Chapter 5

five

BECCA

"Can you believe these tourists?"

Laramie Burke's aggravated exclamation jolted me from the book cover design I was working on. So much for that spine alignment.

She sat down across from me with a hard thump. "They asked me if I could gift wrap." Her tone was incredulous. "This ain't Macy's!"

I resisted the urge to smile and instead nodded in companionable agreement with the vibrant young woman. Laramie Burke—Larry, to nearly everyone—was in her midtwenties and, by all accounts, a Grandpappy's Farm employee since she was a teenager. She was Will's cousin on his grandmother's side. I wasn't super clear on the family tree dynamics. But I did know that the spunky, opinionated woman was only allowed to work with the public for two hours a day. She must have been scheduled in the General Store this morning.

"So entitled," I murmured in commiseration.

"Exactly!" Larry pointed at me enthusiastically. I was quickly learning that worked up was Laramie's default setting. "That's exactly it. They are so entitled. Damn leafers." And then she seemed to remember that I wasn't a local and glanced my way. "No offense, Becca. You're not like the rest of these ungrateful city people. "

I hadn't heard the term leafer until a few weeks ago when Will's other cousin, MacKenzie, had explained it was a local determination she and other residents used for the out-of-towners who visited Kirby Falls to enjoy the fall foliage. I'd run across leaf-peeper and leaf-peeker , but never leafer . Maybe it was vocabulary exclusive to the tiny North Carolina town. This place was full of delightful surprises.

"Thanks, Larry," I replied with a grin. "You taking a break to calm down?"

She nodded, her chin-length black hair shifting with the movement. Larry looked like a punk rock pixie princess. Her eye makeup was all expertly applied with dramatic winged liner, and her hairstyle was edgy and fun. On her petite form, she wore ripped black denim and a forest-green Grandpappy's tee shirt knotted just above her navel. I envied Larry's straightforward attitude and her general vibe of a cool chick who didn't give a flip.

I could never be like that. I gave a flip. I gave all the flips. But being around Larry gave me a goal, something to strive for. And she never made me feel like a goody-goody loser. In the weeks I'd been visiting the farm, we'd struck up an unlikely friendship. On day four of my time in front of the Bake Shop, she'd sneaked a peek at my laptop screen and stopped to ask me about the alien romance book cover I'd been working on. Then we'd talked about books for half an hour before our discussion got her paged on the walkie by Will, wanting to know why she hadn't relieved Mac over at the corn maze.

Larry had come by the next day on her lunch break, and we'd talked some more. I usually saw her at least once a visit when she was working. And I liked her more and more all the time. She reminded me of my friend Cece, totally confident in who she was and always willing to speak her mind.

Having friends in real life was a new concept. Most of my friends were online, fostered through a love of reading and my career as a graphic designer who focused on indie book covers, promotional graphics, marketing, and branding.

My childhood hadn't particularly lent itself to having close friends. That had been hard to manage when my parents were frequently in and out of jail. There weren't sleepovers or birthday party invitations for kids like me, not when all the parents of my classmates found out about mine.

"I think I'm going to grab a pastry before I take over for Mac on the hayride. Carbs always help when I'm feeling disappointed in the human race as a whole. You want anything, babe?"

"No, thanks," I replied with a smile. "I've already had my pumpkin bread allotment for the day."

I watched Larry stroll through the half door of the Bake Shop like she owned the place and heard Maggie's cheerful voice welcoming her.

Before I got the chance to focus my attention back on the screen of my laptop, Will came walking out from behind the building. I considered sitting on my hands to keep from waving like a dork again. But then Carl raced over, eager for pets, and, well, that took priority. I greeted Will's sweet dog before a short whistle had his ears drooping.

Smiling, I watched a resigned Carl trot off toward his master. And then all of a sudden, I was looking at Will in a dark green tee shirt, light-wash denim, and a backward ball cap. He did that cool-guy chin-lift thing as he waited on the pathway for his dog to catch up.

My right hand rose without my permission, going rogue and waving in Will's gloriously bearded direction. I watched his gray eyes narrow, but he didn't look upset. In fact, he was smiling. Teeth were visible and everything. His head dropped for a moment when Carl finally reached his side, but Will was definitely still smiling when he looked up again and met my gaze.

Another chin lift and he was off.

Vaguely, I could tell that my hand was still in the air, but my brain was trapped in some sort of alternate reality limbo where I'd just made Will Clark smile—a real smile. Not a grudging one or a polite half smile. This one had been bright and genuine and absurdly beautiful.

In all of our strange interactions up to this point, he'd been . . . not unfriendly, per se. More like distant. A tad grumpy. A big, bearded crab apple. Like he was giving me a wide berth just in case I couldn't be trusted around the steak knives.

But today, I'd gotten a real grin out of him, and something a little unsteady was happening in the general area of my middle.

"Were you waving like that at Will? "

Laramie's words and sudden presence at the end of my table had me jumping in surprise.

I slowly lowered my hand and turned to watch her sit down with a blackberry Danish and a bottled water.

"Waving like what? How was I waving?"

Dark eyes bright with amusement, Larry bit her lip momentarily before answering. "Becca, you did a royal wave. Like a Princess Diaries wave. Miss America on stage. Queenly. Majestic as all hell."

"No, I did not."

She laughed.

I looked down at my right hand in horror. It hadn't betrayed me like this since I tried to fist-bump someone at a conference instead of shaking hands like a normal person. "Did I really?"

"Oh, honey." Larry laughed again and then straightened. "Wait, are you nervous? Do you like Will?!"

My eyes darted to the side to make sure Maggie wasn't at the order window. "What? No. And you're making me sound like a high schooler."

"Um, try middle schooler. Your cheeks are so red, I could roast marshmallows on them." She smiled, one part devious, the other delighted. "It's okay. I won't tell."

"You're his cousin," I said distractedly before whispering, "And I don't like him like him. I barely know him."

It was true. I didn't know Will at all. Not really. One smile, a four-leaf clover, a treetop rescue, and a failed breaking-and-entering attempt did not a relationship make. But it didn't stop me from admiring the way his tee shirt stretched across his bulging biceps. And it apparently didn't prevent a delicate little newborn baby crush from growing into a toddler.

"Second cousin, once removed," she corrected around a mouthful of Danish. "I really wouldn't say anything to him," she asserted, completely ignoring me. "I respect people's privacy."

I didn't mean for my facial features to be so disbelieving, but I could feel my eyes narrowing .

"What? When it matters, I can keep a secret. Believe me."

I wondered at Larry's words and what things she felt the need to hide. But before I could ponder it too long, she changed the subject. "Are you coming to Trivia Night at Trailview?"

"I'll be there," I said. The awkwardness of our previous conversation was already dissipating. Laramie had this way of seeming unaffected by the world around her. There couldn't be lingering awkwardness because Larry was too cool to allow it. "Chloe asked me to join her team while I'm in town." And I was pretty excited to be included in the trivia night at a local brewery with the friends I'd made here.

She licked a dot of blackberry filling off her finger. "Good. They could use you. I play on a team with Mac and Bonnie, Bonnie's husband, Danny, and my best friend, Kayla. We would have asked you, but we already have someone for the art stuff. Mac's sister, Bonnie, is an elementary school art teacher."

"Oh, that's so cool. If she ever wants a guest speaker or anything, I have a lots of cool presentations and lesson plans I can do. Mostly art therapy from when I volunteered with the Boys and Girls Club of Southeastern Michigan."

"Great! I'll introduce you tonight. She'll love you." Larry's words made me feel chest-achingly warm. "And y'all can plan an activity for her classes. I'm sure she'd love that."

Before I could ask more about Bonnie or Trivia Night, Garrett, the UPS driver who I chatted with several times a week, approached our table, smile locked and loaded as he called out a greeting.

Once again, he positioned himself across from me and propped his shoe up on the bench seat, his half-bared leg on full display.

Only this time, Larry eyed his fabric-covered crotch in proximity to her face and said conversationally, "Wanna put that thing away, Gare?"

The delivery driver laughed like Laramie was an improv champion but straightened away to stand. Crossing his arms, he kept his warm brown eyes on me but addressed my companion, "Larry, tell Becca to put me out of my misery and go out with me. "

I kept my smile friendly but could feel my shoulders stiffening at Garrett's attention. I was flattered. He was a nice guy—totally harmless. But, honestly, he seemed like a player. I got the impression that I was a shiny new toy that landed in Kirby Falls, and he wanted to add me to his collection.

Laramie's perfectly sculpted dark eyebrows lifted. "Wow. Considering Becca is a grown-ass woman and highly capable of making her own decisions, I think I'll let her speak for herself."

Garrett kept right on grinning, undaunted by Larry's less-than-enthusiastic endorsement. "What do you say, Becca?"

My smile wobbled a little at the edges. This wasn't how our midmorning banter typically went. Garrett was supposed to flirt with me. He'd never come right out and asked me on a date before.

Larry watched me carefully while she polished off the rest of her Danish.

Maybe this was a good thing. If I went out with a nice guy, had fun while I was in town, Laramie wouldn't be so convinced that I had a crush on Will. I mean, I did have a crush on Will, but that was between me and my horrible track record with men.

Besides, my . . . infatuation was totally one-sided and equally ridiculous. He probably thought I was insane. Between the tree incident, the marshmallow incident, and the very recent waving incident, we had enough disastrous encounters to fill out a police report.

It was probably a good idea to nip this little crush in the bud before I embarrassed myself any further.

"Sure!" I said, maybe a touch too loudly. "That sounds great."

Garrett seemed thrilled, and we exchanged numbers and tentative plans for the upcoming weekend to grab drinks at a Kirby Falls cider mill and bar. I hadn't been to Firefly yet, but I'd heard great things from the locals and the Google reviews alike.

Laramie drank her water and watched our exchange with an amused expression that I didn't want to examine too closely. And when she and Garrett left at the same time, I couldn't help the sense of relief that came with their departure .

My phone gave a quick buzz, indicating a new text notification in my group chat with my friends.

Cece: How's North Carolina? Still the best thing in your life besides us?

I grinned.

Me: Still amazing. You should have seen the sunset last night.

Cece: I did. You sent us 800 pictures.

Pippa: Very gorgeous. We approve. What else is going on besides the revolution of the planet around the sun?

Me: I actually just got asked out.

Cece: Ohhhhh! The hot lumbersnack who rescued you from the tree?!?!

I winced. Relaying the tree incident to my friends might have been a mistake.

Me: Please stop calling Will a lumbersnack.

Me: And no. The UPS guy asked me out for drinks this weekend.

Cece: *crying emoji*

Cece: *stump emoji*

Cece: *ax emoji*

Cece: *GIF of a woman fanning herself*

Laughing to myself, I typed, You need to stop objectifying people via text.

Pippa: LOL

Cece: Fine. Tell us about the UPS guy. Does he have a big package?

Pippa: ba-dum-tss

I snorted despite the terrible joke. And then I realized the thought of gossiping with my friends about Garrett and our upcoming date didn't sound very appealing. Without Larry's accusations regarding Will staring me in the face, I wasn't so sure I'd made the right decision agreeing to get drinks with the flirty delivery driver .

Me: I'd rather hear about what's going on with you guys? How are your deadlines for your next books going?

That got them going, and we texted for the next twenty minutes about their current writing projects before saying goodbye.

I couldn't help but feel like I'd dodged a bullet by avoiding a conversation with my friends about Garrett. I probably would have admitted that I'd agreed to the date while I'd been distracted and experiencing latent embarrassment from waving like an idiot.

The reprieve was short-lived because moments later my phone buzzed again on the wooden tabletop. The caller ID had my stomach clenching uneasily and my blood pressure skyrocketing.

With a deep breath, I snatched up the phone and accepted the call. "Hello."

"Becs, listen. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but I need some cash."

My sister's voice was dry and rasping. I could practically smell the smoke from the cigarette she was undoubtedly smoking on the other end of the line.

"What happened?" I asked quietly, glancing around the covered porch to make sure no one was within earshot.

"Dad got picked up on the riverfront. He had that thing in the spring, and the piece-of-shit cop recognized him. They're holding him on a fifty thousand dollar surety bond, the fuckers. Mom's liquidating a few things, but she only has part of it. If we could get three thousand from you, he could be out in time for supper."

I listened to my sister's defensive speech pattern and translated. Our father had been out panhandling on the streets of Detroit, down near the river where tourists frequented. A police officer recognized him due to his frequent-flier status with the Detroit PD, and arrested him for an outstanding warrant pertaining to a felony assault charge from a bar fight back in March. With that type of bond assigned by the judge, $5,000 would need to be paid to a bail bondsman in order for my father to be released. Mom was selling drugs they had on hand to make a quick two grand, and they needed me to make up the difference.

"Heather, I don't have that much in cash on me right now."

"So go to the bank and get it. "

I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat, reluctant to admit my whereabouts. "I'm not in Detroit. I'm out of town for work."

A painful beat of silence passed, during which I glanced around again. This time, I spotted Maggie watching me from the open half door. She looked . . . concerned, dark brows furrowed and a question ready and waiting on her lips.

I forced a smile and a little wave—normal this time—and then stood.

"Where are you?" Heather demanded.

"On a work trip," I repeated, unwilling to give her my exact location. "I can't get you the money right now," I added quickly, making my way to the farm's main path. I knew I could leave my belongings. Maggie wouldn't let anyone touch my computer or my bag. And honestly, escape was my priority at the moment.

"Then wire it to me."

This was the first time I'd heard from my older sister in four months. But this was how our interactions always went. She only called when she needed something, usually money. Typically, it was something small: Forty bucks to make it until payday. A broken washing machine. Could she have money for the laundromat? She'd gotten mugged over in Franklin Park, and they'd taken her rent. Could I float her a loan? This was how it was with us.

I'd been estranged from my parents for years, and my sister knew that. There was a boundary in place, and I didn't cross it. But Heather, well, I'd never managed to draw a line in the sand where she was concerned.

It was a heck of a lot harder to tell her no when she was standing on my doorstep, her skin pale, her frame painfully thin.

However, I found the wherewithal here and now, six hundred miles between us. "I'm not going to do that, Heather. Mom will have to find another way to come up with Dad's bail."

She started yelling then. Words I'd heard my whole life. How I was an ungrateful shit, undeserving of all the money I had. Next would come the accusations about how I thought I was better than everyone, with my job and an apartment paid for by someone else. If I didn't hang up right away, Heather would tell me I'd always been the worst part of our family. Disloyal. Garbage. A waste of everything they'd done for me .

I watched my white sneakers move quickly down the dusty path to the field in the distance. I needed to put space between my sister and the comfort and solace I'd found on the farm. My hands shook as I listened to her berate me through the tiny speaker at my ear.

How could someone be so far away and feel like they were standing in front of me? Dragging me kicking and screaming to an uncomfortable childhood. To the sad, lonely kid getting picked on and teased. I longed for nicknames and inside jokes, playdates and sleepovers. Instead, I wore hand-me-down clothes and cried in the middle school bathroom.

My memories of being dirty and hungry flooded my system as my sister's anger breached the distance between us. I felt consumed by remembered neglect and indifference and a thousand other things I never had any control over.

I was an advocate for therapy and had attended off and on since adolescence. I knew the names of what I'd lived through. I also knew that none of it was my fault. But sometimes knowing and believing were miles apart in your heart.

No matter how quickly I walked, I couldn't stay grounded in the here and now. My sister's words transported me back to a dingy, cold apartment in Marygrove, north Detroit. To feeling shame and neglect, and then later, to knowing that my parents weren't good people. And my sister, with eight years between us, was on the same path, unable and unwilling to abandon that unhealthy lifestyle of crime, petty theft, and dealing. They were all criminals and users. Con artists and grifters who took advantage of the innocent. Money and drugs were the only things they cared about.

I'd been lucky. I'd found a way out through chance or fate or whatever you wanted to call it. A guardian angel who'd taken me in. Mrs. Walters had been my saving grace.

When I was six, my parents tried running a con on a little old lady they'd seen in the park. It wasn't the first time they'd targeted someone in such a way. Usually, they'd tell me to wander around and look lost. Once the mark approached, talked to me, and established a connection, my mother or father would rush in and thank them, then explain how they were down on their luck. Living in their car. Or I was sick and needed treatment of some kind. Whatever story they came up with. And then, the good Samaritan would hand over money to help .

Except my parents hadn't anticipated brash and bold Mrs. Walters or the fact that she'd been meeting her police detective son in the park. Dressed in plain clothes, he'd threatened to bring my father in, which would have resulted in jail time and fines from outstanding warrants. Without bothering to consult her son, the older woman had taken one look at me and said she'd let us go if they let her take care of me after school two days a week.

My parents hadn't trusted Mrs. Walters, but they were more than happy to get me out of their hair.

I didn't find out until much later that Mrs. Walters's son, Jamie, didn't approve of the deal she'd struck, but his mother was formidable and no-nonsense. He'd known better than to argue with her.

And so, two days a week, I didn't ride the bus home to our small apartment. I'd walk and take public transit with Mrs. Walters—a sixty-five-year-old retired elementary school principal—to her third-floor apartment in Highland Park. She'd give me snacks and help me with my homework. I hadn't been a strong reader until Mrs. Walters came along. It was also the first time anyone bothered teaching me right from wrong.

As I got older, I spent more and more time with the older woman. By high school, I was practically living in the spare bedroom of her home. And for the first time in my life, I had someone who cared about me beyond what I could do for them.

Mrs. Walters was like a grandmother to me, and I loved her very much.

Heather hadn't been so lucky. She'd never even wanted a different life. My older sister had never known the kind of selfless love I'd experienced. There'd been no help with her math or after-school treats. No movie nights or shopping trips. No tough love and no one to set her on the straight and narrow. Heather had kept right on following our parents to her own detriment.

I lived with that guilt, which was probably why I kept giving my sister money. She didn't love me, but I could still try to help her in the only way she'd allow.

With memories swirling and painful grief threatening, I said, "I have to go," quietly into my phone. It was unlikely that Heather heard me over her own ranting. Her rage had always been a well-placed arrow, and circumstances painted me the biggest, weakest target every time .

My hand still clasped my phone in a death grip, and I moved through the sunflower field in brisk, determined strides. My feet must have carried me here on instinct because I couldn't recall the path I'd taken.

Slowly, my racing mind calmed, and my thrumming pulse slowed to something less fight or flight. This was one of my favorite spots on the farm, so I knew the small maze made of sunflowers by heart at this point.

Several weeks past their peak season, the large blooms were shriveled and drooping, but they still reached over five feet tall. I didn't mind that the sunflowers were mostly dead. There was something comforting about being fully immersed among the dark leaves and wilted blooms. Like they'd done their job, given their beauty to making people happy, and now they got to rest until next year.

I liked the solitude I found here, winding my way around the heavy stalks. It helped to quiet my mind, and, right now, I needed that.

My history and my family felt like the definition of complicated. Part of me—the guilt-ridden and self-loathing part—wished I could abandon my mother and father and sister. Just leave Detroit without a trace. Change my number and be a different person. Someone who didn't have a family who regretted her and had nothing in common with her. A confident, independent woman like Cece or Laramie. Not one with an apology ready and waiting on the tip of her tongue.

I'd lived my whole life being sorry for my existence, feeling like I never fit in the life I was born into. An inconvenience, a liability. My childhood and adolescence translated into an adulthood rife with anxiety and fear. I hovered in the background of every office party or art show, like an extra on a movie set, desperate for a bigger role. Yet knowing I'd only be in the way.

All I'd ever wanted was a place I could belong.

Finally, my steps slowed to a meandering pace. The conversation with Heather was fading into memory, another drop in a very large bucket.

When I turned the next corner, my hands trailing the lifeless leaves, I jumped in surprise. "Will!"

"Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I called your name. "

My smile was weak—more of an attempt, really. "It's okay. I was in my own little world."

I scrutinized his tight features and uncomfortable stance before saying, "Did your mom send you after me?"

Will's lips parted, and he stuck one hand in the pocket of his jeans.

I smiled softly, charmed by his unease and his willingness to indulge his sweet mother. "I'm alright. And I appreciate you checking on me. I imagine she caught my expression when I was on the phone with my sister."

His dark brows furrowed. Whether in confusion or question, I didn't know.

But I answered him anyway. "Things are complicated there, and something came up back home."

"Do you need to go back early?" he asked, the concern still lingering in his deep voice.

"No. It's nothing that would be helped by my presence." Just my money, I didn't add. Because nobody needed to deal with all my baggage and drama. It really wasn't sexy. I'd rather be mysterious than mentally gawked at. Or worse, seen as pitiful and pathetic.

"Oh." Now both hands made their way into his front pockets.

Gesturing at the area around us, I admitted, "I like it here. Helps me clear my head."

Will's gray eyes glanced at the dead and dying scenery. I supposed it wasn't your typical soothing space. There wasn't a peaceful babbling brook or layers of mountains to gaze upon. The vibe in the sunflower maze was more haunted farm or horror film. Tim Burton light, at the very least.

"It's quiet here," I added, feeling the need to defend my choice.

Those pale eyes strayed back to mine. "I suppose I can see the appeal of that."

"Did you know that sunflowers always face the sun? And when they can't find the sun, they face each other?"

"Uh, no. I did not."

"I just love that," I admitted .

Will watched me curiously. I couldn't place his expression. It was something similar to when you see a spider in your car, but before you can do anything about it, it sneaks away. Will was watching me like I might escape or potentially jump out when he least expected it, bite him, and cause a ten-car pileup.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked, still tentative.

"From a meme on the internet."

Will's laugh sort of erupted out of him. His lips parted around a burst of air and amusement, and I didn't know who was more surprised by it—him or me.

I grinned in response. "See, it's neat." Playfully, I wagged a finger at him. "Now, don't get ideas about stealing my favorite spot."

He smiled. "Mine is the corn maze actually. I walk it at night sometimes if I'm here after closing."

"Wow. That sounds terrifying. Very Children of the Corn ."

Will's smile widened. "There's just something calming about the wind moving through the stalks. I like getting lost there sometimes."

I squinted. "And that is precisely why I don't go in. I have a terrible sense of direction. I'd need a search party."

I'd only tried completing the corn maze once in all my time on the farm. I hadn't enjoyed walking the paths without a map or a clear direction. The uncertainty had not been fun for me. When the worn dirt track I'd been on had gotten close to the perimeter of the maze, I'd simply stepped out through the corn into the open and worked my way around the outside until I'd returned to the entrance. I hadn't really felt the need to try again.

The sunflower maze was a fraction of the size of the cornfield, and everything was planted in straight lines that turned inward until you reached the center. Between the flowers, I could see beyond it in nearly every direction. I'd never be in danger of getting lost here.

Losing myself had never held any appeal. I wondered what made Will seek out the feeling.

He squinted right back. "You know little kids go in the corn maze."

"I am aware of that, yes. "

"Just checking."

I was still grinning at him when he added, "I figured you'd be into that sort of thing. Had it on your wish list of climbing trees and finding four-leaf clovers."

Will probably thought I was some weirdo who didn't have a normal childhood. He was right, but I definitely didn't want to draw attention to it. "Well, I did try the corn maze once. Maybe my first week here, back in August. It just wasn't for me. Now I do other things for fun."

As we talked, we'd drifted a little closer. Will stood just a few feet away.

"What other things have you tried in Kirby Falls for fun?" Will asked, keeping the conversation going.

I was a little surprised that he was interested. Maybe he just felt sorry for me after finding me upset and stumbling through a dead flower patch. But okay. A conversation! Not exactly my time to shine, but I could do this. Probably.

"There have been so many wonderful sights to see." I told him about checking out some of the local vineyards and breweries. The playhouse, the restaurants, the farmers' market, of course. Visting Asheville and seeing the touristy things there. I mentioned a few of the trails I'd hiked and waterfalls I'd seen. "Aside from Grandpappy's, being outdoors has really been my favorite part of exploring Kirby Falls. I'd never really been hiking before this trip. Now I want to go every day. Your hometown is so beautiful. I love it."

Will watched me curiously the whole time I spoke. I couldn't say for sure, but his expression showed a bit of surprise as if he'd never considered some of those sights worth visiting.

"I bet you and Carl head out on trails all the time."

Will glanced away briefly. "It's been a while actually."

"Oh."

An awkward moment passed when I hadn't hidden my disappointment well enough, and maybe Will didn't know how to handle it.

Then, surprising the caffeine right out of me, he said, "There's a trail for locals. It's on private property and it's by reservation only, so that the path doesn't get overrun. But I could take you if you want. I've known the owner since I was a kid."

Excitement welled in me like that middle schooler Laramie had unearthed with her crush accusation. But I told Inner Becca to play this cool like coconut water. I smiled and said evenly, "That sounds like fun. Thank you, Will."

He nodded slowly a few times and then stopped abruptly. With a jerky movement, he reached up and spun his backward ball cap around, tugging the bill down over his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I'll get in touch with Mr. Abrams and let you know. It might be early, before work one day, if that's okay."

"Sure!" I scolded Inner Becca and then, after taking it down several notches, amended, "That won't be a problem. I'm an early bird."

Will's lips quirked the barest amount. "I figured."

This seemed like the least amount of awkward I could hope for at this point. We were making plans to go hiking together. He hadn't asked me to prom or anything. I should get out of this conversation now before I tripped and fell into his crotch or blurted out my inexplicable love of the Jonas Brothers.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work. Thanks again for checking on me for Maggie. I'm going to wander for a few more minutes before I make my way back to the Bake Shop."

"Okay." Another tug on the bill of his hat. I was sensing a pattern there, and it would be painfully adorable if that, in fact, was big, crabby Will's tell of uncomfortable nervousness. "I'll see you soon."

Fifteen minutes later, when I got back to the Bake Shop and my computer, I saw a bright green four-leaf clover waiting on the table for me. The stem was secured beneath the edge of my coffee mug to keep it from scattering in the midday breeze.

My lips turned up in a small, shy smile as I stared down at Will's kind gesture. The unexpected nature of it caused my stomach to flip.

I tucked the clover carefully between the pages of my notebook and didn't let myself think about the fact that my junior high crush had definitely bumped up a grade level.