Page 31

Chapter twenty-eight

Naomi

“What exactly constitutes a perfect strawberry?” Robbie asks, bending over to pluck a lush piece of fruit off the plant.

I crouch down in the next row over to lift a leaf from the bush. “Well, obviously they need to be the perfect color. I like mine to be a deep, almost blood-red color. If they’re still pink, then they’re too tart for me.”

“That is oddly specific,” he says in a distracted voice.

“You asked.” I smile, gently tossing a strawberry into a cardboard crate with Emerson’s Berry Farm printed on the side.

“Just so we’re clear, I have no idea if any of the ones I’m picking are actually good. I’m more of a ‘throw anything in there’ kind of a picker,” he says.

“That’s alright, we’ll sort through and save those ones for you to eat.”

“You know, I’ve lived in Pine Falls my whole life and have never been here,” he comments, moving on to the next plant.

“Do you like strawberries?”

“I suppose. I don’t not like them.”

A perfectly ripe one is hidden behind a branch, and I can’t resist sinking my teeth into it for a taste. “Mm. These are so good.”

I move on to inspect the next strawberry plant as Robbie does the same to a nearby one. My eye catches on the subtle way his face clouds over, the same way it has all day.

My heart cracks as I watch him with such a pained expression.

It’s a far cry from the jovial, funny guy I’ve always known.

I hate that he was struggling with this the entire time we were in high school—and before that even.

I hate even more that I had no idea about any of it.

He never clued me in on what was happening at home, but it certainly explains why he always pushed for hanging out in nearby cities or, at the very least, at one of our homes instead of his.

A pang of guilt hits me, knowing that this strawberry patch—let alone this entire town—is the last place he really wants to be.

“I think we have enough,” I declare, willing to offer an end to the outing.

“Are you sure?” He straightens to stand instantly, as though he’s been waiting for those specific words.

“Yup.”

“What are you making again?” He takes a wide step over the row of strawberry plants and lifts the crate that’s now three-quarters full.

“A strawberry glaze for angel food cake.” I fall into step next to him as we make our way out of the berry patch.

“Was that on the calendar? I don’t remember seeing it.”

“This is just for us.”

He shifts the crate under one arm and reaches for my hand with the other. I weave my fingers through his, holding on tight. Hoping that being with me lessens the burden he’s feeling, even if it’s only a small amount.

In an attempt to focus on anything other than the heaviness that practically radiates off him, I make note of how the farm looks absolutely picturesque on this sunny, summer day.

Long rows of strawberry plants span the length of the field with tall blueberry plants skirting the perimeter of the farm.

Lush green trees surround the main building where canned jams and homemade pies are available for purchase.

As we pass by the vegetable stand on our way inside, I eye the assortment of fresh veggies that are laid out in heaping piles. Robbie stops first, as if he already knows I want to look. He waits patiently for me to peruse the selection, and I quickly grab two zucchinis from the top of the pile.

“Could you grab a couple carrots over there, please?” I ask, pointing to the other side of the stand.

“Have you learned nothing from my strawberry picking?” His effort to lighten the mood sends a brief surge of relief through me. Any little glimpse of a normal interaction makes me cling to the hope that he’s okay. That we can somehow make this work.

“It’s kind of hard to mess up carrots—any will do.” I smirk.

“Whatever you say.”

We pick a few tomatoes to add to our selection and then head inside the building to pay. My phone pings with an incoming text message as we’re waiting to be rung up.

“Charlie wants to know who’s in for going to the turtle races tonight,” I say mindlessly, then immediately regret saying it out loud.

Pine Falls’s annual turtle races are a spectacle in and of themselves.

Patrons go wild cheering to see whose turtle crosses the finish line first, and it just so happens to be one of the most popular events around here.

It draws crowds of people from neighboring cities, let alone almost the entirety of Pine Falls—which would include the exact people he’s trying to avoid.

One look at his face confirms my regret for asking. His expression is hard and distant. The internal conflict he’s wrestling with is clear, settling deep in the crease between his brows.

“I don’t know,” he spits out, his tone now holding a bite of frustration.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “We don’t have to go.”

“No, it’s just… Do you want to go?”

The fact that he pushes past his discomfort enough to ask that question makes my heart both soar and break into a million pieces at the very same time. I’m struggling, at a complete loss for how I’m supposed to navigate this with him.

“No. The turtle I choose never ends up winning at those things anyway.” I wave it off, scrambling to come up with a quick segue conversation that will lessen the heaviness.

“Should we bring one of these blackberry pies home?” The display case next to the register has several freshly baked pies boxed up and ready to go.

“Sure,” he says with a forced smile. It’s apparent how fast his mind is racing, how much he’s struggling. He doesn’t offer anything else, not even murmuring in my ear that the pie wouldn’t compare to mine—a comment he would, without a doubt, normally make in a situation like this.

Nevertheless, I add the pie to the counter where it gets added to my order.

I wait patiently for the young girl to ring me up.

When I hand her my credit card, I hear Robbie curse under his breath, his body twisting sharply.

He grips the counter with one hand and twists his neck the opposite direction, as if he’s trying to conceal himself from something.

“What is it?” I watch with dread as he fidgets nervously, feeling even more helpless than I already was.

“One of Steven’s friends is here.” His voice comes out gruff and laced with pain. My heart drops, struggling to know what to do.

“Oh,” I say meekly.

I watch as his gaze tracks the movement of someone out the window. Then he shifts back to face me, a cloud of anxiety following him as he does.

“Are you ready?” He bites his lip, assessing the speed of the girl checking us out.

“Yes, let’s go. Thank you so much.” I smile timidly to the girl, offering a quick wave before following Robbie out the door.

The walk through the parking lot is silent with me practically jogging to keep up with his racing pace. I don’t push to have a conversation, knowing he’s not even close to being in a great headspace right now.

“I think a quiet night in sounds nice,” I offer once we climb into my car.

“That sounds good to me too.” He grips my hand tightly, as if he needs something to hold onto. I squeeze back, finding that I need the same. He drives us home, my hand in his, while I desperately try to give him whatever it is that he needs.

I dip my toes lazily in the lake water below, gripping the edge of the dock with both hands as I lean over.

Robbie sits close by my side, his own legs dangling into the water.

I take comfort in his closeness, even if our interactions have been stilted ever since our heart-to-heart talk and trip to the berry farm yesterday.

“It’s a beautiful night, huh?” I straighten my arms, leaning even farther forward while I twist my neck to look at him. It’s yet another attempt to start a conversation with him, to lighten the mood. None of them have been successful so far.

“Yeah.” The slightest glimpse of the boy I know comes through in his crooked smile, but the heaviness that’s been clouding him wins out, pushing his expression right back into a stony, cold resting state.

We both jump a little as the sound of his phone cuts through the otherwise quiet evening air. I watch my reflection as it bobs in the lake below while he checks his message. When he slides the phone back in his pocket, his heavy sigh makes me bite my lip with apprehension. This can’t be good.

“Who is it?” I dare to ask.

“Steven.” He pushes the name out as if it takes a great deal of effort.

“Really?” I ask in surprise. “What did he want?”

“His friend told him that he saw me at the berry farm yesterday. He knows I’m in town and asked if we could talk. Again.”

I nod silently, unsure of what to say, or of what might rock the boat even more.

“I don’t know why, though.” The muscles on his forearms flex as he pushes his fist against his thigh. Then he rolls his lips together quickly with clear agitation.

A few moments pass silently as we watch a pontoon boat glide along the far shoreline, the last boat left out on the lake at this hour.

“Do you want to come with me to my gig this week?” His question cuts through the silence, his tone suggesting a subtle desperation. A quiet plea.

“Oh, I wish I could, but I can’t,” I say with intense regret. “There’s no way I’d be able to get time off at the dealership again. Plus, I have a full schedule of baking orders to fulfill.”

He pushes his lips together while nodding, then he hangs his head down. I can see the way he’s getting himself worked up in his head, which fills me with a desperation of my own. To figure out what will make this all better. To turn it all around and rewind to how we were just a few short days ago.

“I wish it was easier for me to leave at the drop of a hat, but it just isn’t,” I whisper, bringing my hand to rest on his thigh. It’s probably foolish of me to think it might bring him some small comfort, but I do it anyway.

He runs both palms down his face gruffly before pinning me with a look.

One with clear yearning and a touch of a wild anguish to it.

“I need to know something, Naomi. Believe me, I hate myself for putting this kind of pressure on you right now, but I have to ask…is there even the smallest chance in the world that you’d ever be okay with moving away from here someday? Even one day down the road?”

I blanch, taken aback. “I…” My voice trails off as I struggle to think of the right answer.

“Because this is eating me up inside,” he continues before I can say a word, rising to his feet in a jolt as if he suddenly can’t stand being still. I stand too, before freezing in place as he paces on the dock in front of me.

“I’m falling for you, Naomi. I really am.

” He runs his fingers messily through his hair while my entire world stops.

My heart pounds rapidly in my chest at his admission, and I wait with bated breath for him to inevitably take it all back.

“In an overwhelming kind of way. And it’s beautiful.

And consuming. And awakening. In more ways than one.

But it’s also tearing me apart inside because I.

Can’t. Stay. Here. I can’t escape them here, Naomi.

Please…I need to know if there’s a chance. ”

The only thing worse than the feeling of my heart ripping in two is seeing the look of complete torment on his face.

Of course I want to jump and shout yes! Yes, of course I would move away with you.

Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? A future filled with more adventure than this small-town life can offer?

With a wild, uncontained love that it feels like we could be on the cusp of?

I had the time of my life with him on the road. I would love more of that life.

But at the same time, my heart is refusing to let go of my bakery business that’s just barely off the ground. It’s mine. And I’m proud of it. And isn’t that what all this practice has been for anyway? To be bold and assertive? To know and stick up for what’s important to me?

After a few seconds of me hopelessly trying to reach for the right words to say, he beats me to it and nods somberly.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t give you an answer,” I scramble a protest, feeling my control of the situation slipping away rapidly.

“I get it. I really do. Your life is here.”

“Yours is too?” I whisper meekly, both a statement and a desperate question.

He holds my gaze, his eyes saturated with emotion-laced exhaustion.

He walks slowly toward me, each step making my heart pound even faster.

I feel the soft grip of his hand around my wrist seconds before he presses a kiss to the very center of my forehead.

I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in the scent of him, the feeling of having him so close…

as if a part of me fears I may need to memorize it.

“I’m gonna go,” he says quietly against my forehead.

“Go where?” My eyes fly open to find him already backing away.

“To Vegas. I’ll bump up my flight. I just… I need to get out of here.” The way he says it has a hint of finality to it. My heart completely shatters as he lets go of my wrist and turns to walk off the dock.

A voice inside my head screams to fight for him. To fight for us. But how do I beg him to stay when I know that very thing is causing him so much pain?

“Will you be back for the grand opening?” I manage to ask before he reaches the end of it. He pauses in place and twists to lock eyes with mine. The sky is almost completely dark now, but I can still see the distinct shade of blue in them that I’ve come to know so well.

“I’ll be back.” Something in his tone leaves me questioning if he really will. I watch helplessly as he walks briskly past the swing and into my house to pack his things.