Page 24 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FINLEY
We’re sitting at the table, tearing into her sourdough bread, and I must admit…it’s incredible. The crust is perfect, the crumb soft and springy, and the flavor—God the flavor—it’s out of this world.
“Alex, this is outrageously good.” I say, taking another bite.
“Thanks, I was going to use this recipe for the slider buns for my entry at the Thanksgiving festival… but I don’t think I’m going to enter now.” She shrugs, a little sad.
I nearly choke on my bread. “What?! You have to! Thosecorporate dicks—Krueger’s—they’re coming. If you don’t enter… I… I don’t know if I can beat them on my own.”
“What?” she says, frowning.
“They’re trying to wedge themselves into town.” I say, leaning forward. “We should work together. You and me, we’ll definitely win.”
She looks at me, her grin slow and teasing, and God, I missed it. “Okay… let’s do it,” she says.
She turns toward the window, her voice quiet. “It’s getting late. Do you think we could make it home?”
I stand, walking to the front doors. My palms press against the cold glass as I stare out into the storm. Snow whips in thick waves, tree branches bending and snapping in the wind. I shake my head and turn back to her. “No. It’s bad out there.”
She sighs, then disappears down one of the aisles. A minute later she comes back with several rolled up sleeping bags in her arms.
She drops them down onto the floor with a quiet thud and plants her hands on her hips.
“Well,” she says, half smiling, “I guess it’s a market sleepover then.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I guess so, huh.”
We spread the sleeping bags out side by side, layering them for extra padding. She vanishes again and comes back holding two massive Squishmallows.
She tosses one toward me. “We don’t have pillows,” she says with a shrug, “but we have these.”
I catch it, smirking. “Perfect. Nothing beats sleeping on a giant stuffed candy corn.”
Her laugh fills the empty store, and it feels good to see her happy again. To see her smiling and laughing again. It’s crazy that I once thought her bright smile was annoying.
Now it’s something I want to see every day. Now I want to be the reason she has that smile plastered on her beautiful face.
She props a large tablet up on a chair beside us, the screen casting a soft glow. A cozy fall romcom starts playing. She settles down onto the makeshift bed, tugging the blanket up around her shoulders.
I stand there awkwardly for a moment.Am I supposed to sleep…next to her?We only made one big pallet.
She looks up at me with curious eyes. “Are you going to lay down?”
I clear my throat. “I—uh… yes.”
Kicking off my boots, I lower myself into the space beside her, careful not to get too close. I can smell her—sweet, floral, and clean, like fresh linen and daisies. It’s intoxicating. And calming.
She’s lying on her side; eyes fixed on the movie playing across the screen. The soft flicker of light dances over her pretty face.
I find myself staring at her delicate features. How could anyone ever hurt her? How could anyone look at this woman—this gentle, kind, cheerful, intelligent woman—and decide to be the reason she feels pain.
The thought burns in my mind. My jaw tightens, fists clenching under the blanket. I force myself to breathe, slow and steady. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to quiet the storm building in my veins.
She shifts beside me, her voice soft. “Earlier, you said you have your own stuff going on.”
I open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
