Page 27
SAWYER
“Anton Hayes!” a shrill, syrupy Georgia accent exclaims, cutting through the air like a freshly sharpened sword. “Did you think you were going to get away with not introducing me to your friend?”
“I had hoped so…” Anton mutters under his breath, before whipping us around. “Miss Pixie!”
I don’t know if it’s the sudden movement or the woman with tangerine-colored hair and Coke-bottle glasses making a beeline for us that catches me off guard more.
Both are more than enough to throw me off balance, the wobble in my step not going unnoticed.
Anton reacts with ease, wrapping an arm around my waist like it’s the most natural move in the world, pulling me into his side to steady me.
Something that makes the middle-aged woman’s eyebrows rise with delight.
“I haven’t seen you for weeks, young man,” she chides as she joins us, sizing us up and down.
“It is peach season; I spend most of my time in the field.”
“And yet you haven’t brought me a single one.”
I feel the muscles in the arm Anton has wrapped around me tense up, and I can tell it’s more than just about trying to hold back a smart-ass response.
Yes, whoever this woman is obviously is someone that he has to watch his mouth around.
But this goes beyond that. This is also about how personally he’s still taking the bad crop.
There is nothing I can do or say that is going to change it.
I know that. Not only because I’ve tried, but because these last few weeks have taught me that’s who he is.
Deep down, under all the sarcasm and instigating, is someone who cares more than anyone knows.
So, I do what I can—slip my hand into his and squeeze. Letting him know I’m here.
That I’ve got him.
“It’s a lean year, Miss Pixie. Everything we’ve had has made it to wholesale or the stands, unless we had to scrap it.”
“And yet I’m sure Miss Belle and Dolly still got some…”
Just who the hell is this woman?
“Anywho…” She bats her eyelashes, her voice going singsongy again, and I’m once more reminded why I prefer plants to people. Plants do not pull this kind of shit. “You must be Sawyer, the expert from the Agriculture Department who is visiting this summer.”
And plants are also never small-town gossips.
This woman is the Hickory Hills version of Abilene Reed. Got it.
“I am.”
I nod politely, not knowing how else to respond. She clearly knows who I am, while I have exactly nothing on her. Nor do I care. All I want is to find where we’re going to be sitting so I can park myself next to Anton and watch this movie.
“I’ve heard all about the work y’all have been doing, but we haven’t seen you up at HQ. Not a once.”
HQ?
I look to Anton, silently begging for a lifeline.
I have no idea what she means by HQ. I’ve been to every field, grove, or orchard that Hayes owns.
Made a number of visits to the processing plants, as well as the different barns and other outposts that the field crews use.
Not to mention the countless hours I have spent in the greenhouse and lab.
If Hayes Agriculture has another headquarters, Anton and Cary have never mentioned it.
At this point, I feel like they would have.
“The main Hayes Industries building over off Ridge Road,” he says.
Oh, that.
Yeah, I have not been there. There hasn’t been a reason for me to visit the corporate offices. Hell, Anton barely spends any time there. Other than his Monday meeting with his siblings that they have a funny name for, or an occasional lunch, he’s in the lab or the fields.
“Pixie is in charge of reception.”
“Director of First Impressions,” she corrects him. I bite my tongue, barely containing my laughter. Because if ever there was a corporate speak title, that is it. Holding out her hand, she finally introduces herself. “Pixie Jerald. It is lovely to put a face to the name.”
Doin’ great on the first impression, Pixie…
“We really do need to get you up to HQ. Can’t have you bein’ like this one and hiding in the greenhouse all the time. Come by Monday and we’ll have lunch?—”
“We should be off, Miss Pixie. Need to go find Cary and Tizzy and get our seats,” he cuts her off, clearly as ready as I am to be done with this conversation. “Don’t want to miss any of The Goonies .”
“ The Sandlot .”
“Pardon?”
It’s like he stole the word straight from my brain.
Because the plan was The Goonies —I know it was.
I saw the poster in the grocery store the other evening when we went to grab food to cook dinner.
Dolly mentioned it as well, since apparently all the town can talk about is the first non-cartoon being shown in decades.
“It’s now The Sandlot .”
“What happened to The Goonies ?” Anton asks.
Pixie tsks, then looks around at the crowd milling about, as if she’s trying to make sure we’re not being listened to.
“Hattie Burch watched it, wanting to make sure that it’s appropriate, and then vetoed the choice.
I mean, do you know what a Goonie is?” She tsks again, shaking her head.
“So Moira Schneider and Stacey Conrad, who we mistakenly put in charge of this event, picked The Sandlot as a second choice. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it, since my girls were little, so I don’t remember if it’s entirely… ”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Anton mutters, loud enough for only me to hear, as she continues to jabber on.
Looking down at me, he tugs me into his side, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. It’s more than enough to make my tummy flip and the butterflies take flight, the awkward uncomfortableness of Pixie’s inquiry flying away with them.
A loud crash drowns Pixie out for a second, all three of us searching to see where it came from.
It doesn’t take long. The squeals of three small boys, followed almost immediately by the raised voices of adults, float through the air from the event tent, the boys sprinting out of the tent as fast as they can.
“Those darn Conrad boys…” Pixie exclaims, throwing her arms up. “They’re gonna burn this town down one of these days…”
Turning on her heel, she’s off and weaving through the crowd without saying goodbye faster than a palmetto bug skittering away from the light. Neither of us move for a moment, letting the crowd around us readjust after the commotion. As they do, I watch, and I wait…and that’s when it hits me.
I think I kind of like this.
“Sorry about that.” Pressing his lips to the crown of my head, Anton holds me close for a beat, then lets go, the warm, humid summer air feeling cool at the loss of him. “There’s a hierarchy to the Hickory Hills gossip circle, and Pixie has a reputation to uphold.”
I laugh. “Oh, is she top dog?”
“Not even close.”
Taking my hand, he leads me through the crowd, heading toward the open field where the movie will be shown.
A massive screen is set up on one side, with rows and rows of blankets and other picnic setups laid out in front, cars and trucks parked behind, the townspeople of Hickory Hills getting all prepped and ready with their families and friends for the event.
“Dolly’s great-aunt, Hattie Burch, she’s the number one, and her right hand is our former math teacher, a woman named Gail Chamberlain.
If you see her, watch out. Pixie is a good solid lieutenant though.
As our company receptionist, she hears a lot , and has proven useful to them over the years.
The next generation is being held up by Moira Schneider—Moira being daughter to Ken Noble, and therefore sister to Kenzie Wilder, slash sister-in-law to Dustin Wild, important to note—and Stacey Conrad, who is the receptionist at the vet and the daughter of the town judge.
And those three hooligans are also her kids. ”
“That’s going to hurt her long term.”
Anton stops, looking at me curiously. I smile knowingly, more than happy to be able to have one up on him here.
“You’re not the only one from a small town, sir. Hurricane Shoals might be a party stop for spring break to y’all, but behind the scenes, we are like any other small town. We have our own Pixies and Hattie Burches, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie troublemakers too.”
“So, you get it.”
He gestures toward a blanket, one that must have some distinguishing feature that I’m unaware of for him to know that it’s ours, so I follow his lead and sit.
“I do. And, can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
His eyes are so genuine, a beautiful blue that I feel can see deep into me, in a way that no one else can. Like when I tell him something, he’s listening with his heart. A fact that scares me as much as it excites me.
“I kinda like it.”
“Hickory Hills?”
I nod, reaching for him. His skin feels nice against mine—warm and rough, sending a tingle through me—our interlacing fingers fitting together perfectly.
“When I left Hurricane Shoals, I said I never wanted to live in another small town. Didn’t want to deal with the Abilene Reeds of the world anymore.
That’s our Pixie Jerald, so you know. But, I dunno…
something about doing it with you is different.
Although, I think Brenna might be on to something with her whole ‘dating a Hayes needs to come with a warning’ thing. ”
“When did Brenna say that?”
“The other night. She was over at your parents’ and we were sitting in the kitchen talking, and she invited me to have lunch with her, Dolly, and Margeaux.”
Narrowing his eyes, Anton leans in, squeezing my fingers in his. My pulse leaps, the little flutters in my veins increasing as he gets closer.
“That sounds like trouble.” His voice is barely above a whisper, his breath tickling my skin .
“Not any more trouble than you are, Anton Hayes,” I reply, trying to close the gap between us.
Time slows, everything around us hushing, dimming, as if the universe flipped a switch. Suspended us in air, holding right here, each of us waiting for the other to make that last little move. One we’ve made a hundred times over the last week.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27 (Reading here)
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43