American Honey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  She spins around, almost trying to see the whole place at once. “That’s so cool.”

  “Really?” I push, she needs to understand I’ll never been a wealthy man.

  She nods, her eyes meeting mine. “I moved here to take a step back, live more simply. I love what you’re doing here.”

  I look away, suddenly embarrassed by her praise.

  “I see you found, Beau,” Bess calls out from the front porch.

  “I wouldn’t have made her come and get me if I knew you had invited her,” I retort.

  Glancing around, I look for her car. “Where’d you park?”

  Bess tsks. “I went and picked her up. Didn’t want her to have to drive at night on our dirt roads.”

  “I told her she didn’t have to,” Bethany adds.

  Shaking my head, I stop her from saying anything else. “She’s right though; these country roads can be tricky at night.”

  Bess leans slightly over the railing toward us. “I hoped you would drive her back. You know how my eyesight gets in the dark.”

  Puppet master all the way.

  She smiles sweetly as she opens the door for us. I take over for her and kiss her cheek as she passes by me. Meals on the farm are a well-oiled machine at this point. Everyone helps out in one way or another. Bess and two other families currently live in the main house.

  The kids set the table and clear it before dessert. The older kids and adults all take turns preparing meals. I’m not much of a cook, but put in my time on a regular basis doing food prep. I do dishes most nights as well. Washing dishes is safe. I’ve never burned one or undercooked one.

  Everyone is sitting when we walk into the dining room. After introductions are made, we all sit and dig in. I had planned to skip dinner earlier, thinking I was full. One look at the roasted chicken and mashed potatoes proves I was wrong. Over dinner, it’s nice to learn more about Bethany through other people’s questions.

  She is an only child. Glancing around the table, she explains she always wished for a big family. Her parents are still living; they retired and moved to Florida a couple years back. She had no desire of moving that far south but figured Tennessee was closer than Maryland when she decided to move.

  Money was the main reason she researched moving here in the first place. Tennessee has no state income tax. There is still a tax for investment related income but not income she earned through her business. Florida is another state without income tax, but the idea of living there never appealed to her. Once she spent some time online researching communities, she could see herself living here.

  The Wilson place had been on the market for a while and fit her budget.

  The reason it was in her price range though were the updates needed to it. That didn’t deter her; she had a plan and it involved doing some of the work herself. All I could picture was her underneath that table, and her all by herself if something else like that happened. That’s the only excuse I have for opening my mouth. “I could help you.”

  She shakes her hand and her head at the same time. “No, I’m perfectly capable of—”

  Bess cuts her off before she can get any farther. “Beau, that’s a wonderful idea. Bethany, he is so good with his hands. He’ll get you taken care of in no time.”

  I'd like to show her just how good with my hands I can be.

  Bethany looks back and forth between us, clearly debating my offer to help. Her gaze finally rests on me. "Are you sure?"

  I'm not, but I won't let her know that. "Wouldn't have offered otherwise."

  Her lips pull tightly, a wise smile settling in. "That would be amazing. I've watched ‘how to’ videos but never tackled anything like this on my own before."

  "I'm happy to be of assistance."

  The look of sheer delight on Bess's face was not lost on me. As much as I give her grief for trying to set me up with any available woman near my age, I get how lucky I am that she cares. Bess might not be blood, but she's family. Someone loves you, and tries to do a kindness for you, that is something you acknowledge. I do this by giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze on my way to the kitchen. I’m on dish detail and figure Bess and Bethany can gab. I am elbows deep in hot suds when Bethany comes up beside me.

  "Can I help?"

  "You're a guest. I can take care of this," I reply, waiting for her to argue.

  She grabs a towel and reaches for a plate. "I don't mind."

  We make short work of the dinner dishes. Since dessert is another apple pie, I ask Bethany if she'd like to go for a walk instead. I try to invite Bess, but am turned down in favor of pie and a firm suspicion she wants Bethany and me to be alone.

  Dusk is in full effect, shadows growing into night with each minute passing. The path to the orchard is so well worn and imprinted on me, the lack of light is no concern. It has a happy side effect, however, of Bethany grabbing my arm when she stumbles, and she doesn’t let me go after I right her.

  If she's still here in a year, I am definitely asking her out.

  “In the summertime, these trees will be full of fireflies.”

  She stops walking and sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a firefly.

  Shaking my head, I give her arm a little tug to get her moving again. “You’ll be seeing them almost every night in a month or so, as long as you look outside just after the sun’s set.”

  “Another thing to look forward to.”

  We fall into an easy pace, her arm still around mine. “Another thing? Do you have a list going?”

  It’s still light enough that I can see her nod. “I do, not written down or anything.” She taps her head. “All up here.”

  We’re almost out of the orchard and I point out the small grouping of gravestones. “Do cemeteries scare you? We can avoid it if you’d like.”

  Her pull on my arm toward the gravestones answers my question. “Has this always been here? How old are these? Is it like your family plot?”

  "Not just immediate family, but we still consider it the family plot if that makes sense."

  She peers at the stones, the light probably making the markings hard to read. "I'd love to come back here during the day."

  "You're welcome anytime."

  The absence of sunlight in no way diminishes the brightness from her responding smile. It lights up her face and eyes in a way that makes my chest tight. Were I not exhaling and inhaling without struggle, I would think she takes my breath away. Dizzy, and not from lack of oxygen, I dumbly blink at her.

  As if realizing the effect a full blast of her smile is having on me, she looks away. "That's so nice. Thank you."

  Once we return to the main path, we are back to the main house in no time.

  "I should be probably be getting home," she murmurs.

  Nervously, I wonder if something from our walk bothered her. "Oh, right. Hang tight. I'm going to give Bess a heads up that I'm running you home."

  Hurriedly, I find Bess and let her know where I am going. Only reason I do is so she won’t worry. The gleam in her eyes makes me second-guess it though. Making the excuse that Bethany is waiting for me, I leave before she can encourage me to ask her out.

  Ignoring the attraction I feel for Bethany is impossible. I'm just trying to be smart about it. She's our closest neighbor. With any luck, she'll stay a while.

  If it turns out country life doesn't suit her and she leaves, at least there won't be any feelings on either side complicating things. If she's still here in ten months, maybe I'll ask her out.

  She turns when I open the front door, the light resting on her face. "Ready?"

  Her lips curve. "Yep."

  Offering my arm, more for the feel of hers than anything else, we walk toward my cabin. Walking around to the passenger side, I open the door for her. In theory, the act screams gentleman and my mama would be proud, as long as she didn’t know how much leg I get to enjoy as Bethany settles in her seat. The thoughts running through my mind are anything but gentlemanly.

  Attractio
n is there. An internal debate sparks between my common sense and go-with-the-flow self. Repercussions of things ending badly with my closest neighbor keep me from acting on that attraction. Besides, if she still lived here in ten, er, make that nine months, I’m asking her out.

  Chapter Three

  “What do you think about this color?”

  I squint at the twelfth paint chip I’ve been asked to give my opinion on in the last five minutes. “Did you show me that one already?”

  Her face lights up. “Just making sure you were paying attention.”

  I lean forward against the cart, resting my chin in my hand. “And I’ll tell you what I said the first time. That’s an excellent choice.”

  Her brows come together and her lips pucker into a pout. “But you said that for all of them.”

  Grinning, I reply, “I meant that for all of them. It’s paint. If you don’t like what you get, we can just repaint it.”

  “But which one do you like the most?”

  I stand and step toward her, draping my arm across her shoulders. “It’s your kitchen.”

  “Fine,” she huffs, going with the pale mango shade.

  “Did you still want to paint the cabinets too?”

  She shakes her head. “I want to see how the walls look done first.”

  Passing over the paint color to the store employee to mix it, she waits while I go and fill our cart with the supplies we’ll need. It’s been two weeks since she came over for dinner and we’ve fallen into an easy friendship. She likes to cook and has talked me into coming over a couple nights every week so she can try stuff on me. Apparently, my palate is too countrified. I grew up eating simple meals we made based on what the farm produced. I have nothing against other types of food, just haven’t had them.

  She’s been paying me in meals for the help I’ve been giving her around the place. The first thing she asked for my help with was installing a new rain showerhead in the master bathroom. Standing in her tub, guessing by her still damp hair, that she was naked in there earlier was hard. Not hard to do, as in made me hard.

  That reaction was repeated the next day thanks to the mental picture I got when she went on and on, telling me how wonderful her shower felt. Luckily, since then I’ve been mainly assembling bookshelves and rescreening her porch.

  I’m still trying to figure out whether it’s expanding my culinary horizons or my company she likes more. I’m hoping it’s the latter. If she still lives here in eight months, I am asking her out.

  The paint is ready by the time I have everything we’ll need. Once everything is paid for, I push the cart out to the parking lot. A gentle breeze carries the scent of Bethany’s honeysuckle conditioner past me. It hits me then, that so far, there isn’t one thing that I don’t like about her. Windows down, we drive back to her house, I add another thing I like about her to my mental list; she looks seriously hot in my truck.

  She runs upstairs to change while I tape off the room. I work on a farm, I’m not worried about paint getting on my clothes. When Bethany comes back down, I have to fight to not stare at her. She’s changed into a tight tank top and a pair of rolled-at-the-waist plaid boxer shorts. I can only hope she bought them; that’s easier to swallow than them belonging to an old boyfriend.

  “You mentioned starting your own business before, but you never said what,” I ask as she climbs a stepladder to start edging.

  “I’m a freelance editor.”

  Dipping the roller into the tray, I glance up at her. “What kind of stuff do you edit?”

  She sets down her brush and straightens her shoulders. “Novels, mainly fiction, though I did edit one autobiography.”

  “I’ve never met an editor before. Would I know any of the books you’ve edited? I don’t read as much as I’d like to, but I still follow new releases.”

  She giggles, her eyes mischievously holding mine. “That depends, do you read any romance?”

  I shake my head and start painting the wall in front of me. “I mainly read mysteries, but Bess inhales those romance novels. She loves that Sparks guy. He’s the only one I know of for romance. Oh, and those grey books, something shades of grey.”

  “Everyone knows those. I’m afraid I don’t edit for Nicholas Sparks or E.L. James. If I did, I might’ve bought an island, not a farmhouse.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Would you like to read something I’ve edited?” she asks with a hopeful lilt in her tone.

  There is only one right answer to this question. “I would love to.”

  “Really?” she beams.

  Yep, that was the right answer.

  She climbs down the stepladder and motions for me to follow her. Leading me into her den, she immediately starts rummaging through a box on the floor.

  “I have an old eReader you can borrow. I just have to find it.”

  I glance around at all the books on her shelves. “Do you have a paperback?”

  She gasps and looks up at me. “My paperbacks are signed.”

  My brows furrow so she explains, “If you read one of those, you might crack the spine.”

  “That sounds like a bad thing,” I hedge, even though I’m not certain I understand why that’s a bad thing.

  Her attention turns back to the box, and after another moment of shuffling through it, she brandishes a small tablet victoriously. “Found it.”

  Her face is a picture of elation as she crosses the room toward me and pats my arm. “I’ll hook it up to my charger while we paint and it should be good to go for you to read tonight.”

  Following her back out to the kitchen, I ask. “Tonight?”

  She stills and I almost walk into her. Her face turns so I only see her profile and she nods solemnly.

  Guess I have homework tonight. After she plugs the eReader in, we get back to painting. Her kitchen isn’t overly large, and since we’re not painting the cabinets, of which there are many, it does not take us long to get the first coat up. We share lunch on her screen porch while it dries.

  “So what kind of book would you prefer, heavy steam or low steam?”

  I drop my elbow on to the table and rest my chin on my hand. “This your way of telling me you edit dirty books?”

  She blushes which is a definite yes.

  “I want to read whichever one is your favorite.”

  We finish lunch and head back inside to do the second coat. When we’re finished, it looks great. Sure, it needs to dry, but a coat of paint is always an easy way to change the look of a place. She pulls the tape as I pack the other supplies up.

  “I’m going to go wash the brushes outside.”

  “I’ll come along with you,” she says, following me.

  I use the hose, the overspray getting her legs, making her dance away with a squeal. Painting has never been fun, but somehow with Bethany, it didn’t feel like a chore. We leave the brushes and roller heads outside to dry and head back into the kitchen. There are still things I need to take care of on the farm, so I start to take my leave.

  She stops me, unplugging the tablet and pushing a few buttons. “This eReader has an awesome battery life, so you should be good. The book I want you to read is opened to page one.”

  She goes on to point out how to change the font size if the text is too small.

  “Thank you, Bethany. I look forward to reading this.”

  “Guys who read are sexy.”

  Excuse me?

  Either the room just got warm or I’m blushing. “Good thing I like to read.”

  “I can’t wait to hear what you think of it. Are we still on for dinner Tuesday night?”

  Tucking her eReader under my arm, I grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  If she still lives here in six months, I’m so asking her out.

  ***

  This book is hot as hell. I realize I am alone in my cabin, but I still glance around to make sure no one can see that words on a page just gave me a hard-on.

  Words on a page.

  My
eyes settle on my alarm clock and nearly pop out of my head. I hadn’t meant to read this late. I’m just having a hard time putting this book down. There’s this guy and a girl who grew up together and fell in love, but some bullshit happened and she left town without a word. He’s still in love with her and sees her again after a few years.

  I need to go to sleep but I’m still reading to try and find out why she left in the first place. Every time they’re together, you can tell they just want to tear each other’s clothes off. Sexier than what I was expecting. The digital glow of my clock catches my eyes again and I turn off the eReader. There’s a ton of work I need to do tomorrow so I have to get some sleep.

  Even though I’m not running at one hundred percent, the next day I carry Bethany’s eReader around with me. Every chance I have a couple free minutes, I pull it out and read. I’d like to be able to finish it before our dinner tomorrow night.

  “What do you have there?” Bess asks, peeking over my shoulder.

  I pass the eReader to her. “It’s a book Bethany wanted me to read.”

  “And you can read on this thing.” She moves the eReader back and forth from her face, squinting at it.

  I shrug as she hands it back to me. “It’s nice for reading without a light. It’s got one built right in.”

  She shakes her head. “I like the feel and smell of a book. There’s nothing like turning an actual page.”

  There’s no point in arguing with her, so I give her a small smile and nod.

  “When are you seeing Bethany again?”

  Without even meaning to, I glance in the direction of her farmhouse. It’s too far to actually see from where I’m currently sitting, but no matter where I am on my land, I know where her house is in relation. She’s west, just like the setting sun.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Are you gonna quit sniffing around her and ask her out already?”

  My jaw drops and it takes me a moment to respond. “I’m not a dog, Bess, and I’m just being neighborly.”

  She snorts, and then chuckles at my raised brow. “Neighborly my rear. You like her and you’re being silly for not telling her how you feel.”