Chapter 6

Six

J ane

The autumn afternoon sunshine casts a golden light on a guy like Henry, especially when a guy like Henry decides to pull off his sweaty shirt and toss it aside while working close to me in the pumpkin patch. This, the sight of his glistening shoulders, chest—and yes, his just slightly soft middle—might be the thing that causes heat exhaustion. Not the sun.

On one hand, I know it’s so unprofessional to keep sneaking glances at him. But the way his muscles tighten when he lifts a 50-pounder onto the hay wagon makes me feel lightheaded. I want to call him an asshole for teasing me, for making me think filthy thoughts about what I’d like him to do to me. Tops on my fantasy list: drop that chilled-out dude act, haul me into the barn, toss me onto a pile of hay, and split me in half.

How can he be so calm? He knows he’s out here blessing my eyeballs with shoulders, biceps, and forearms sculpted in that special, rugged way that doesn’t come from hours at the gym. He’s not a gym rat; rather, he’s suntanned and strong like some kind of pumpkin god. Or a corn maze king.

On the other hand, maybe I don’t care that it’s unprofessional. Maybe fate brought us together, in which case it’s totally fine to have a crush on one’s boss.

Is it still unethical if it’s me pursuing him?

My god, I can’t imagine this scenario ever happening where I used to work. Sure there were tons of hot people wearing suits and skirts, doing very important and stressful things with other people’s money. Any relationships had to be reported to human resources.

As Henry said, there is no human resources office here in this two-person operation called Wood’s Pumpkin Patch.

And I don’t hate it.

We both knew what was going on when we first met. And we both know he gave me the job on the spot because he thinks I’m cute and he already likes my daughter.

I knew it, and he knew it.

I’ve known enough phonies in my life to know that Henry is not a phony.

Sarah’s dad was a phony. Generous on the outside, impressive in the way he charmed people and threw money around. But I learned he was very different deep down than he was on the outside.

Henry has simple needs. What you see is what you get. Not a conniving bone in his body.

Spending the day with him, not just ogling his sweaty chest—or staring at the way the drips find their way down to the waistband of his jeans—but getting to know him, has given me no hints of forced charm or ulterior motives.

By late afternoon, no amount of hydration could compensate for the way my body is reacting to him.

Careful, Jane. You thought Carl was pretty special too, and look what happened. Don’t let good first impressions—or even wonderful, sweet, relaxed, warm-in-the-belly-like-apple-cider impressions—cloud your judgment.

You’re still healing and you don’t need to jump into anything blindly.

These are all the things I have to tell myself at the end of the day when I have to do the thing I don’t want to do.

I have to quit my job.