my hand. “Like with Sugarhill, they reminded me too much of you. Going places filled with our history was hard.”
I blow out a rough breath, wishing I could time travel. Rewrite those awful years. “I hate how hard our disappearance was on you.”
“And onyou. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately—how devastated you must’ve been. And I heard about your half brothers, that your father dropped that bomb on you through his tell-all biography. Have you met them?”
I nod. Another shocking surprise from the man who ruined our lives, this one less unpleasant. “I don’t talk with our father or see him, but I’m the intermediary with his wife. We’ve met the boys a few times. They’re sweet kids, and I’m glad they know about us now. I don’t trust that they won’t need to lean on us in the future. We’re not close, but I’ve made it clear they can reach out if needed.”
The truck bumps over a pothole. Jolene releases my hand and threads her fingers through the back of my hair. “How did such a good, sweet man come from that piece of shit?”
Only Jo can make me smile while talking about Raymond S. Bower. “You can thank my mother and brothers for my goodness. She raised us right. Or maybe it was my best friend?” I nudge her thigh. “She kept my arrogance in check with her poor sportsmanship.”
“Poor sportswomanship, but all I am is a proud winner.”
“Or just plain obnoxious.”
She flicks my ear. I flinch and rub the sting away, smiling.
We pass the sign to Sugarhill Farm and pull down the gravel road to the U-Pick area. I’ve come here with Jo a hundred times. Two best friends living the small-town life of fresh-grown foods, free time filled with outdoor activities. Nothing much has changed about the Clark family farm, including the large boards with cutouts for faces and painted strawberry bodies below, where tourists take pictures. But this is the first time I’ve helped Jolene from my truck, held her hand, stopped to kiss her softly because I simply could.
She hums against my lips. “I like Romantic Date Callahan.”
“He likes you too.”
“Callahan Bower? And is that…” I turn to find Gabby Clark blinking at us. “Hey, Jolene.”
Jolene instantly drops my hand and steps away from me. She gives Gabby a small wave. “Beautiful day. Has it been busy? God, it’s nice out, isn’t it?”
I almost laugh at Jo’s awkwardness. She’s likely worried for me. I may not have been ready for the onslaught of Spring Fair gossip, but I don’t want to hide my feelings for Jo. She deserves to be treated like the queen she is.
I wrap my arm around her and pull her into my side. “Gabby, great to see you.”
Jo relaxes, settling her hand on my stomach. Gabby’s eyes widen. I haven’t seen Gabby since my return, but she’s still tall and slim, her dark skin offset by her orange sun hat. Her family has owned this farm for generations. From what I’ve heard, she runs it with her brother now.
“I probably shouldn’t make a thing of this,” she says, gesturing to us, “but you two always made sense as a couple to me. Feels good to see you together.”
“Real good,” I say, brushing my hand down Jo’s arm. Goose bumps travel in my wake. “Do we still pay after we pick?”
“You know the drill.” She fans her hand toward the stacked containers. “There are a few tourists out there now, but it’s quiet. Spring Fair is the place to be this week.” She stares at us another beat, then shakes her head. “Have fun, you two.”
