Page 42 of Small Town Boy

“Does it now?”

Does it now? What the hell kind of response is that? Apparently in the last sixty seconds I went from professional businesswoman to sex kitten. Ready to pounce on the sexy, southern, half caveman in front of me who has graced me with conversation instead of grunts.

He steps in closer, making the small gap between us disappear. We’re all but touching, my body calling out to his like a homing beacon.

“Pretty sure making out in these stacks is Dustin and Kenzie’s thing, but I bet they wouldn’t mind if we borrowed it.”

He leans in, lowering his face to mine, stopping just before our lips meet. The whisper of his breath on my skin is intoxicating, my head lost in the moment. I want to kiss him more than I want to breathe right now. I want to climb him like a tree, wrap my legs around him, and hold on for dear life while we suck face the same way teenagers do. I want to know what his hands feel like on the rest of me.

Snap out of it!

I whip backward, forcing cool air between us, allowing me to regain my composure. I did not come here to get all sneaky and frisky with a hot guy. I came to work. To prove myself.

“I need to get back.”

Noel lets out a noise—one of his many variations of grunts, letting me know he understands. Doesn’t like it, but understands. Pushing past him, I focus on my task.

At least until his hands grab mine, and he yanks me into him. My body slams into his with a thud, his mouth pressed to mine half a heartbeat later. His kiss is slow and gentle though, just as it was the other morning. Just as delicious too.

I whimper, my knees going weak all over again. Everything around us falls away, leaving just him and me. The two of us, this kiss, and nothing else. Not even the sounds of our hearts beating. At least I assume mine is still beating. For all I know, Noel possesses the power to stop my heart as well.

“Ahem!”

The sound of someone clearing their throat on the other side of the shelf yanks us apart. Or, well, I yank apart. Noel, as calm as ever, holds on to me, not letting me get very far.

“You should get back. Don’t want to give them anything more to talk about.”

Too late…

12

NOEL

I throw my dirty gloves into the bed of my truck with more force than I intended. They hit an empty fertilizer jug, sending it flying, kicking up a dust cloud. If that isn’t my own frustration personified, I don’t know what is.

My insides are all tied in knots. Thick, strong fisherman’s knots that show no sign of unraveling any time soon. In fact, they only seem to get tighter the more I dwell.

Because my frustration has a name. Bronwyn Ainsworth.

No, it’s not fair to put this all on her. Or put any of it on her actually. She might be the catalyst—the driving force behind it—but my frustration lies with myself. With my own lack of action. With the fact that every time I’m around her, I feel like a small child standing in front of Santa—so in awe that I stumble and fumble through everything, making it up as I go along. At this point, I’m sure she thinks I’m pathetic. Can’t blame her either.

“You wanna share what’s going on in that head of yours?” my twin asks, walking up behind me.

I throw a glance at him over my shoulder, waiting for him to catch up before I say anything. “Didn’t realize you were here.”

Finding Nash here isn’t completely unexpected. It’s the land we grew up on, the modest farmhouse that has been passed down through the Keller family along with the nursery nestled on the back part of the property.

Both of us rush in and out of here multiple times a day depending on what we have going. The two of us even share an office inside the small building currently to my left, right next to the one our parents share.

This afternoon though, I thought he was working on something for the town, rather than hanging out here.

“Dad wanted to move that new shipment of topsoil out front before the weekend rush.”

“I woulda helped.”

“You were still over at Mama W’s.” He leans against the bed of my truck, facing out into the nursery, legs stretched out in front of him. “I finished up early and was here, so we just took care of it. By the way, that new stuff you sprayed at the welcome sign is working. Almost nothing is pushing up through that mulch. And zero kudzu. D’you use what I think you did?”

I nod, happy to have confirmation that my experiment is working. Still working, actually. The welcome sign isn’t the first place I’ve tried this method, one that’s now been noticed by others. Not that they have any idea what our secret is. Which is just the way I want it. I think.