Page 82 of Hand Picked
And it was great to have gotten that reminder before any… feelings were involved. Because there weren’t any.
No feelings.
None whatsoever.
And thank gosh for that, right? Whew.
“I bet we will.” Gage gave me a friendly wink. “Since we like Luke.”
“Yeah we do,” Aiden said, leaning over to rest his head on my arm for a beat… before attacking his own slice of pie like a school of hungry piranha in a feeding frenzy.
I smiled down at him. Was there anything better than enjoying a meal with the people you loved? I didn’t think so. And in my case, it was the cherry on the sundae of my life, which was pretty close to perfect these days. Per-fect.
Just… just really, unbelievablyperfect.
My mom and Aunt Sue had been here in Little Pippin Hollow for several days already. My mom looked healthier and more hopeful than she had in a long while, and she was making a point to introduce herself to all the people and places in my new hometown.
My newly renovated farmhouse was absolutely gorgeous—not to mention warm and solid, which were two qualities I’d never take for granted again.
Spring had arrived, and my sheep spent every day frolicking in the fields… which, yes, were mostly mud swamps, but the girls didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I was thinking it might be time to expand the herd.
Aiden had gotten his Nature Scout badge for knot tying, he was going to kick butt in the spelling bee this week (though I was impartially rooting for all the kids, obviously), and I’d even sat in the stands with Amanda the other night when Aiden’s Mites hockey team had made the playoffs. We’d been cordial to each other, which had been a relief.
Work was going well. Principal Oliver had reversed direction and thrown her support behind the Pick-a-Book drive, even offering to take a shift working the fundraising booth at the Spring Fling.
The Sundays were my friends now—and not just neighbor-friends across the orchards, like the original lie I’d told my mom, but honest to goodness friends who brought me to Jack’s for breakfast and invited my mother to dinner.
In short, I was living the freaking fairy tale I’d written about in Old Ben Pond’s essay contest and then some.
Happily Ever After?Pfft. Lame.
TryHappiestEver After.
TryEcstaticallyEver After.
Try… tryWholly and Completely Satisfied, Without Requiring A Single Other Thing or Person or Relationship, Ever After.
Of course, before tonight, I hadn’t actuallyseenWebb since Sunday morning, but that was fine. Better than fine! Friends didn’t live in each other’s pockets, after all, and it was important to remember that was what we were.
Friends, friends, friends.
Friends who used to have occasional benefits but were absolutely not going to dothatanymore because those benefits wereconfusing. And addictively sexy. And could actually have been really hurtful, if I’d gone and done something foolish like, say, falling in love with my gorgeous, kindhearted, steadfast, lumberjacky neighbor, when he’d made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in anything more than a casual…nothing.
Thank goodness I’d saved myself from that, right?
It wasn’t like there was any tension between me and Webb. Gosh, no.
I mean, yes, I’d dressed and left the farmhouse immediately after the conversation with Amanda on Sunday—the one where Webb had so clearly said the handfasting meantnothing—but that was only because my mom had been on her way, not because I’d been upset or, like, brokenhearted.
And Webb had been busy, too, doing damage control with Aiden, who’d burst into tears at the idea that we weren’t getting married, and with Amanda, who was the one person in the greater Hollow area who didn’t know all the details of ye olde handfasting, and with Em, who’d been ready to challenge Webb to a duel on my behalf for “denying Luke a second time, for fuck’s sake,JudasWebb Sunday”—which was kind of funny, or at least I’d chosen to think so.
And then I’d been incredibly, genuinely busy this week—nearly as busy as I’d been the week before, really—with school, and showing my mom around, and making final preparations for the Pick-a-Book fundraiser and the spelling bee.
Webb was probably busy, too, but he wasn’t upset either… or so it seemed from reading between the lines of the riveting, deeply personal texts he’d sent this week: “Muriel’s pins have dropped. She could calve any day.” and “Weather looks good for the Spring Fling on Saturday.” and “Found a striped sock under my bed. Might be yours?”
He hadn’t apologized for what he’d said on Sunday, but then… why would he if what he’d said was true?
I just needed to remind myself that it didn’t matter.
