Chapter 6

six

WILL

Trailview Brewing was loud. Voices rose over one another as the deejay and host for the evening set up his sound system and laptop at a table beneath the awning.

I wound my way through the grid of wooden picnic tables arranged in the outdoor seating area of the bar. A few firepits glowed along the perimeter, surrounded by customers or tourists who weren't here to participate in Trivia Night.

Perry MacArthur's food truck, Hogs Wild, was parked at the curb. The line was long, so I kept moving, looking for Jordan, Chloe, and Seth. I'd grab some barbecue and coleslaw later when it cleared out a little.

Finally, I spotted the back of Chloe's bright red hair, high in a ponytail. Jordan was across from her running his mouth, like usual.

Someone crossed in front of me, and I pulled up short. Beer sloshed over the rim of the glass hovering in the air and onto the toe of my boot. I shot the owner of the hazy IPA a look before he mumbled out an apology, then took off.

Realistically, I knew Kirby Falls survived on tourist dollars. But sometimes, I really just wanted to enjoy my town without dude bros crowding my favorite spots .

I eventually made it to Jordan's side of the table where, thank you, Jesus, a beer already awaited me. Before I greeted anyone, I sat down, snatched up the cold glass, and took a quick gulp, grumbling, "You'd think these people could let us have one place in town not overrun by their tourism bullshit."

"Will."

Chloe's sharp tone had my gaze snapping up. And that was when I noticed it wasn't Seth Rockford seated beside Chloe. Instead, I felt myself staring at long blond hair and a big-ass smile.

"You know Becca," Chloe said pointedly. Her blue eyes were sharp little daggers that told me to be nice or else .

Jordan sighed next to me.

For the life of me, I couldn't get my brain to understand why Becca, the leafer , was sitting at our Monday night trivia table. It was one thing to see her at the farm day in and day out. I'd come to expect her there. But this was something else.

"Hi, Will!" the interloper said, her small hand with pink-tipped nails rose in a short wave before she appeared to wedge it deliberately between the bench seat and her thigh.

I finished swallowing the beer in my mouth. "Hey," I managed, sounding a little choked.

"Seth couldn't make it tonight," Jordan offered. "We invited Becca here to join us."

"Right," I replied for no other reason beyond the awkwardness that had descended like a damn elevator.

Becca picked up her drink and took a sip. Her curious eyes moved around the outdoor space and all the people gathered.

Jordan said, "Becca's going to help us out with geography."

The geography expert in question frowned and then glanced at Chloe. "I . . . don't think . . . what?"

Chloe rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "I didn't invite her because of your trivia player wish list, Jordan. Besides, with Becca's job, she'll be great at fielding the—" I sat up straighter, and Becca noticed.

She interrupted quickly, "I'm knowledgeable about lots of things."

Chloe shot her a confused look, but Becca just smiled before saying, "But geography isn't really one of them. Sorry, Jordan. And Will has been trying to figure out my job and how I can be a lazy tourist at Grandpappy's every day. He still hasn't guessed it."

Jordan laughed loudly while I gave Becca a flat stare. "Ohhhh. What's he guessed so far?" my friend asked.

"I never said you were a lazy tourist," I insisted, ignoring Jordan's question.

Her grin was practically incandescent beneath the warm glowing bulbs overhead. "You didn't have to," she teased.

I could tell she wasn't actually upset. Or maybe Becca never really got upset. But then I thought back to the sunflower field earlier today. She'd been distracted and unsteady. I'd seen her hands shaking where she clutched her phone. It hadn't been my place to ask, but whatever that conversation with her sister had been about hadn't been anything good. If it was enough to turn the perpetually cheerful Becca into a shadow—a ghost—of herself, it must have been pretty serious.

Seeing her so off-balance had been jarring. It was probably stupid to have left the clover for her to find, but I'd done it anyway. And seeing her now, back to her sunny self, I couldn't make myself regret it.

"He thinks I'm a kindergarten teacher," Becca finally answered Jordan without looking away from me.

"I could see that," Jordan agreed.

I pointed his way. "Thank you."

"Yeah, but you're both wrong," Chloe said matter-of-factly.

Becca's eyes sparkled. She looked pretty pleased with herself, and despite my initial annoyance with her presence here, I found myself smiling back. Maybe her answers would give her away tonight, and I'd be able to figure out what she did for a living. Not that it mattered. I didn't care .

But I was curious.

The intro music started up, and Becca's bright blue gaze found the main table and the emcee. She held her drink—a red ale, maybe—but it was still practically full. Her clothes were different. She usually wore practical things to the farm. Jeans and tee shirts, hoodies, sneakers. But tonight, she wore earrings and a gold necklace that rested across her collarbones in the open vee of her peach-colored button-down. Her hair wasn't up in a bun or ponytail like usual. It was long, a stream of loosely styled blond waves that came to nearly her elbow. And it looked like she was wearing makeup. Definitely lipstick or gloss or what?—

Jordan elbowed me, drawing my attention away. I could feel my cheeks heating beneath my beard at having been caught staring.

My friend's dark eyebrows were raised. "You ready?"

I realized abruptly that they'd already introduced the participating teams, and the first question was coming up.

"Yeah," I mumbled, taking another bracing swig from my glass.

Thirty minutes in, and things were going . . . fine. I'd answered one geometry question and another about the winners of the 1938 World Series (the New York Yankees in a four-game sweep). Chloe and Becca had fielded the pop culture segment save for Jordan who had successfully completed the lyrics to a Taylor Swift song. Becca had offered up a friendly high five for that one.

We'd hit the mid-point break, so when Jared, the emcee, put on some music for the intermission, I stood and asked if anyone wanted anything from the bar.

Chloe stood too. "Why don't you and Becca bring back another round of drinks while Jordan and I place an order with Perry? We should have it before Mac and Brady go at it, and Jared calls it a night."

Becca looked confused, but Chloe just patted her shoulder and smiled, "Trivia Night always ends in bloodshed. You'll see."

We all exchanged orders. Then Becca and I took off for the bar. It was still pretty busy, so I placed a guiding hand gently on the small of her back, keeping a vigilant eye out for the asshole who'd spilled beer on my shoes.

Becca fielded calls from Mac and Larry's team. She waved back and promised to come by after trivia was over to talk. I didn't have the heart to tell her that my cousin MacKenzie would probably get hauled out of here by a bartender and would, therefore, be unable to chat.

When we made it under the awning and up to the bar, I removed my hand from Becca's lower back and tugged the bill of my hat down a little lower over my eyes. Going out usually meant at least one friendly neighbor would try to talk baseball with me. A handful of times during the busy season, I'd have strangers recognize me from my short-lived career on the field. If I could make it through tonight without either, I'd call it good.

The bartender was busy with other patrons, and it was loud with everyone talking and the music playing. Becca leaned toward me to say, "What do you recommend? I'm not a big beer drinker."

During trivia, I'd noticed her glass hadn't dropped below three-quarters. And every time she took a sip, her nose did this crinkling thing that was borderline adorable.

I tilted my head toward her ear to answer, doing my best not to bump her with my hat. "Try a cider from Firefly. They have the fall harvest one on draft"—I pointed at the numbered board listing all the beverages on tap—"or honeycrisp is a pretty safe bet."

She squinted to read the text, and I wondered if she needed her glasses. Becca sometimes wore round tortoiseshell frames when she worked on her laptop.

After a moment of looking, she leaned back into me, her lips going next to my ear to speak. I missed the first part because I could feel her breath ghost across my neck, warm and unexpected. But then I swallowed and caught back up. " . . . Jordan's place, right?"

Clearing my throat, I ignored the scent of honeysuckle drifting from her hair, working its way beneath my skin. I remained a safe distance away and spoke loud enough to be heard, answering, "Yeah, Jordan owns Firefly."

I was grateful when Benny noticed us waiting and motioned us up to the bar. "What can I get you, Will?"

I ordered another round for me and Chloe and Jordan and then indicated that Becca should let him know her choice .

She smiled at the bartender. "I'll have the fall seasonal from Firefly, Don't Fear the Reaper."

He grinned back, eyeing her for a little longer than was strictly necessary to take her drink order. "Nice choice."

"That'll do it." I cut in before he could get down on one knee. "Thanks, Benny."

He wandered off to start on our drinks, and before I could ask Becca why she'd ordered a beer the first time if she didn't like it, someone came up and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

Jesus. Here we go .

"Hello, William," said the elderly man attached to the hand.

I'd known Nelson Ammons since I was a kid. He was in his seventies now and retired from teaching high school biology. He wasn't usually one to stop me and reminisce about my athletic past, though. I couldn't actually recall any conversation we'd ever had about my failure of a career. He usually asked after my parents and grandparents if I happened to see him around town. But my shoulders still tensed just the same, bracing for a trip down baseball memory lane.

"Good evening, Mr. Ammons," I replied stiffly.

But then something different happened. Instead of awkward conversation that made me want to yank my own teeth out, Mr. Ammons moved by me using the wrinkled hand on my shoulder and came to stand beside Becca.

"Nelson! What a surprise seeing you here." She took his offered hand and shook it gently.

He smiled at her, warm and friendly. "How are you enjoying the Merlin Bird app?"

I stared in utter bafflement as the two people at my side had an entire conversation in English that I didn't understand at all. Something about birds and . . . that was all I got. They were both animated and excited, and I had no idea what to do. I'd been neatly—but not unkindly—excluded from the conversation. After a moment, I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. But Benny was placing the fourth glass in front of me, so I paid for the drinks instead .

Mr. Ammons wished Becca a good night and inexplicably said he'd see her on Thursday before shuffling off to his table of other elderly men and women.

Becca turned back to me, still wearing her smile for Mr. Ammons. When she caught sight of my expression—undoubtedly confused—she offered, "They let me join their bird-watching group at the park. Nelson is helping me be a junior ornithologist."

I blinked.

Why in the world would a tourist be joining the local bird-watching group? And why did my former high school teacher greet Becca like she was the long-lost student?

Now that I considered it, I thought Mr. Ammons's trivia team was on the board as Me So Orni .

I mean, I was grateful. I'd been anticipating one thing—a well-meaning but painful conversation about baseball—and had experienced something very different instead.

The music must have changed to the intro jingle for the next round of trivia, but I couldn't say I noticed. I was still staring at Becca in stunned bewilderment.

But she hurriedly grabbed two of the glasses and said, "We better get back before they start without us. And honestly, Jordan really needs the help."

I snorted a surprised laugh at that, and Becca grinned in response.

A moment later, I managed to get myself together and snatched up the two remaining beers, weaving through the tables and following Becca through the crowd. We made it just in time for Jared to announce the topic for the new round: Dolly Parton. A cheer rose from the locals.

Everything was going pretty well until the final trivia round twenty-five minutes later. And honestly, that was further than we usually got. It was almost nine o'clock.

We'd all eaten pulled pork sandwiches from the food truck and shared our sides between questions. An art history question for Becca. A British history guess from Jordan that ended up being correct. And an enthusiastic response from Chloe for a round on true crime. Becca had declared my coleslaw the best she'd ever eaten, so I'd nudged the container a little closer in her direction .

Jared announced Cinema for the final round, and half the teams present groaned in unison.

I heard my cousin MacKenzie say, "Come to momma. I've got this," loudly from two tables away.

And then from somewhere near the front, Brady Judd called, "What you've got is no chance whatsoever."

"Oh, Lord," Chloe muttered.

"It's eight fifty-six p.m. That has to be a new record," Jordan said brightly before finishing the rest of his beer.

Becca watched people start to gather their paper and pencils and pack up. "What's going on?"

But before anyone could reply, Mac yelled back, "Yeah, well, that's what I heard Caroline Jennings say when you asked her to prom senior year."

A chorus of ohhhhs sounded.

Chloe sighed and reached for her purse, finally explaining to Becca, "Brady and Mac get way too into Trivia Night. It always ends early because they start slinging insults."

"At least one of them—usually both—ends up getting kicked out," I added.

"But they typically shout from the parking lot and ruin the vibe for the rest of us," Jordan said. "So we all usually pack it in and head home."

Mac and Brady were both standing now. My cousin was yelling, as was her way, while Brady mostly smirked in her direction. It never failed to rile her up.

"Why do they hate each other?" Becca asked, obviously distressed but strangely compelled by the unfolding drama.

Chloe and Jordan and I all sort of glanced at one another before I admitted, "You know, I'm not really sure. They were a couple of years behind us in school, and I just assumed something happened back then. They've just never gotten along."

Jordan chuckled. "Remember that time Brady taped a strip of condoms to her back? "

"Oh, and when Mac drew a penis on his forehead when he passed out at Jolly Adams's divorce party." Chloe was cackling.

Becca looked horrified. "People have divorce parties?"

"Sometimes," Chloe said easily enough, "a divorce is a reason to celebrate."

Jordan reached over and squeezed her hand. Becca looked like she was about to apologize, but Chloe continued, unbothered, "Besides, Jolly was married to Buck Adams for thirty years. She deserved an all-expenses-paid cruise for putting up with that ornery asshole."

The commotion got louder, and we all looked over to see Benny trying to keep an irate Mac from charging over to Brady's table. With one arm locked around Mac's middle, he pointed at Brady, "You're out too. Come on."

Amid Brady's loud argument against his ejection, Mac's table and teammates continued drinking and chatting. Bonnie saw me looking and gave me a friendly wave, completely unbothered that her little sister was causing a public spectacle. It would undoubtedly be in the town's Facebook group within the hour.

Several tables had already cleared out, and I polished off the rest of my beer, content to get home to my dog.

Becca still looked a little bewildered. "I have so many questions."

"You get used to it," Chloe consoled.

Why would Becca need to get used to anything about Kirby Falls?

Before I could ask what she meant by that, Chloe said, "C'mon, Becca. I'll take you over to meet Bonnie. Larry said y'all were going to plan a lesson together."

Frowning, I met Becca's gaze. Bonnie was a teacher at Kirby Falls Elementary School.

"Still not a teacher," she said smugly, and I shook my head, fighting a laugh.

Chloe led Becca over to Bonnie's table, where she and her husband sat talking. Larry was there too with her best friend, Kayla. Everyone made room for the new arrivals as Becca got enveloped in the regular chaos of a Monday night in my hometown.

"Why is she here?" I asked when I could feel Jordan watching me .

"Seth is less reliable because he's a teenager. So Chloe invited her."

"I know, but why would you invite a leafer?"

Jordan looked confused by the question. "She and Chloe are friends. She's a nice girl."

I narrowed my eyes. Why was he being deliberately obtuse? "But she's on vacation. She's going to leave."

"So what? She's here now, and everyone likes her. Why do you care? And why are you staring at her so much?"

I gave him a withering glare and ignored the part I didn't want to think about. "It's a waste of time to include someone who's just going to turn around and leave. She's not a local."

My friend turned on the bench to face me more fully. He propped his elbow on the table and scrutinized me like he could see inside my damn brain cells. "You know it doesn't have to be an us and them sort of thing. It's not West Side Story or Jedis versus the Sith. Plenty of nice tourists come through town."

"Exactly," I argued. "She's just passing through."

Jordan deliberately widened his eyes. I could practically hear the BIG FUCKING DEAL he was mentally shouting at me. "And while she's here, she can come to Trivia Night."

And bird-watching, apparently. And Grandpappy's Farm four days a week. And brunch lady book club. And Kirby Falls Elementary School with my cousin Bonnie.

"And maybe softball," Jordan added quietly.

I groaned. "Come on."

"Just give her a chance. She's sweet."

That was not the argument. Becca was nice. Probably too nice.

I just didn't understand why she was suddenly in every aspect of my life. Lurking around corners and popping out when I least expected her. My mother was well-connected, but this went beyond her desire to set me up with a nice girl .

And I'd gone ahead and invited her hiking with me because I was an idiot and just as bad as everyone else. I didn't have a leg to stand on. I'd seen her wave at me like a pageant queen and thought she was fucking adorable. My dog loved her probably more than he loved me at this point.

And something about seeing her so completely off-balance among all those dead sunflowers she loved had given me a funny feeling in my chest. I'd wanted to cheer her up and make her happy again. So I'd asked about the places she'd visited. And she'd sounded so excited about the town that I thought I could show her a few more places she'd love—places only the locals knew about. Places I hadn't thought about in years. I was just as bad as Jordan and Chloe and old Mr. Ammons.

"Fine. Whatever." Annoyed with myself more than anyone else, I stood and started buttoning my flannel. The night air was getting cooler. Pretty soon, I'd need the jacket draped across the back seat of my truck. "I'm going home. I'll see you later."

Jordan sighed, but he got to his feet, too. "Listen, if you don't want her at Trivia Night, find someone who's good at geography, and we'll replace her."

I ignored my friend's smug, grinning face and walked to the parking lot, where Brady Judd stopped bickering with Mac long enough to tell me good night.

For the most part, the rest of my week was more of the same.

I was still putting out fires around the farm. Chipping in where I could and managing the day-to-day life at Grandpappy's during high tourist season.

But on Tuesday evening, I'd managed to get away for a few hours to help Seth and Jordan with offseason conditioning. Nothing more humbling than doing cardio with a bunch of teenagers. At least most of them were incapable of growing a beard as full as mine. It was a small consolation when I'd been huffing and puffing up the hill behind the high school as we finished up our five-mile run. Jordan offered to sneak away once everyone got on the road and circle back to pick me up in his car next week.

The twenty minutes of yoga following our run had been surprisingly nice. Several of the stretches helped my shoulder feel looser. I'd done physical therapy for a long time following my surgery, in the vain hopes I'd be able to return to the roster. So it had been years since I'd given up on any of the suggested exercises my very patient PT had encouraged me to do. It might not be a bad idea to incorporate some of these yoga moves into my daily workout routine. Couldn't hurt, I supposed.

On Wednesday, I heard about some vandalism over at Judd's Orchard. It was across the highway from Grandpappy's and catered to tourists much like we did. However, Judd's didn't pull out all the bells and whistles to tempt out-of-towners. They ran a pretty standard pick-your-own-apples operation with less variety than we planted and on a smaller acreage. No apple cannon or hayride. Just a playground for the kids, a small stand for refreshments, and a gift shop for merchandise. They weren't open year-round like our General Store and bakery. From what I'd heard through the grapevine, the vandalism sounded like some kids messing around on their property after closing.

I hoped that was the end of it. The last thing anyone needed was someone destroying their livelihood. And I didn't want one more thing to worry about. A smashed pumpkin patch or spray-painted buildings in the middle of September would be a headache I didn't have the time or energy for.

I'd spent an hour after closing on Wednesday pulling security footage from the main gate that caught anyone coming and going onto the highway entrance. Judd's Orchard was directly across the road, and the cameras stretched far enough that you could see their gate as well. I texted Brady about it and told him I'd drop off a copy of the footage to see if it was at all helpful for the police department.

It was Friday afternoon, and I'd just finished pulling together the produce that my dad would haul over to the Kirby Falls Farmers' Market tomorrow morning. I liked to help prep and load the truck so that everything was ready to go.

Carl and I were walking back toward my office behind the Bake Shop when I noticed Becca standing beside her table. Her glasses were back on, and she was wearing an orange flannel that looked brand new. She leaned from side to side and twisted, stretching her arms skyward. The soft-looking fabric of her shirt lifted, and I had a moment to admire the top of her button-fly jeans and a section of pale, smooth midriff. Then she placed her hands on her lower back and arched, grimacing, and I found the wherewithal to glance away .

The picnic benches weren't comfortable by any means. There was no back support to speak of, and the wooden seat was hard. Of course she needed to stand and stretch. She didn't need me to be an asshole about it.

With a pat on my leg, I called for Carl, and we took a detour out to my truck, where I grabbed a padded cushion I used when I went to high school football games.

When we made it back to the Bake Shop, Becca was, once again, in front of her laptop. Carl made a beeline for her, and after she greeted the temperamental beast, she scanned the space until she found me.

It was innocent and completely innocuous. Cause and effect. I knew she'd done it because Carl had run over, and she associated the two of us together. But there was something to be said for having someone look for you in a crowd—to seek you out with their eyes and smile when they found you. I refused to focus on the way it made me feel to have her grinning my way.

"Hi," Becca said when I reached her table.

"Hey. Can I sit?" I indicated the bench seat opposite.

"Of course," she offered and then smoothly slid her laptop closed.

Guess I wasn't getting a peek of whatever she was working on.

I placed the cushion on the table surface and slid it over to her side. "I brought you that. Thought it might be easier to sit on than hard wood."

"For me?" Becca reached for the thick stadium cushion and squeezed the edge.

"Yeah."

"Don't you need it?" She looked like she'd rather die than inconvenience me, a worried frown forming that little vee between her brows that was so rare to see.

"I have another one," I lied. Jordan had one I could borrow before the next home game.

Her finger was still tracing the dark edge of the cushion. "Thank you, Will. That's really nice of you."

It wasn't that big of a deal. She sat out here for hours. I was a little disappointed in myself for not considering it sooner. But then again, she was a visitor. I didn't usually make a habit of seeing to their individual needs here on the farm.

"It's no trouble," I finally replied.

Carl gave an annoyed woof at being ignored and hopped up on the seat next to her. Becca gave a delighted laugh and lavished the grumpy dog with attention and ear rubs.

I caught myself smiling and looked down. When I glanced back up, she was already watching me, so I blurted out, "Cheese is his favorite food." I didn't know why I was bringing this up. "You mentioned before that you didn't want to accidentally give him something he might be allergic to. Well, cheese is really the only people food he cares for, so you don't need to worry about that."

"That is good to know." She was pleased.

I tugged on the bill of my cap and eyed her closed laptop. "Busy day?"

Her grin was knowing. "Yep."

I squinted, considering, and then gave up and just flat-out asked, "Are you a librarian?"

She laughed. The sound was bright and happy like I'd just told a joke instead of tried to guess her career. But there was no mean edge, no amusement at my expense. The way she lit up made me want to laugh with her.

I waited instead.

"Sorry, no. Not a librarian." Her fingers still scratched absently over Carl's head, but it was me that had her attention. It wasn't a terrible feeling. "Did you guess that because it's the closest thing to a kindergarten teacher you could think of on the wholesome scale?"

Yes.

"No," I replied.

Her blue eyes sparkled, too pale to be sapphires but too dark to be topaz. They were the saturated middle blue gray of the mountains in the distance. The layered hills that drew spectators from all over the world.

"Maybe," I admitted finally .

Becca laughed again, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is it the glasses?"

Since she offered, I let myself look. As painful as it was to admit, I usually had to make a conscious effort not to stare at her too long. Becca was objectively pretty. The petite, slender body. The long blond hair. The bright eyes and warm, friendly expression. She was welcoming to the eye. And I thought, initially, I was trying to find the lie. I'd stared and scrutinized, looking for the fallacy in her genuine nature. I'd watched and waited, sure I'd see the real Becca lurking beneath the surface. It was hard to accept that there was a person in the world this guileless and open. But I was starting to believe it.

Now, my eyes roamed her features because I wanted to—because I liked it.

I shook my head. "Not the glasses."

Although the naughty librarian thing had its merits. Briefly, my caveman brain envisioned Becca in the role. Propped up on a desk, short skirt, cardigan sweater on, shirt dipping indecently low, and her nibbling on the tip of a pen between full red lips. But the image wouldn't stick. I couldn't see Becca playing that part, faking some sex kitten routine when she was perfect just how she was—sweet and lovely, real in a way that you didn't see very often.

"I guess you'll just have to keep guessing," she said, still amused.

"I guess I will."

But as I watched Carl lick her face to get her attention, and Becca laugh and indulge him, I wondered how many more guesses there'd be. She was leaving—probably when the season ended. Knowing her career wouldn't put me any closer to knowing her . And I'd have a brokenhearted dog on top of it.

I stood from the picnic table abruptly. "I better get back to it."

"Thanks again for the cushion."

"No problem."

I ignored Carl's dramatic sigh as he followed me back to the office. And I didn't take it personally when he spun around and faced the wall as he lay on the dog bed.

The following day after closing, I made my way over to Firefly to meet Jordan. He was filling in behind the bar, but we would still be able to catch the Braves game he'd have on the televisions there. Plus, the drinks would be free, so I was willing to risk Saturday night socializing. The majority of the people at Firefly this weekend would probably be tourists anyway.

When I arrived, I found Chloe and her friend Andie hanging out on barstools while Jordan stood nearby with a towel slung over his shoulder. Andie was another high school classmate who'd grown up, gotten married, had a few kids, and stayed in Kirby Falls. I slid onto the stool beside Chloe and ignored Jordan's dramatics at seeing me in public on a weekend.

"Well, look who graced us with his presence," Jordan called.

I rolled my eyes but said hi to Andie and Chloe. "You invited me, you dumbass."

"I know. But I'm never sure you'll really show up. What do you want to drink?"

"The blackberry one," I replied.

"You got it."

Jordan walked off toward the taps on the other side of the bar, and I called, "And can you turn the game on?"

He gave me a thumbs-up but didn't turn.

I glanced behind me and took in the busy setting. The interior of Firefly Cider was a lot like a big warehouse. The cidery, along with the canning, keg, and bottling operation were behind huge glass windows in the half of the building located behind the bar. The other side was devoted to the bar top and seating. High-top and low tables filled the space, and tonight, they were mostly full. There was an empty stage at the far end of the room, but I could hear a band performing outside in the covered area. The night was pretty mild, and I knew bonfires would be lighting up the perimeter of the huge lawn and even more patrons filling the outdoor seating area beneath low-strung twinkle lights.

Firefly was in a great location with mountain views in the distance, and I knew Jordan had plans to add an event barn for weddings and parties. He'd accomplished a lot in the past eight years, and in-house event planning was next on his list .

Grandpappy's supplied Firefly Cider with apples—the ugly ones that fell on the ground or weren't up to grocery store beauty standards. Jordan, in turn, had grocery and convenience store distribution to all the surrounding counties as well as local businesses and restaurants. I was happy for my friend. He'd worked hard and built everything here with his own blood, sweat, and tears. Jordan deserved his success.

And that success was apparent when the place was packed the way it was tonight.

In my scan of the interior, my eyes snagged on a moment of stillness coming from a small table in the corner. It was Becca. She was sitting alone at a two-top, alternating between glancing at her phone and keeping an eye on the front door. Her hair was down, and she wore a denim jacket over a red shirt. That was really all I could see with the table in the way.

I frowned and turned back to Chloe. "Why aren't y'all hanging out with Becca? I thought you were friends."

Chloe gave me a surprised look just as Jordan returned with my blackberry hard cider. "We are friends," she confirmed. "I introduced her to Andie when we went over and said hi earlier. But she has a date, so we didn't want to interrupt."

"What?" Sloshing the liquid over the rim of the glass, I cursed, then returned my attention to Chloe. "How does she have a date?"

Becca didn't even live here, and now she was dating.

"You see, William," Jordan began, "when two people like and want to get to know each other?—"

I ignored him and tried again with Chloe, "Who is she waiting on?"

"Garrett. The UPS guy."

"That asshole?"

Andie was peeking around Chloe, a delighted look on her face. "He's nice!"

I gave her a flat, disapproving look and then glanced back at Becca. She looked tense and out of place. The first time I'd ever seen her anything but right at home, I realized. Even when she'd been dangling off a tree branch, twenty-five feet in the air, she hadn't looked nearly so uncomfortable. Even in the sunflower patch, when she'd been visibly upset by her phone call, she'd still somehow seemed like she was supposed to be there.

When I faced forward again, Chloe and Jordan were exchanging one of those annoying looks that mind-reading couples seemed to manage easily enough. Then I checked my watch. 8:34 p.m. "What time was he supposed to meet her?"

Another shared glance among my friends. "Eight," Chloe said and then winced.

I shook my head. "Told you he was an asshole."

Garrett, the delivery driver, was at the farm several times a week. He charmed my mother and my aunt and my cousins and flirted with anything that moved. But something about the way he approached women didn't read as genuine. Everything felt like a play he'd rehearsed a hundred times. The same lines over and over again.

I didn't like thinking that Becca had fallen victim to his ways because she was new in town and didn't know that Garrett was just a big flirt. She'd obviously taken him and his intentions seriously if she was waiting for him to show up for a date for over half an hour. She was just too nice.

I briefly considered that Becca was hoping to indulge in a vacation fling with the UPS guy and then discarded the thought immediately. Mostly 'cause I hated it.

"Maybe something came up," Andie argued.

"Maybe he had to work late," Chloe added.

Taking a swig of my cider, I replied to both of them, "Then he could have texted her."

"Maybe he realized his feelings were bigger than he thought and was too scared to confront the very real possibility that he might be interested in someone who isn't planning on staying." Jordan's words had everyone looking my way.

"Yeah, well, he still could have texted."

Jordan sighed deeply. "I'm going to go pour some drinks."

"We're heading out," Chloe said before leaning across the bar to kiss Jordan goodbye. "See you at home." They shared dopey grins, and then Chloe and Andie took off toward the exit .

I made it through a quarter of my cider and half an inning before I peeked back over my shoulder. Becca was talking to Lettie Louise Walker, who was standing beside her table. The older woman was showing Becca something in her purse. It looked like brightly colored yarn—maybe a hat. Becca was smiling and admiring Lettie Louise's knitting. Well, at least she wasn't staring at the front door looking like a kicked puppy anymore.

Another two outs and I looked back to see Becca, once again on her phone. The pint glass in front of her was empty. So, without examining my actions too closely, I flagged down a bartender—definitely not Jordan—and asked for two of the fall seasonals, remembering how much Becca had enjoyed it during Trivia Night earlier in the week.

Then I took both drinks and worked my way through the tables.

There wasn't a good reason for why I was doing this. I told myself she was a nice girl and didn't deserve to be sitting there waiting for some douchebag who wasn't going to show. That I couldn't just sit there at the bar, watching baseball knowing she was alone and miserable. My mother would have been very disappointed in me. That was going to be the official reason for me approaching Becca at her table.

But the real one was a little more complicated. I . . . liked her. She was easy to be around. She smiled often and made you want to smile with her.

Plus, my dog liked her. What better judge of character did you need?

Part of me liked how untethered she was to Kirby Falls's history and gossip. Becca didn't care that I was once a heartbeat and an MRI away from a career in the major leagues. She never asked me about baseball or anything too personal. It was refreshing to have someone respect your boundaries, especially in Kirby Falls, where people tended to plow right through them with a John Deere tractor.

Granted, Becca probably didn't know enough about my past to ask the sorts of questions that my neighbors couldn't seem to resist. I wasn't bracing for a blow or a well-meaning jab. With Becca, everything was easy because she didn't know any different. And sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

"Hey. Mind if I sit?" I asked when I reached her table.

Pretty blue eyes snapped up from her phone. "Will! Hey! Yeah, of course. Have a seat. "

"I grabbed you another."

"That was thoughtful. Thank you." She cleared her throat a little awkwardly and shot one more tense look toward the front door. "So, what are you up to tonight? Just out for a drink?"

I successfully resisted the urge to nod and indicated the bar behind me. "Jordan invited me down to catch the game."

She squinted a little over my shoulder, and I briefly thought of her tortoiseshell glasses and our librarian conversation from yesterday. "Oh, baseball. I've never been a big fan. I'm more of a hockey girl."

That had me grinning. "Red Wings?"

Becca brightened. "Yeah."

"I like hockey, too. The Hurricanes are my team, though."

She nodded. "That makes sense, being from North Carolina."

"Jordan and I used to catch games when we were in college at UNC. Short drive."

"That's fun. What did you study?" Becca took a sip of her drink, and I noticed she hadn't glanced toward the front door again. I wasn't about to bring up her date. Hopefully, she'd already given up on the guy. Becca seemed like a smart girl. I couldn't imagine she'd actually fallen for Garrett's ladies' man shtick.

"Accounting."

But before I could ask her where she went to college or what she studied, a person silently approached our table. The lurking figure was too short to be Garrett, but I was still surprised when I looked over to see a kid no older than thirteen or fourteen in baggy jeans and a black tee shirt waiting at Becca's side.

She finally looked away from me and gasped. "Hi, Teddy! Gosh, you surprised me." But her smile was all genuine delight. "Are you here with your parents?"

"Yep," the kid replied. "I just wanted to come say hi."

"How'd your algebra test go yesterday?"

I watched in befuddled amusement as the boy gazed at Becca, paying me absolutely no mind .

"Pretty good. You'll be at the library on Thursday again, right?"

She grinned. "I wouldn't miss it." Her eyes slid to me before she focused back on Teddy. "We can work on that thing I showed you at the end of class last week."

"Cool," he said. "See you, Becca."

She murmured her goodbye and watched the teen return to his table, where his parents waved in her direction.

I propped my chin on my hand and waited for the imminent apology.

"Sorry," she flushed.

"It's fine. What was that all about?"

"Oh." She fidgeted with the third button down on her jean jacket. Her eyes were just about the same color as the denim under her pale hands. "Well, when I first got to town, I went over to the Kirby Falls Library just to look around a little. But Mrs. Crandall was so nice and gave me a library card even though I'm not a resident. We started talking about some of the youth programs, and I volunteered to lead a class for teens once a week."

I'd known Mrs. Crandall since I was five. She'd been the head librarian since the beginning of time. I was sure she enjoyed having someone as enthusiastic and friendly to help with the youth, even if it was temporary. Poor Teddy was going to be disappointed when Becca up and left.

"So are all the attendees teenage boys?"

Becca paused to consider. "Well, now that you mention it . . . yeah. They are."

I fought a grin and smoothed a hand along my beard before reaching for my glass.

"What?" She laughed a little. "What is it?"

"Did you really not see the way that kid was mooning over you? Cow eyes the size of dinner plates?"

Becca looked surprised and amused. "I really don't think so." Her cheeks were pink, and her gaze strayed to her phone on the tabletop as if remembering how she'd ended up here tonight in the first place .

But I didn't want her thinking about getting stood up, and I really didn't want her thinking of Garrett, the UPS driver, when she was sitting here with me. So I asked, "I don't suppose you'd tell me about this class you're teaching to the impressionable Kirby Falls youth?"

Her eyes glittered mischievously. "Nah. That might give it away. Any guesses tonight?"

"Romance novelist," I said evenly.

Becca laughed loudly, but I didn't take offense. In fact, I was smiling too.

We spent the next hour and a half nursing our drinks and talking about the town, our favorite dishes at all the restaurants she'd tried, and all the festivals and events Kirby Falls had to offer.

Becca easily fielded two more interruptions from locals. One from Laiken Scruggs, who supplied Becca with a dozen farm fresh eggs every week and also let her come say hi to the chickens on her farm. And another from Esther Kent who used to be my Sunday school teacher but was apparently on Becca's bowling team down at the Lucky Strike Lanes.

Both women paid me no mind. I got a polite "hello, Will" from their general direction before they eagerly sought Becca's conversation. My companion, for her part, was kind and warm. But she apologized each time we were interrupted. Yet she didn't seem to mind the attention. Instead, she blossomed under their recognition. I could see it in the happiness stealing across her features and the genuine way she conversed with each person, bringing up something about them that she remembered—Esther's granddaughter or Laiken's routine or even Teddy's algebra test.

Becca was making connections here, and while I didn't understand it, I could see she was sincere. This wasn't some game she was using to pass the time. She actually enjoyed getting to know the residents of Kirby Falls.

For every time I tugged down my hat in anticipation of being accosted by a well-meaning neighbor, Becca welcomed hugs and smiles and chitchat from those seeking her out.

I was destined to be surrounded by friendly, extroverted people. It was worse than going somewhere with Jordan .

Becca was a star, and her orbit pulled everyone in. And while they focused on her, they ignored the hell out of me, which was kind of nice.

And maybe I was just like everyone else in town. I couldn't help but admit I liked her too. Her sweetness and bright personality drew people to her, myself included. I was self-aware enough to admit being curious about her. Whatever game we were playing regarding her career and presence in Kirby Falls wasn't keeping me up at night, but it was close. I thought about Becca more than I cared to admit in the light of day.

There were all the things I'd learned or overheard. Her childhood devoid of four-leaf clovers and climbing trees. I wondered over that phone call in the sunflower maze. The one that made her so upset my mother was worried enough to radio me to go check on her. I would have chalked it up to my nosy momma looking to set us up, but I'd seen the tremor in Becca's hand and the cornered, wounded look on her face.

When I was being honest with myself, I thought about her dazzling eyes, the shape of her body against me following the tree incident, how she always seemed so damn happy to see me, and the way she treated my dog.

I never expected to wonder about a tourist on the farm. And I sure never expected to be sitting here having a drink with her very publicly on a Saturday night. But here I was, having a good time, anticipating her smiles, and learning the different ways she laughed.

And it wasn't until the following morning that I even thought to check the score on the Braves game that I'd missed while I'd been enjoying her company.