Page 44 of When Wildflowers Bloom

He’s a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He has no clue I’d just be a temporary fix that would need to be replaced later. He needs two good parents, not one with a foot in the grave.

I don’t say any of that. Instead, “I always thought the leafcutter ant was the strongest bug in the world.”

He barks out a laugh. “No, Birdie!”

With that simple statement, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

At his house, Miss Alice greets us at the door, sending Huck in to get ready for dinner.

“Huck told me about him having to leave,” I say.

She smiles sadly. “It’s just too much. With Steve. We’re getting old, Birdie!” She laughs softly. “And with his condition, it’s more work than we can handle.”

I almost tell her if having rules govern your life and eating specific foods is a condition, I need a doctor and a diagnosis, but instead I just nod.

“I wish I could do something…”

She stares at me, twisting the dishtowel in her hands, seemingly trying to choose her next words carefully.

“You know, I’ve never asked how you’re so beautiful, young, and single. It’s none of my business, but you clearly like kids. If you ever wanted to adopt him, I’d speak for you. In the court, I mean. About how you are with him, how much he loves you…”

Adopt Huck?

“Miss Alice, that’s so nice of you but…” My pulse rams behind my eyeballs and I don’t have the energy to explain why I can’t be the one to take him. After everything today, it’s a conversation I don’t have the mental bandwidth for. “I’m not married. Isn’t that kind of part of it?”

She chuckles. “Goodness, no! This is modern America, Birdie! Sometimes I think theypreferone parent.” I use the time it takes her to open the door and step inside to imagine the life she’s describing—Huck living with me…as myson. It’s farfetched. Silly even.

Before Miss Alice closes the door she adds, “Just think about it.”

Fifteen

“It’s August, Birdie. Whatsay we read some lumberjack erotica?”

Here we go.

I cut my eyes to Mabel as I fold laundry. “Do I have a choice?”

Shetsksme, passing a copy ofWood of Love.

It is, in fact, about a lumberjack. I want to light it on fire more than I want to read it, but the striking resemblance the guy on the cover has to Bo makes me both laugh and tingle enough between my legs for me to put my copy in my bag without arguing.

I may never touch Bo again, but I have no doubt that reading this book and imagining it’s about him might be the next best thing. Naturally, I don’t share this with Mabel who looks at me like she’s picturing the very same things I am.

“Birdie, I bet you could get that bearded boy toy of yours to pose shirtless for a photo. We could compare him to our new maincharacter, Aaron,” she says, batting her overly mascaraed eyelashes with a sinful smile that showcases her red-stained teeth.

I look at her, this former nun of a woman, and realize how envious I am by how freely she speaks about sex. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had close girlfriends or maybe it’s because it’s Bo and his looks are so good it seems greedynotto talk about them, but I don’t ignore her inappropriate topic of conversation like I usually do. Today, I feed into it. I want to fantasize and giggle with her about what it would be like the way I imagine other women would.Normalwomen.

Folding a cheetah print pair of leggings, a smile covers my face along with a heat on my cheeks. “You know, sometimes when we hike Bo takes his shirt off.”

“Heaven on a hot dog!” Mabel yells, fanning herself with her hand, dropping back onto the couch dramatically before bouncing back upright and hopping to her feet. “Hold that thought, Birdie dear, I need a gin and tonic for this one.”

She’s across the small room and grabbing a bottle of liquor from a glass cabinet before I can blink. I laugh in disbelief. “It’s nine in the morning, Mabel!”

“Bah! If you’re about to tell me about that man without a shirt on, I don’t care what time it is.”

While Mabel has a cocktail, I explain every detail about his muscles—the way they slope and curve down the length of his torso—and the tattoos that add to their appeal.

Then, when I think I’m done, my most unexpected confession of all: “I had sex with Bo in the minivan.” As soon as the words are out my eyes widen in shock.

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