Page 53 of That Conflicted Feeling

She’swearing a dress.

It’sfloaty, with splashes of color, and stops around her knees, revealing smooth, pale calves previously hidden in overalls.Overthe dress, a short cardigan hangs open to frame her chest and the vee of skin revealed at her collarbone.

It’sthe first timeI’veseen her without a ponytail.Herblonde hair hangs a little way below her shoulders and floats up as she walks toward me, her thumb hooked in the thin strap of a small bag hanging across her body.

Howin the name of fuck amIsupposed to not kiss her again?

Hereyes sweep the area until they meet mine.Herpace instantly slows.Shehalf raises her hand in a tiny awkward wave and presses her lips together in a tight smile, as if to hide them from me.

Adeep flutter ripples through my core, somethingIhaven’t felt sinceIwas fourteen andBrionyMayweather, the head cheerleader, finally spoke to me.

AllIwant to do is grabPollyaround the waist, pull her to me, and pick up where we left off against the tractor.

ButIneed to focus on today’s mission—learn who the influential people in this town are and what makes them tick soIcan win them over.

Itake a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and hook my thumbs in my jeans pockets.

Shestops about six feet from me and looks off to one side where a small boy is throwing a ball for a tiny, wagging dog. “Morning,” she says.

“Morning.”Thatseems to be allIcan manage.Wherethe hell hasMr.Smooth-TalkingCharmerrun off to today?Maybemy quickening pulse frightened him away.

“Howwas the rest of your day yesterday?”she asks as her gaze follows the little pooch running back with the ball.

“Allwork.”Ipause. “Oh, and you were right.”

Thoughtthat might get her attention.Nowshe looks at me with exaggerated surprise.

“Surelynot.”Sheraises her eyebrows. “Aboutwhat?”

“Ispoke to the head ofYellowBarnabout farmers being ripped off over packaging.Itwill never happen again.”

Iemphasize the last three words.

Shesteps closer and tilts her head as her mouth curves up at the corners. “Youdid that?Puta stop to it?”

“Yup.”Iraise my palms to the sky in a shrug. “Ikeep telling peopleI’mnice.Butno one will believe me.”

“Ha.Well, that’s hardly surprising.”Thosehot blue eyes bore right into mine. “Youshould see the length of the petition now.Lotsof people have signed up for the next protest.”

“Andwhen will that be?”

Shedrops her chin and looks up at me. “Nogeneral gives away their battle plan to the enemy, do they?”

Ah, so she is still a little flirty.

Yeah, kissing her.That’spretty much allIwant to do.Andmaybe slide a hand up that dress.

“Anyway,” she says. “Letme introduce you to some of the people whose livelihoods you’re planning to ruin.Thenmaybe you’ll grow a soul, scrap the plans, andIcan stand down my troops.”

“It’sbecauseIhave a soul thatIbuilt my company in the first place.”It’smore of a reminder to myself, but it sneaks out under my breath.

“Whatdoes that mean?”

“Nevermind.”Thisis not the time for my life story.EventhoughI’mpretty sure she’d be both surprised and understanding if she knew. “Comeon.Takeme to meet these fine people.”

Ioffer her my elbow, but she ignores it and walks ahead, leaving me hanging and needing to trot to catch up. “What’stheSpringFairall about anyway?”

“Allsorts of things.Itbegan forever ago to mark the start of the new growing season for the farmers.Butnow it's also about saying goodbye to winter and hello to spring.Timeto get outside again, a fresh start, renewal, new possibilities.Allthat kind of stuff.”