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“You think I’m that fragile?” I parried. “You scared to touch me now.”
His expression immediately went guarded. “Theory?—"
“It’s fine. There’s a grove of peach trees right up there.”
I took off walking in the direction I pointed, avoiding whatever he’d been about to say. Behind me, Targen pulled the wagon and sighed. Hell, I wanted to sigh, too. No, I wanted toscreambecause I had no idea what was going on. It made no sense, was irrational, illogical. But here I was, wanting a man I’d known less than a week more than I’d ever wanted anything. I was honestly disappointed by his hesitance to touch me. My brain resisted the madness, but my body and my heart were here for it. I gasped as I found myself lifted and backed against one of the trees. Targen’s gaze pierced mine.
“You ain’t gotta throw a tantrum, shorty. If you want me to touch you, just say that,” he asserted.
Sunlight filtered through the tree’s fruit-heavy branches, dappling his face and obscuring parts of it. Still, I could see the sincerity of his expression.
“I don’t like it when you stop yourself from touching me,” I admitted. “I’m not fragile.”
“But you are, baby. I know you’re strong, too. I see all of that. I don’t want to do too much but trust me; I wanna touch you everywhere every minute of every day,” he growled.
His words almost made me moan.
“Then, touch me,” I challenged. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”
“Theory,” he uttered, moving until his lips grazed my neck. “I don’t want there to be a ‘too much.’”
I swallowed hard. I had limits. I always would. He’d get tired of me and move on to a woman who could?—
I blinked and pasted on a smile.
“Let me show you how to pick peaches. I hope the fuzz doesn’t bother yo’ tender hands,” I teased.
He let me down slowly, his eyes still stuck on mine. I thought he was going to press the issue, but he backed up and gestured toward one of the trees.
“Show me.”
A few minutes later, we were busy picking, grabbing some for a local food ministry and the farmers’ market, too. Targen was quiet, and I was a nervous wreck, trying to figure out what the silence meant.
“Theory?”
I almost jumped out of my skin when he spoke. “Huh?”
“What’s your favorite memory?”
I stared at him, momentarily caught off guard by the random question. I felt my nose wrinkle.
“What, you mean like childhood?”
He shrugged as he grabbed a couple of almost ripe peaches.
“Sure, if that’s what you think of,milaya.”
I tilted my head to the side, but I didn’t have to think long. My best memories happened right here on this land my grandparents had sweated and bled over. I had spent so many weekends and summers here running around with my cousins, who were more like my siblings, laughing and lamenting and learning and loving.
“It’s hard to pick one in particular, but I can tell you it probably happened here. My parents didn’t live on the homestead at first, but we always lived close by. So, I got into everything with my cousins. You haven’t even seen all of them.”
Remembering made me smile as I brushed a piece of hair off my forehead with the back of my hand. Then, another thought occurred to me.
“Wait! I know I was just talking about my cousins, but I do have a special memory here. My grandparents have a million grandkids, but they always took time to bond with us individually. So, I loved when PawPaw would take me, just me, to the big pond. We’d sit on the little pier, take off our shoes, and put our feet in the water. Then, he would just tell me stories, and I loved it. I think that’s part of the reason I am a writer; I want to be as good of a storyteller as he is.”
Targen nodded as I finished explaining, a small smile curving his mouth and his gray eyes warm.
“Yeah? That’s dope,milaya. You’re blessed,” he said, adding a final peach to one of the buckets.