Page 42 of Simply Yours

“Who’s a good girl?” she cooed, running a fingertip around the rim of the jar before setting it back in its place. "You are. Yes, you are."

If anyone ever overheard her baby-talking a bowl of flour, she was pretty sure she’d never live it down. But,whatever. Mary Dough was important, and a girl had to have priorities.

Tapping the spoon against the counter, she made her way toward the back door, pushing it open and stepping onto the tiny square slab of concrete she called a porch.

It wasn’t much—just a four-by-four concrete patch of space that barely had room for a chair and a potted plant—but it was hers. And after months of planning, sweating, and fighting back weeds with a vengeance, her backyard was finally starting to take shape.

The freshly tilled garden beds stretched out before her, dark soil ready for planting. But it was the fence line that had her frowning. It needed something. Something soft. Something beautiful. Maybe a climbing vine like honeysuckle or clematis—something that would bloom wild and unruly, just enough to soften the edges of the wood.

She needed to make a trip to the garden center soon.

She also needed to finish up her evening chores.

She also needed to stop thinking about Jason Baird and his stupid, perfect, toe-curling kiss long enough to be a functioning human being. Sighing, she crossed her arms, letting the warm evening air settle around her.

Maybe a tomato emoji wasn’t exactly a declaration of love.

But coming from Jason? Considering it wasn’t a simple text from him but a string of them, almost like he enjoyed the communication between them? He didn’t say bye. He didn’t say ‘see ya’…

Hetomatoedher.

It was something,she thought, laughing softly and shaking her head.

* * *

Two days later, Caitlin was bound and determined to get her fall garden planted before the dog days of summer settled in with their merciless heat. The earth smelled rich beneath her feet, the sun warming the soil in a way that made her chest tighten with nostalgia. She could already hear the cicadas that would soon take over the evenings, their song buzzing through the air, thick with humidity.

Oh, she remembered those summers well—the way the sidewalks burned her bare feet, forcing her to make the impossible choice between risking the blistering asphalt or braving the scratchy, sun-scorched grass riddled with stickers. And when she wasn’t in town, she’d been that reckless, wild child running through pastures and creeks with Matthew, their laughter tangled with the scent of honeysuckle and cut hay. Looking back, it was a miracle she hadn’t ended up with snake bites or Lyme disease. Those days had been filled with racing bikes through endless fields of sunflowers, finding hidden pools in the creeks, the water cool and secret beneath the leafy arms of overhanging trees.

She sighed, wiping the sweat from her brow before reaching for a five-gallon bucket of honeysuckle. She hesitated, fingers curling around the plastic rim before she set it back down again.

“Oh, to be young and stupid,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

“Or,” a deep, familiar voice interjected, smooth as warm honey and just as dangerous, “gaining on middle age and somewhat ignorant?”

Caitlin jumped, her breath catching in her throat as she spun to find Jason standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. The morning sun caught the sharp angles of his face, making his already unfairly handsome features even more infuriatingly distracting. His smile was slow, confident—like he knew exactly the effect he had on her.

“Being young and stupid is overrated,” he added, eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite name.

Caitlin narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m still a spring chicken,” she shot back, tilting her chin defiantly as she stuck out her tongue playfully. “Twenty-nine. You’re the one pushing your mid-thirties, old man.”

“Old?” Jason echoed, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Old?” He let out a low chuckle, and for some inexplicable reason, it sent a flutter through her chest. Was it the heat, or was it that darn smile? “I’m thirty-three.”

“Thirty-four soon,” she quipped without thinking, the words slipping past her lips before she could stop them.

Jason stilled, his gaze sharpening. A slow, satisfied smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “You remembered.” His voice was softer now, laced with something warmer, something deeper.

Caitlin swallowed hard, a prickle of unease—no, not unease, awareness—skating down her spine. “Nice,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. “Maybe we can celebrate together.”

His words stopped her cold. She turned, guarded, her fingers tightening around the rim of the bucket. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice warier than she’d meant it to be.

Jason didn’t back down. He never did. Instead, he took a slow step closer, closing the distance between them until the air between them felt charged. “I’m talking to a friend.”

Caitlin scoffed. “When were we ever friends?”

“We are now,” he said simply, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Her pulse kicked up a notch. “Yes, but why?”

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