Page 47 of Fixing to Be Mine

“Need to get some feed for the horses. Few bales of alfalfa too. Have ’em load it for me, please,” he says, glancing at me. “Would you like anything? A Coke? Candy?”

“No thank you,” I tell him as he pays.

He places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me through the store and back outside. A few teenagers are already placing the items he purchased in the bed of the truck. Colt slips them a few dollars, then opens my door.

“Ready for stop number two?” he asks.

I nod, but my voice is caught somewhere in my throat as we pull into the parking lot of the local nursery.

The moment we step onto the gravel path, I smell earth and blooming things and sun-warmed stone. Vera isn’t working today, but every flowerpot we pass feels like something she put together. Lavender, creeping thyme, and wild roses stretch toward the sky.

Colt crouches to inspect a flat of basil, running a hand over the leaves, like he’s making sure they’re strong enough to be chosen. I stand beside him, arms crossed, watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his T-shirt when he moves.

He glances up, catches me staring, and grins. “You’re not even pretending not to stare.”

“Don’t need to,” I admit, folding my arms tighter to keep from reaching for him.

He straightens, brushing a bit of dirt from his palms. “Pick something out for the herb garden I’m planting.”

I wander a little, trailing my fingers along the edge of a glazed pot until I find what I’m searching for. I hold it up.

“This one,” I say. “Cilantro. If you plant tomatoes and onions, then we can have salsa.”

“Love that idea.” Colt reaches for my hand without thinking. It’s instinctive, smooth, like he’s done it a thousand times before. His palm is warm against mine, his fingers wrapping around like a promise I didn’t ask for.

“You’re really committed to the bit,” I say as we head back to the truck, but I don’t let go of him.

His thumb brushes over the top of my hand. “As long as you’re convinced, that’s all that matters to me,” he says, shooting me a side-glance.

I shake my head but find myself smiling.Flirt.

By the time we reach the grocery store, the heat has crept higher, baking off the pavement and making everything sizzle. We take our time inside, picking up things we probably don’t need. I chuckle in the aisle when he pushes the cart alongside me.

As we check out, he grabs two bottles of cream soda from the small fridge and puts them on the belt. “You gotta try this.”

I do.

I take it without speaking, and we move to the checkout together, hand in hand, like it’s second nature.

The woman ringing us up doesn’t blink. “You two going to the rodeo this weekend?”

I open my mouth to respond, but Colt beats me to it.

“We wouldn’t miss it.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but I can see the smile tugging at his mouth.

Outside, the sun presses hot against my skin as we climb into the truck. I sink into the passenger seat, the cilantro and basil plants resting in my lap, the cream soda cold in my hand.

Colt starts the engine and lets his arm fall across the back of my seat as he backs out.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“I’m thinking,” I reply.

I turn toward the window, watching the town roll by. It’s all dusty roads, shop windows, and hanging baskets overflowing with petunias. Locals wave, and Colt returns it. I can’t help but smile when I see a dog napping in front of the bakery.

He nods once. “About what?”

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