Page 47 of Forget Me Not

His eyes narrow and the smirk and amusement in his eyes disappears. I can see he’s disappointed in me, but right now, I’m too far gone to care. If I want to be petty, I will, dammit.

“Maybe I will,” he murmurs and I look away from him.

He’s trying to get a rise out of me.

“What could it hurt?”

Me.

“If you don’t mind, I have blueberries to pick.”

I storm away from him, angrily taking my bucket from Tara before he can say another word. I don’t miss the dry, unamused chuckle as I leave, though, and it makes me want to throw the bucket at Reid’s head instead.

“A little birdy told me Sophie asked Reid out,” Tara says, her voice aloof and her gaze full of amusement. “And then he turned her down.”

I watch Reid take up with the men, helping to fix the old stage for tonight’s festivities. When he lifts something, the strong lines of his back flex in his t-shirt and I swear, in that moment, I realize what all the fuss is about when it comes to back muscles.

The stitches in my hand burn when I pick the first blueberry, accidentally crushing it between my fingers.

Tara chuckles when Sophie joins us in picking this year’s harvest and I shoot her a look.

“Shut up.”

“Nova,” Judy Copley, wife of the mayor and who I like to call the keeper of secrets in Port Nova, joins me while I’m picking blueberries. Her bucket is barely half full, whereas mine is about to spill over.

Figures.

“It’s a good turn out this year, isn’t it?” she asks, waving to all the families crowding the streets. “I know this is your first time hosting at the inn, but it hasn’t been this busy since Bob was just the treasurer.”

“That’s a good thing,” I say, rolling a blueberry in my fingers. “People are starting families here now.”

“Yes,” she nods. “I keep hoping Robby will take the lead and find a nice girl, but . . . “

Here we go again.

“I’m sure he will. Just give him time.”

She grimaces, scrunching up her nose in disdain.

“I’m not getting any younger. I need grandbabies to spoil.”

“You aren’t old enough to be a grandma.”

“Oh, pish posh.” Her face lights up like she just had the brightest idea. “You and Robby were always close as kids—”

“Not happening, Judy.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “But there was a reason I came over here. I saw your paintings over at Katelyn’s booth—Bob bought one of a sunken ship to put behind his desk—and I was wondering how you would feel about holding an art class for the local kids the rest of the summer. It would be two days a week.”

Freaking Katelyn. I knew she’d rat me out.

“An art class?”

“Yes,” she beams, like it’s the greatest idea on the planet. “You used to be a teacher. You could do it twice a week, up at the school. It would give parents time to get their errands done and it would give the kids something fun to do during the summer.

“Judy, I’m not sure any of the kids here would want to participate in that.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure they would. Besides, you never know how something will go until you do it, right?”

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