Page 41 of Where It All Began
Phoebe took a slug of water and watched John swing the sledge hammer effortlessly down onto the last post, settling it into the gravel-filled hole. He was shirtless and slicked with sweat and not making her new resolution not to try to tempt him into bed any easier. She turned her back on him to stare out over the green that rolled out in all directions. She’d gotten to know part of his land these past few weeks.
She knew there was a creek carving through John’s property just over the ridge, a pretty little bluff that provided a panoramic view of valley and fields. She’d captured that old stone barn from every angle in Polaroids. She shaded her hand with her eyes, studying the short stalks in their tidy corn field rows.
“Knee high by the 4thof July,” she murmured to herself, remembering with a smile her grandfather quoting the adage every year.
“What’s that?” John asked, swiping the jug of water from her and helping himself.
“Nothing.”
John sat down on the open tailgate of his truck and sighed, squinting up at the sun. He looked so impossibly male sitting there, coated in sweat from a good day’s work. “Guess we’d better get back to the house. Gotta get cleaned up for the festivities.”
“Festivities?”
“Fourth of July. Picnic and fireworks in the park.”
“We’re going? Together?” she asked.
“You don’t want to miss Blue Moon on the Fourth,” he promised.
--------
Phoebe could feel the buzz of excitement in town as they made their way toward the park. John had insisted on driving. He claimed her driving was like watching a horror movie. She’d argued with him, but it hadn’t been the first time she’d heard the criticism. Her sister refused to go anywhere with Phoebe if she was driving. But it was just one more reason to stay quiet in his presence. She wasn’t about to engage in another argument with him. That’s when her blood got stirred up.
John stopped three blocks back from the center of town and snagged a parking space. They got out, and he pulled an old quilt from behind his seat.
She looked at the blanket under the arm of a gorgeous man and then up at the darkening sky. The setup had romance written all over it. Was she supposed to snuggle up next to him on a blanket, watching the sky explode and not make out with him? “You know what, maybe I’ll just go.” She pointed back in the direction they’d come.
“Jesus, woman. What is your malfunction?”
Phoebe gaped at him.
“First, I can’t get you to shut up, then I can’t get you to stop flirting with me. Now, you act like I fell in Carson’s manure pit and can’t wait to get away from me.”
This was not the John Pierce she’d met just a few weeks ago, the one who could barely string two words together.
“There’s no malfunction. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to spend so much time together.”
“See? That! That right there.” He pointed his finger in her face. “What’s that? When did that happen?”
“I thought you’d be happy about it,” she said, matching his tone.
“I would be if I knew why you were suddenly clamming up around me. It makes me nervous, like you’re plotting something.”
“I’m not plottinganything. I’m just staying out of your way and not trying to get in your pants anymore!”
“Why the hell not? What changed?”
“Does it matter? I thought you wanted me to stay out of your pants!”
They were drawing a small, snickering crowd on the sidewalk, and John grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the park. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t care. But you’re not missing these fireworks even if you are exasperating and annoying.”
He kept his grip on her hand, and she was glad for it when they got to the park. It appeared that the whole town had turned out. They wove their way in and out of blankets and people, dodging Frisbees and fast-footed toddlers.
John towed her over to a copse of trees next to the gazebo where a ’60s cover band was warming up the crowd with the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations.” Michael, Elvira, and Bobby were sharing a pink blanket and a huge pizza.
“About time,” Bobby complained. “I had to slap this one’s hands away from your slices.” She shot an accusatory look in Michael’s direction.
“John gets crabby when I touch his stuff,” Michael said with a long, slow wink in Phoebe’s direction.
