Page 122 of Our Long Days
He grunts from behind the wheel, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. “I’m getting into character.”
I snort. “Finally admitting youarea lumberjack?”
“If it makes you happy.” He chuckles.
Through the passenger’s side window are jagged bluffs and sparkling blue ocean. On Dex’s, bluets, daisies, and buttercups dance along the grassy verge. Splashes of purple zip by.
“Oh! Asters.” I point out the patches of my favorite flower.
The truck slows then bounces as Dex carefully swerves left.
I grip the edge of the seat. “What are you doing?”
Crisp air filters into the cab as he lowers the window. One hand firmly on the wheel, he reaches out into the thorns andsharp reeds. I gape at him until the truck comes to a stop and he presents his hand to me.
Bent at odd angles, the violet petals shine vibrantly against the yellow center. I bring the stems to my nose, inhaling the citrusy, slightly spicy perfume. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Eyes on the road, he scrubs a hand over his stubble. “Yeah. I did.”
By the time we reach the homestead, I’m one sweet gesture away from climbing this beautiful, selfless man like a tree.
“Is this a zoo?” I ignore my ever increasing libido.
We drove south for an hour until farmland replaced the coastline. Blueberry, wheat, and corn fields roll along the horizon. A bright red barn sits in the center of a meadow, surrounded by white-picket fences, pastures, and wooden huts to house the animals. Sheep baa, cockerels crow, and horses neigh. It’s all very Old McDonald and adorable.
His head rocks left and right. “Of sorts.”
“You’re being very secretive.”
“You’re being very nosey,” he volleys.
We walk up a gravel path, and he throws an arm over my shoulders. “You remember Barry?”
“Of course!” I wave my tattoo in his face.
He stares at my wrist, as if in trance, before facing forward. “Harvest Homestead is his wife’s place. They take in and rehab injured farm animals, and if they’re able to, they re-home them. This was actually the first non-profit Moore Lumber worked with.”
A curvy woman appears from the barn and waves.
“Dex!” she greets, wrapping him in a hug. “Barry told me you were paying us a visit. Are you looking for another goat?”
“Not today. Those two pricks are a handful enough as it is.” He laughs. “Cassandra, this is Florence. Florence, this is Cassandra, Barry’s wife.”
We shake hands.
Cassandra nudges Dex in the ribs. “So, what brings you two out here?”
I should’ve spotted Dex’s scheming a mile away. They both stare at me expectedly for a good minute until it clicks.
“No!” I gasp.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
dexter
Florence’s tearshave been constant since we left the animal sanctuary.
All happy tears, and if my girl is happy, so am I.
