Page 20 of Tinder Embrace
I opened the truck door, stopping when he called my name. He paused, and I held my breath, willing him to speak.
He shook his head, the motion almost imperceptible. “Don’t overdo it on that foot.” He looked like the words pained him, like he wanted to say something else altogether.
I took my time gathering my bag, giving him more time to speak. When he remained silent, I hopped out of the truck with a cheery wave, wincing when I landed hard on my bad foot.
Davis waited until I reached the door to my school before pulling away, and that small courtesy warmed my heart. He might not always know what to say, but he knew what to do to make me feel special.
My day was every bit as exhausting as I'd feared, and by the end of it, my foot ached.
Davis was waiting for me outside when I finally wrapped up for the day. Even though I'd texted and was expecting him, his presence hit me like a punch to the gut. He leaned against the hood of his truck, booted feet crossed at the ankle. A ballcap covered his dark hair, casting his expression in shadows. At least he'd dressed for the cold in a heavy barn jacket.
I hobbled toward the truck, and his straight mouth turned down in a frown.
He opened the passenger door as I approached, and I tried not to let the gesture turn me to mush.
Davis climbed into the cab, expression forbidding. His mood matched my exhaustion, and I settled into the seat, letting my eyes close. Everything ached. Maybe I should have taken a sick day.
"Here," he said.
The rough gravel in Davis's voice jarred me out of my pity party. He still looked grumpy, but my heart softened when I saw he was offering me an ice pack.
"Thanks," I murmured, hissing when I placed the cool pack against my ankle.
"You going to call out sick tomorrow?" he asked.
"Nope," I responded cheerfully.
"Stubborn."
"I know you are, but what am I?"
"Bee, you've been hanging out with second-graders too long." His tone was dry, but I noticed the smile that flirted with his lips. Davis may not want to find me funny, but I was getting to him.
"How was your day?" I asked.
"Okay," he said. "I did some routine maintenance on my harvester."
From Davis, that was a dissertation. Was it a red flag that I felt honored he shared even that much with me?
"Is that the big red trailer-thing in your main barn?"
"Yes, it strips the bines and leaves me with just the picked hop cones come harvest time."
"I bet my students would think that was really cool. You know, my farming unit is coming up soon. I'm going to invite Dallas Lachman in to talk about his potato farm, but I'd love to have you share with my students too."
"About beer?"
I chuckled, imagining the parent phone calls. "No, about rhizomes. We're going to sprout new potato shoots in class, and I thought I could do an experiment sprouting a hop plant for comparison."
"You're teaching second-graders about the difference between tubers and rhizomes?" He sounded both incredulous and interested.
"Why not? A bunch of them live on farms, or their parents work with crops in one way or another. It's science."
My words brought a rush of memory that made my skin tingle. Just last night, I'd been focused on a verydifferentkind of science. Chemistry. Maybe Davis would be interested in a do-over? After all, repeatability was a good indicator of a solid experiment.
"Sure."
His gruff agreement caught me off-guard. For a flash, I thought he was agreeing to personal experimentation. I’d moved light-years beyond my original request for him to speak to my students.
