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Instead, I pretended like the world didn’t stop every time she texted or called. The more we talked, the more I realized how much we had in common despite our families’ differences. Welaughed, we shared stories, and in those secret moments, the world outside faded away, leaving just Sylvie and me.
But even as the connection between us grew, there was an unspoken understanding that we couldn’t let it go any further. The consequences of our secret friendship being discovered would be too great. So we danced on the edge, savoring the forbidden thrill of our late-night conversations, all the while ignoring the fact that this delicate balance couldn’t last forever.
By mid-August, the realization that Sylvie could never be anything other than a secret had pissed me right the fuck off. I was a fool to think one stolen kiss would ever be enough.
As a distraction, I had roped Lee into helping me mend a few wobbly fences, but even he got tired of my piss-poor attitude. I barked orders at him and ignored his suggestions. Grueling farmwork was something I understood. Something I was good at. Something I could control.
I used a mallet to drive the fence post deeper into the soil as Lee held the base steady. The rhythmic pounding sent angry vibrations up my arm, and I swung harder.
“Seriously, dude. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
My jaw clenched and I ignored the jab.
“Grab the next one. Hurry up.”
Lee was fit but breathless from my unrelenting pace. He lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and I glared at him.
I pointed with the mallet. “I said grab it. Let’s go.”
My little brother shook his head at me. “You know what?” Lee pulled his gloves off one at a time before tossing them at my feet. “Fix it yourself, asshole.”
He stomped away in angry strides, but I didn’t stop him. The heavy mallet hung limply at my side as the August cicadas buzzed in the humid air.
Shit.
I knew Lee was giving up part of his weekend to help me out, and he was right—Iwasbeing an asshole.
Frustrated with myself, I worked solo for another punishing hour, pushing myself and letting the unrelenting self-loathing thoughts wash over me. When I finally reached the last post that needed mending, I hung my arms across the fence in defeat.
Looking out onto my fields, I reminded myself why I was doing this. Carrying on the family farmmeantsomething. No one else was going to do it, and nobody loved it like I did. I couldn’t expect them to see what I saw or feel what I felt when I walked the rows each morning.
I glanced at the afternoon sun, wrung out.
Tension still radiated through me, and I knew I needed a break, to put some distance between work and myself before I lost my mind or damaged any more of my remaining relationships.
Once I’d decided what I wanted to do, the overwhelming urge to ask Sylvie to come along nagged me. My fingers itched with hesitation, but I typed out a quick message.
Cat fact 215: Cats bring you dead animals because they think you’re a crappy cat who can’t survive on your own.
It was another ridiculous code Sylvie had come up with.Cat factsbecame our way of asking if it was a good time to talk on the phone. When my phone vibrated with the incoming call, I immediately answered.
“Hey.” She sounded breathless, and desire surged straight through me.
“Are you busy today?” I had to get the question out before I lost my nerve.
“Um . . . no?” She was panting.
“Are you okay?”
Her laughter rang out over the line. “Yes, sorry. I hustled outside and got myself all winded.”
A small laugh escaped my nose. She was damn cute.
I flexed my hand to release my nerves. “Can you meet me at Van Buren State Park? There’s something I want to show you.”
Silence hung in the air. I could practically hear her thinking over the phone. We had never intentionally met. It felt like taking a leap from an airplane without a parachute.
“Now?”
