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“Farmers market.” I threw off the covers and stood. If we weren’t going to spend the next hour in bed, I might as well get some coffee. “My old neighbors asked me to stop by. They’re one of the vendors.”
“Oh, yeah? What do they sell?”
“Jam. Every kind you can imagine.”
She tilted her head. “I like jam.”
He grinned. “What’s not to like? It’sjam. Everyone likes jam.”
“Accurate.”
I hopped in the shower and emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later in jeans and a gray Henley. Nora, on her second or maybe third cup of coffee, did a double take. Her gaze drifted down my body, taking her sweet time with it. I felt good about that. I had spent the last three years coming to terms with the fact that at any minute, my body could betray me. Every time Nora looked at me like that, like she appreciated every bit of it, I felt…grateful. Because I hadn’t fallen apart yet. Because even if my body did eventually betray me, at least it gave methisfirst.
“Any coffee left?” I asked.
“Some.” She ran her hands over my chest and shoulders before rolling up on her toes to kiss me.
It wasn’t a deep kiss, no more than a quick press of lips, over almost before it began. Still, my heart thumped hard against my ribs and when she started to pull away I instinctively wrapped my arms around her waist, keeping her close. My epiphany last night had left me feeling unsteady, wanting reassurances that she couldn’t possibly give, not when she didn’t have all the information.
Because I hadn’t told her. I hadn’t told her that the one thing she wanted more than anything was the one thing I would never give her.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Do I need a reason?”
“You’ve never just kissed me before.” I immediately wished I could take the words back. I sounded vulnerable and needy, and while I was feeling both those things in spades this morning, I really didn’t want her to know that. My instinct of self-preservation was alive and kicking.
“What are you talking about? I’ve kissed you lots.”
“You kiss me when we’re about to get naked. You’ve neverjustkissed me.” Oh, Christ, why?Stop talking, I willed myself.You sound pathetic.
She flushed. “You’re hot,” she blurted. “Especially in gray. It looks good with your red hair. And your shirt is tight enough that I can see your chest muscles, which I happen to like a lot. If you don’t want me to kiss you, maybe you shouldn’t wear shirts that make you look so damn touchable. Oh, my God, please make me stop talking.” The last came out with a hint of desperation.
I couldn’t stop the jackass grin from spreading over my face even while I bent to press my mouth to hers.
“You can stop kissing me now,” she said, but it came out garbled since their lips were mashed together.
I shook with laughter. But I didn’t stop. The kiss changed, deepened. She dug her fingers into my shoulders. When I finally lifted my mouth from hers, she looked at me with dazed eyes.
“Anything you want to say?” I asked. She shook her head and I grinned. “You’re welcome.”
I handed her purse to her and then we were out the door. I caught her hand as we made our way down Main Street, linking our fingers together.
“No,” she said, squeezing my hand before dropping it. “Someone will see.”
I tried not to let that bother me. We hadn’t told Suzie—and wouldn’t until I was gone—and the last thing we needed was for her to find out from one of the notorious gossips of Hart’s Ridge.
The farmer’s market happened every Saturday until November, on the town green across from Town Hall. When we reached the white tents and open tables, our pace slowed. It was early October now, and the farmers market had gone fully autumn. There were pumpkins in preparation for Halloween, bushels of apples begging to be made into pie, and soaps and candles as far as the eye can see.
“Oooh, candles,” Nora said. She grabbed my hand despite her earlier warning and pulled me along with her to investigate.
I didn’t protest.
We slowly wandered down the rows of fat handmade candles. She bypassed Strawberry Fields and Lemon Pie, picked up one labeled Campfire and gave it a tentative sniff.
“Burning logs,” she declared. “Nice, but I have a fireplace.” She replaced it and moved on to Balsam, holding it up for me to sniff. “Mmm. Smell this. It reminds me of you.”
I obliged, breathing it in, then looked at her. “I smell like a tree?”
