Page 17 of Stalked By the Farmer

In this moment, there is only me. And a love that cuts far deeper than any wound.

I clench my fist, watching in grim fascination as blood seeps between my fingers. The sting brings clarity, sharp and bright, cutting through the haze of longing that threatens to consume me.

Misty. Her name is a whisper on my lips, a prayer and a curse. She is my salvation and my damnation, the light that guides me home and the fire that will burn me alive.

There is no escape. I have walked willingly into the flames, embracing the blistering heat for one more glimpse of her radiance.

I rise on unsteady legs, shards of glass tinkling to the floor in a mockery of fragile hope. With trembling fingers, I rinse the cuts, watching pink water swirl down the drain. The tears come unbidden, hot trails scoring my cheeks.

In the silence, I break. Crumpling to the cold tile, a sob wrenches from my chest. Grief and longing war within, two sides of a coin I can never escape.

Misty. Her name echoes through the empty rooms, a whisper of promise destined to remain unfulfilled.

I am a man broken.

I don't know how long I despair, but finally I stare at the shards of glass lie in a glittering pile.

And then it hits me. What is life without risk? Would I have this farm if I hadn't taken a risk?

I rise on steadier legs this time, determination lending me strength.

Misty is worth the risk. Our friendship, the ache inside, all of it pales in comparison to the thought of being with her. Truly with her, in the way I’ve craved since we were children.

There may come a day when she turns me away, unable or unwilling to see me as more. But I have to try. Have to know if the love blossoming inside, threatening to consume me whole, has any chance to be reciprocated.

I won’t lose her. Not completely. But I can’t go on like this, torn between longing and fear. The time has come to lay my heart bare, consequences be damned.

* * *

The farm stretches before me, acres of possibility. I stride into the fields, gloves in hand and purpose in my stride. There is much to be done, preparations to make for a life we may share.

Crops to sow, fences to mend, a home to build with my own two hands. The work is hard, the days long, but I relish each moment. Every blister, every ache is a reminder of my devotion. Proof that I would do anything, sacrifice everything for her happiness.

We may remain only friends, but if Misty is by my side, it will be enough. I pour my heart, my soul, into each nail, each plank of wood. Building a life fit for a queen, for the woman who holds my heart.

The sun dips low on the horizon, golden light bathing the farm. I stand amidst the fruits of my labor, gazing at the little house that may one day be our home.

I'm going to do it.

I'm finally going to just tell my best friend how I really feel about her.

CHAPTERTEN

Misty

I stareat my reflection in the mirror, eyes tracing the plunging neckline of my little black dress. My heart pounds, a flurry of nerves and anticipation swirling in my stomach.

Why did I agree to this date?

I know I should be excited. Michael is charming, successful, exactly the kind of guy I should want. But every time I think of him, Conner's face flashes in my mind.

I'm only doing this in an attempt to get over my best friend. I thought that maybe if I put myself out there, I could get over my fixation with Conner and go back to just being best friends and nothing more with him since that's obviously what he wants.

With a sigh, I turn away from the mirror. I can't go through with this. Michael deserves more than being someone to distract me from the man I really want.

I reach for my phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard as indecision wars inside me. If I call Michael now, I can cancel before he shows up at my door. But then I'll be alone with my thoughts again, tormented by what might have been.

The doorbell rings, startling me from my brooding. I stare at the door, paralyzed, my heart in my throat. I have to choose, now, in this moment—follow through with a date I don't want, or face solitude and the ghost of Conner that haunts my every waking thought.

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