Page 31 of A Touch of Spring Magic

Her eyes widened in horror at the flip answer’s innuendo. “Physically.”

She nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. Chloe was the blurter of awkward truths that dug her in deeper. Jessica was the practiced flirt, but not with Storm. Not now.

“Not sure that made it better,” Storm noted.

“I made a sandwich, if you’re hungry. I can bring it out or you can come eat in the house, warm up, although you’re…” She waved her hand toward his damp T-shirt. He’d peeled off his flannel and fleece.

Great. I just practically shouted that I noticed his sweaty muscles.

Feeling uncomfortably exposed, she turned around and speed-walked to the house.

“There’s an outside sink to the right of the porch,” she called out. Nope. Definitely not mentioning there was an outside shower. She didn’t even want to think about Storm sluicing dirt off his taut, golden skin.

“Don’t think of his skin,” she muttered to herself.

She left one of the French doors to the house unlatched. It wasn’t too cold, and she felt heated up in a way that might not have as much to do with her exertion as she pretended. She picked up her plate and hesitated. Did she want to sit in the kitchen nook? At the island bar? On the porch? Would he join her? Which place would be less… She wasn’t even sure what she meant. She didn’t want to be inhospitable, but she needed to establish boundaries. She was his boss, not his date.

Then Storm arrived, bringing the scent of the spicy cinnamon soap instead of dirty pond water. He kicked off his boots and hung up his work jacket and fleece. His flannel was tied around his waist. His socks were hunter green. And why was she noticing his socks? Or his long, narrow feet.

“This is more than just a sandwich. Thanks, Jessica. This saves me driving into town to pick up something.”

Guilt prickled since she’d reluctantly offered to feed him. He too was building a business. Turning down work to help her. He’d moved home to be closer to the family he had left. They’d gone to school together. The whole way through. Feeding him was a no-brainer and she needed to stop making it weird.

She picked up her sandwich quarter and watched him swallow his own quarter in one bite. Maybe she should have made him two sandwiches. And she definitely shouldn’t have cut it like he was a kid. Bad habit as she liked to eat small bites—usually with her hands, something her mother deplored.

Storm popped a pickle slice in his mouth. “Whoa—these are incredible. He looked at the mason jar. Did you make these?”

“Grandma Millie’s recipe, but Meghan made them this past summer. Kinda her hobby.”

“You should sell them at the nursery. You’re going to sell vegetable starts, aren’t you, with all those greenhouses?”

“Ummmmmm.” She paused.

She wasn’t used to men talking so much. Rustin was curt. Always had been. Her father made pronouncements, jingled his keys and left the room. Her bosses and colleagues had maybe muttered hello to her cheery good morning greetings and many, when she’d asked about their weekends, had flashed blank stares and drawn out ‘ahhhhhhh…watched the game’ or ‘went with the wife and kids to…’ wherever families went on the weekends.

Storm was friendly. Cheerful. Full of ideas and problem-solving can dos. And usually that was her role.

“Yes I will sell starts at the beginning of each season.” She’d thought that far ahead, thank goodness. “And your idea about the pickles and jams is a good one, but not one I’d explored yet. I don’t have the time, and I doubt that Meghan who travels a lot for her job or Sarah who’s always picking up extra shifts at her clinic have the time or interest to do anything so…domestic.”

He downed another bite, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Funny, I would have pictured you married with two or three kids by now, taking over running the town for Grandma Millie.”

Jessica had thought the same thing. But…something had always held her back.

“Well, now I’m focused on Chloe’s party and the nursery and rehabbing the garden,” she said cheerfully. “What started this was botanicals—in mocktails and tea blends.”

He paused mid bite.

“Don’t choke. I do actually have ideas of my own.”

“Like that was ever in doubt.”

The bite was gone. Sheesh the poor man had been starving.

“I was at a new bar in Atlanta with some sorority sisters—a girls’ weekend catching up—and we went to a restaurant that had a revolving menu each month—food from around the world. The bar had all these mocktails that were internationally themed too, and the drinks were so delicious and healthy, and they had like twenty-five tea blends, and I started thinking about Grandma Millie’s farm, how it was so alone now with all of us grown and the caretaker aging out of the job and preparing to retire. My dad wants to develop it, but I have so many memories of my sisters and me playing, exploring, planting and harvesting, and I wanted…” She paused, embarrassed that she was confessing so much, and that he was listening to her with his whole body.

Weren’t women the listeners and men the doers? Storm certainly had done a lot just in the morning.

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