Page 14 of Falling for Cocky Cole
"Sorry, Em. I was thinking about work stuff." I focus on her drawing again, pushing thoughts of Ivy and Cole to the back of my mind. "Tell me about this part here."
As Emily launches into an explanation of the squiggly blue line that represents the creek behind our property, I try to concentrate. But part of me is still at the door, watching Ivyleave, wondering what Cole has said or done to her, wondering if I've already lost something I never really had.
7
IVY
Ipull into the driveway of my parents' farmhouse. My mind is still tangled in thoughts of Grant when I spot an unexpected vehicle parked off to the side of the house, on the gravel lot between the main building and the barn. Cole's Jeep Wrangler, its forest green paint dusty from the mountain roads. My heart skips, then races. What's he doing here? It's been three days since I saw him at the farmers' market, since he leaned close and whispered, "What's between you and me isn't over." The words had thrilled and terrified me all at once.
I sit in my car for a moment, fingers tight around the steering wheel. Is Cole here to speak with my parents about the "deals" he proposed to Grant? If so, he really is serious about it. This isn't just flirty banter at a market stall or casual conversation at the Antler. This is Cole Carter, in the flesh, at my parents' farm, presumably talking business.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my purse and head inside. The screen door creaks familiarly as I push it open and step into the warm kitchen. Mom stands at the stove, stirring somethingthat smells like her famous beef stew, the scent of rosemary and thyme filling the air.
"There you are," she says without turning around. "I was about to call you."
"Sorry, got held up at Grant's." I drop my purse on the counter and peer around the kitchen. No sign of Cole or Dad. "Where's Dad?"
Mom gestures vaguely toward the back of the house with her wooden spoon. "In the barn with Cole Carter. They've been out there for over an hour now, playing with the cider press." She shakes her head, but I catch the hint of a smile. "Your father's showing him how to use it, like he's adopting another son."
I raise an eyebrow. "Another son?"
"You know how your father gets about teaching people things." She turns down the heat under the pot. "Dinner's almost ready. Go tell them to wash up and come in."
I hesitate, suddenly unsure about facing Cole. "Can't you just call Dad's cell?"
Mom gives me a look. "The barn is a hundred yards away, Ivy Rose. Use your legs."
I sigh and head for the back door. The path to the barn is worn smooth from decades of footsteps, bordered by apple trees whose branches hang heavy with late-season fruit. The sun is setting behind the mountains, painting everything in golden light.
I pause at the barn door, slightly ajar, and peek through the gap. The scene inside warms me despite my reservations. Dad and Cole stand side by side at the ancient cider press, my father'shands guiding Cole's on the wooden lever. They're both wearing Dad's canvas aprons, splattered with apple juice. Cole's sleeves are rolled up, revealing his forearms, tanned and strong.
"That's it," Dad is saying. "Nice and steady. You rush it, and you'll make a mess."
Cole nods, his face set in concentration, looking more serious than I've ever seen him. The cocky grin is gone, replaced by genuine focus.
I linger in the doorway, watching them. There's something about seeing Cole here, in my family's space, learning something my father loves, that catches in my chest. He fits here, somehow, in a way I never would have expected.
Finally, I clear my throat and step into the barn. Cole looks up, and his face transforms. His eyes light up when they meet mine, and that familiar grin spreads across his face. I can't help but stare back at him, at the way his hair is slightly mussed, at the way Dad's too-big apron somehow makes him look more attractive rather than ridiculous.
"Hi," Cole says, his voice warm.
I clear my throat. "Hi." I turn to Dad, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "Mom says dinner's ready."
Dad nods, wiping his hands on a rag. "We're just about finished here anyway. Cole's gotten the hang of it pretty quick."
"I've got a good teacher," Cole says, and the sincerity in his voice surprises me.
Dad claps him on the shoulder. "Come on up to the house and have dinner with us. We can finish the rest afterward."
Cole's eyes find mine, as if asking permission. I keep my expression neutral, though my heart is racing.
"That would be great, Mr. Walker. Thank you," Cole says, his grin widening.
I silently curse as we walk back to the house. The man will be the death of me.
Dinner at the Walker farmhouse has always been simple but abundant. Tonight is no exception. Mom's set the old oak table with the everyday dishes—nothing fancy, but clean and welcoming. The beef stew steams in the center, surrounded by a basket of fresh bread, a bowl of garden salad, and a plate of sliced cheese from the dairy farm down the road. A pitcher of fresh apple juice sits beside a bottle of Dad's homemade hard cider.
Cole blends into the cozy picture right away, complimenting Mom's cooking and asking Dad questions about the harvest. He passes dishes when asked, refills Mom's water glass without prompting, and somehow manages to make my parents laugh more than I've heard in weeks. It's as if he's been a longtime family friend rather than someone they barely know.
