Page 69 of Calling the Shots

Pumpkins of all sizes, squash and zucchini, green beans, tomatoes, and a variety of lettuce spill from large wooden milk crates.

“Hello, Gracelyn. Mack.” Beau Milford tips his head at us, touching the brim of his worn baseball cap. He’s farmed the land on the outskirts of Thunder Creek for as long as I can remember. The farm’s been in his family for generations, providing food to the local grocers in the surrounding counties as well.

“Hey there, Mr. Milford. What would you recommend today?” I survey the selection of tasty vegetables, plucking a bright yellow squash out of the crate.

“Squash is in season. Good choice this time of year. Also the best crop of apples we’ve had in a while.” He reaches into a round wooden container and tosses a shiny red apple to Mack.

“Oh, yes! I can make a good apple crisp. Let’s get some apples, and squash sounds good.” I peer up at Mack, gauging his response to the plan.

“That works, as long as you’re on the apple crisp. I don’t know much about baking.”

I laugh. “I’ve got you.”

Mr. Milford bags up the squash and apples for us and we move on, checking out handmade jewelry, crocheted blankets, goat cheese and milk, and a nice selection of soaps.

“I think we should grab a loaf of bread, too.” Mack stops at the bakery display, the table overflowing with fresh bread, homemade biscuits, and a nice selection of jams.

“Yes, love it.” I snatch a loaf of sourdough from the pile.

“That would go great with this peach jam. Try it.” Deb Hatter, one of my mom’s clients and the local baker extraordinaire, holds out a tiny wooden spoon. Mack takes the spoon from her and lifts it up.

“Taste it, Gracelyn.” Mack’s husky voice, the way his eyes gleam as he slides the jam into my mouth, sends an electric ripple straight through me.

“Mmm, good,” I murmur, licking the sweet jam from my lips as I hold his heated gaze. “Perfect.”

Ignoring Deb Hatter, Mack dips down and kisses my sticky lips. Trailing his tongue along the seam, the lingering saccharine scent of peaches mixes with his aftershave. I moan softly into his mouth, the farmer’s market falling away until it’s just me and Mack standing there, lost in each other.

Finally, he pulls away, swiping his thumb lightly across my bottom lip before turning back to a flustered Mrs. Hatter.

“We’ll take the jam and the bread.” Mack pays, loading our purchase into the shopping bags filled with produce. “You ready to get some lunch?”

“Sure.” I lace my fingers with his and together we cross the field toward the food trucks. We dodge a group of children in a boisterous game of tag, their arms outstretched as they race after each other, laughing.

“That’ll be Josh and Lindsey soon.” I glance over at the parents standing nearby, watching over their kiddos playing on the lawn.

Mack rolls his shoulders, his face staying neutral. “Yep. Hard to believe.”

“I know. Lindsey’s my first close friend to have a baby.” I sigh wistfully as one of the little boys runs up to his mom and hugs her at the knees.

Mack rubs his thumb across mine. “Do you want to have kids?”

“I think so. Not, like, tomorrow or anything. But some day in the future.” I bite my lower lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable. I haven’t really talked to anyone about this before—my previous relationships never lasted long enough to entertain a serious conversation like this.

I glance over at him. “What about you?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders rising. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a dad.”

“Why?”

“No particular reason, really. I just feel like I’d mess a kid up.” The laugh lines around his eyes crinkle as he squints out at the raucous game.

“I don’t think that at all. I bet you’d be a great dad. You’re good with the football team. Plus, you have real life skills. Any child would be lucky to have you as a father.”

His face relaxes and he squeezes my hand. “Thanks, Gracelyn. I appreciate that.”

“I’m not just saying that, either. You have all the best dad qualities: you’re patient, relaxed, funny, and smart. And you know how to build stuff.”

He chuckles as we join the taco line. “I do know how to build stuff. I’m assuming you want tacos?”

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