Page 59 of Seeds of Love
We agree to reconvene later tonight, to give Freddie a chance to go home and nap. As he gathers his things, I find myself watching him, cataloging all the little changes I’ve missed. The new scar on his chin. The way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. The tired slump of his shoulders that makes me want to wrap him in a hug and never let go.
“See you later, Lex,” he says, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “Later.”
As he walks away, I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding. What the hell am I doing? This is a terrible idea. Freddie Donovan is like kryptonite to my common sense, my self-respect, my… everything.
God, I need a drink. Or ten. Is it too early for tequila?
“So, about the mine closure,”I start, “Like I mentioned before, we need to approach this like we’re healing a wound. The Earth is bleeding, and she needs us to act fast and bandage her up.”
Freddie leans back, that familiar crease appearing between his brows. The one that makes me want to smooth it out with my thumb. Or maybe smack it off his face. It’s a toss-up, really. He’s looking so much fresher than earlier.
“I get where you’re coming from, Alex,” he says, his voice doing that low, thoughtful thing that definitely doesn’t make my stomach flip. “But maybe we need to think more… long-term. Less invasive.”
“What, like physical therapy for the land?” I scoff, picturing some weird visualization of Mother Nature in yoga pants, struggling through downward dog.
He perks up, eyes lighting up. “Actually, yeah. Something like that. We could implement a phased approach, gradually reintroducing native species, monitoring soil health over time.”
I hate to admit it, but it’s not a terrible idea. It’s frustratingly logical, annoyingly well-thought-out. Kind of like the guy himself. We continue bouncing ideas back and forth, and I find myself stuck on Freddie’s “physical therapy” concept. It’s… not awful.
God, this project is going to be the death of me. Or the death of Freddie. Jury’s still out on that one.
The library’s ancient clock chimes nine, its gong reverberating through the now-empty building like the world’s most ominous grandfather clock. Freddie’s still talking, something about phytoremediation and soil microbes. When did he get so knowledgeable? And why is it so damn attractive?
I shake the thought away.GSRI application. Bigger picture. Don’t get distracted by the way his eyes light up when he’s excited about an idea. Definitely don’t notice how his shirt stretches across his shoulders as he leans over the table, pointing at a diagram.
Nope.
Not noticing at all.
“Earth to Alex,” Freddie’s voice breaks through my totally-not-ogling haze. “You still with me?”
I blink, heat rising to my cheeks.
“Yeah, sorry. Just… processing.”
He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Shit, did he notice I was checking him out?
Quick, Alex, say something smart. Something witty. Something that doesn’t make you sound like a hormonal teenager.
“Dirt,” I blurt out. Nailed it.
Freddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dirt?”
“Yep. Dirt. It’s, uh, important. For the project. Because mines have dirt.”
Oh god.
He looks at me for a long moment, but there’s amusement dancing in his eyes. “Right. Well, on that profound note, maybe we should call it a night?”
“Probably a good idea,” I agree, stretching my arms above my head. My back pops in about seventeen places.
Ah, the joys of hunching over textbooks for hours. “Before I start waxing poetic about gravel or something.”
As we step outside, the crisp night air hits me like a slap to the face. I inhale deeply, letting it clear my head of all thoughts of Freddie’s shoulders. And arms. And… nope, we’re not going there.
