Page 26

ANTON

I stare up at the ceiling, wondering just how big of a marble I’m going to need. Probably a decently large one. Which means it’s going to have some weight to it, causing it to fall faster. Not something you want in Plinko.

So marbles are out.

Back to balls.

“You’re not listening,” Sawyer chides.

Her bossy tone almost makes me wish I really hadn’t been paying attention, and it really makes me wish we weren’t in the lab.

Because as glorious as those big, beautiful greenhouse UV windows are for letting in the sunshine, they also mean that there is zero chance of stripping her down and having my way with her.

“Sure I am,” I reply, eyes still glued to the Rube Golberg contraption I’ve rigged up around the lab. The one that I’ve been using as a distraction since Alex called this morning to let me know that for a second day in a row, he had to send people home because there wasn’t anything new to process.

The trees haven’t quite been picked clean, but damn close.

We have maybe— maybe —two more weeks of fruit.

If we’re lucky. And that’s going to be tight.

Won’t be even good fruit, if I’m honest about it.

We’ll still pick it though, because someone will be buying.

I should be getting a good four more weeks, but I won’t. Not even close.

Making this the worst crop since my grandfather was running this business in the 1950s.

Fuck.

“Then what did I say?” she challenges.

I swivel around in my chair, taking her in.

The late afternoon sun bounces off her chestnut hair, making it almost look reddish in spots.

Her lips are pursed to one side, arms crossed, pushing those perfect breasts up.

The ones that now that I know what they look like, I can’t stop thinking about.

Everything about her right now is a challenge. One I’m ready to meet.

“That your samples from the saplings field are outperforming your lab data at a rate that actually has you more worried than excited, because it makes you think something is wrong, rather than proving that you did something right.”

“I hate you.”

I chuckle. “You do no such thing.”

I swivel back around, thoughts returning to the Plinko board and whether or not that’s really the best solution for this section of the experiment. The longer I stare at it, the more I second-guess myself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sawyer asks, her voice shifting.

“About the samples? Honestly, soil is not my expertise. I know what I need to as it pertains to not fucking up my crops. I trust you.”

“Not what I was asking.”

I sigh, turning back around to face her. I know what she’s asking. Talking about it is another story.

“Worst season since 1954. Nineteen fifty-fucking-four. ”

The sour taste left in my mouth as I say it out loud seems to multiply somehow, becoming more and more acidic by the second. Even worse, I sound like an asshole.

“That isn’t your fault.”

Leaning forward, I press the heels of my hands in my eye sockets.

There’s no use in holding it back, and frankly, if there is anyone to let go in front of, it’s Sawyer.

We’ve shared so much with each other over the last week—from likes, dislikes, childhood stories, fears, and happy places—so what’s adding this to the list?

She’s spent more nights at my place than she has at my parents’, something Auggie couldn’t help but privately comment on at Munch this week.

I managed to keep my smart mouth shut, simply nodding as he gave me the dad glare and once-over, before proceeding to lecture me about treating her right and not doing anything that wouldn’t make him or my mama proud.

If he only knew all the things that aren’t going on in that bed.

Something that is still fine by me. Sawyer’s the one calling the shots.

I meant what I said; there isn’t a timeline here.

Because Sawyer is different. She’s the one woman I’ve met that I want to be with—just be with—and not because I want to fuck her.

Yes, I want to fuck her. But, there’s so much more to it. More to her.

So fucking can wait.

“Objectively, I know that,” I say, looking up at her.

“I know that Mother Nature took over, threw a massive hissy fit, and fucked us six ways to Sunday. That doesn’t make it any easier looking at the numbers.

Submitting my reports. Tracking my numbers.

All of which are down. Record-breakingly down.

Knowing that it’s not my fault doesn’t help knowing that the workers that depend on this seasonal crop for work to provide for their families… can’t.”

Sawyer nods, letting me rant .

“A company like Hayes isn’t going to go bankrupt because of one bad year. And even if it wasn’t for the rest of the company, and all we had was agriculture to rely on, we’ve had plenty of damn good years to help carry us through a bad one. I still take it personally. The three Ps are my life.”

“I know.”

Her voice is sweet, understanding, as she smiles at me, and I know she gets it.

Really, truly gets it. The way only another ag nerd could.

Until now, the only other person who has ever understood this the same way, who has lived and breathed this with me, is Cary.

A man who is third generation horticulture.

Then in walked Sawyer Brown.

I wheel myself over to her, stopping just shy of her chair. There’s a millimeter of space between our knees, and it might as well be the Grand Canyon for as much as I want to touch her—kiss her—right now. But I’m also trying to be respectful. We’re at work after all.

Despite how much she gets me, how much I want to spend all my time wrapped up in her, we do have to remain professional. Some of the time.

“Just think, if we can reduce the replant cycle time by creating a less acidic process, how much more rotation you could do. These bad years might not hurt quite as much.”

“Except you apparently don’t trust your numbers at the moment.”

“I trust them. But like any good science project, it’s about replication. It can’t be a one-off.”

Smirking, I lean back, cradling my head in my hands. I can only behave so much, and Sawyer handed me that one on a silver platter.

“Which project are we talking about, Miss Sawyer? Soil…or your orgasms?”

“Soil.” Her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she struggles to maintain her deadpan expression. “Although you’ve excelled at the other as well.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, turning her focus back to her computer. I can’t help but laugh, knowing just how easy it is to push her buttons.

“Since I’m excelling at that, maybe once you’re confident with your peach numbers, we can discuss what you can do for mold and my nuts?”

As far as double entendre ag jokes go, I have to say, that one is pretty decent. I expect a groan. Or at least a roll of Sawyer’s eyes. Even a you did not just say that glare. But I get nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

My joke falls completely flat, the whole room hospital still and pin-drop silent. The only movement is Sawyer’s eyelids rapidly blinking as she stares wide-eyed at something on her monitor.

“Umm, hello? Sawyer? Mold…nuts? Nothing?”

“Huh?”

She jerks her head back in my direction, looking startled. She didn’t hear me. What the hell was she looking at?

“Care to share?”

She swallows, pressing her lips together. “It’s an email from the head of R&D. They are moving up the submission deadline for the job posting. All relevant materials—resume, case studies, letters of recommendation—have to be submitted by next Friday at noon.”

“Is your stuff ready?” I ask.

“No. I had hoped to have more results from the field study here, but…I guess I’ll have to write up what we have so far.”

She stands up, walking over to one of the filing cabinets, pulling out a folder and starting to shuffle through it. All her notes are in impeccable order—I know, I’ve seen them— so it shouldn’t take her long to put together what she needs.

“Don’t forget to write the letter,” she adds hastily, looking up from the folder.

“I won’t.” I shrug.

“Did you write it down? You seem like you’ll forget if you don’t write it down.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Anton.” She looks at me like a nun scolding a schoolchild. “You promised. That’s the whole reason we’re doing this.”

That’s the whole reason we’re doing this…

Seven words is all it takes to sucker punch me straight in the gut. A reminder that maybe all this is to her is an agreement. A superficial thing. A step toward her dream job.

That maybe all I am is a vehicle to face her fear.

But then I catch her eyes. Those soft brown irises that are currently pleading with me to not be an idiot. The same ones that last night showed me how much they trusted me as she screamed my name, riding my hand to an earth-shattering orgasm.

Have I caught feelings? Yup. But I refuse to believe they’re one-sided.

“I promise I won’t forget. Cross my heart,” I tell her, tracing an X over my chest.

“Thank you.”

The lab door slams open, startling us both before we can say anything else. A swirling tornado of chaotic energy blusters in, announcing the arrival of only one possible person.

“Tisabelle!” I exclaim.

Temperance Isabelle Pullman—or Tizzy as she prefers to be called—is the definition of free spirit. The true opposite of my best friend, a bubbly sprite of a woman with wild strawberry blonde waves, Tizzy more than keeps all of us on our toes. She’s also perfect for Cary.

“Hey! Cary in?”

“Haven’t seen him.”

I glance back at Sawyer, and she shakes her head. Pulling out my phone, I check my texts, thinking maybe I missed something. Nothing there either.

“Was just trying to surprise him. I can try the fields,” she says. “But, oh! Since I’m here, egg salad or chicken Caesar wraps for Saturday night?”

“Saturday night?” I ask.

“Town movie night?” she replies, throwing a look to Sawyer like “duh!”

I look over, but Sawyer seems just as lost as I am.

“Cary said the four of us were going together. And I figured I’d whip us up something rather than eating pizza.”

“ The Goonies ,” Sawyer says, the realization hitting her.

“Right, that’s what they are showing this year. It’s nice that it’s not a cartoon this time.”

“Yeah, I think I might have accidentally agreed to that,” she whispers, looking at me.

I laugh, my heart squeezing. Because what she has no idea of is that I had already agreed to a date with these two, and Cary was simply confirming a time and place. I’ll let her off the hook eventually, but for now, I’m going to let her think she’s to blame.

“Surprise us, Tizzy,” I say.

“Sounds good.” She turns on her heel, blustering out with as much energy as she came in. “See you then!”

I saunter over to Sawyer, wrapping an arm around her.

“Looks like I get to show my girl off to the town this weekend.”