Page 32 of Chasing Wildflowers
“Smart answer. I’d have to put your balls in a vice grip if I caught you chatting up another woman while taking my best friend on dates.” Her voice is sweet, but the threat is clear.
Jesus Christ. This woman just says whatever comes to mind.
“Noted.” I swallow and internally cringing at the thought.
I’m both slightly terrified of Kam and also extremely grateful Lane has a best friend who looks out for her so fiercely.
Her expression softens, and she glances around, arms dropping to her sides. “Just be careful with her, okay? She’s been through a lot and doesn’t trust men easily. Don’t mess it up.”
She just unwittingly confirmed my suspicions. Lane’s husband hurt her.
I hold her eyes, letting her see my promise. “She’s safe with me.”
The barista calls out my Americano. I grab my coffee, but before I can leave the shop, Kam stops me.
“Hey, Jameson.”
I turn back to face her.
She smirks knowingly. “The County Fair is this week. It’s one of Lane’s favorite things.”
“Thanks, Kam.”
Wednesday night, Lane and I stroll into the fairgrounds, hand in hand. Neon lights blaze against the night sky, casting colorful streaks across the gravel walkways. The air is thick with fried dough, sweet kettle corn, and the metallic tang of popcorn butter.
Children’s laughter spirals from spinning rides, mixing with the deep rumble of the ferris wheel and the high-pitched screams from the tilt-a-whirl.
Lane’s eyes sparkle under the glow of lights, her smile bright and unrestrained. “This is what I look forward to most in the summer.”
“Which do you come for? The rides or the food?” I ask, guiding her through a group of teenagers clutching candied apples and funnel cakes.
“Food,” she answers immediately, then adds, “and the petting zoo.” She glances up at a spinning ride and shakes her head. “I’m too old for that. I can do the Ferris wheel, but that’s it.”
I chuckle, squeezing her hand, loving how perfectly it fits in my own. “I don’t do rides either.”
We pass a jewelry booth, and she pauses, fingers grazing a delicate gold cuff, set with colorful gemstones. She moves down the table, eyes roaming over the colorful gems, the hem of her summer dress brushing softly against her thighs.
When she lingers over a necklace with a pale opal, I slip both into my palm and pay the vendor while she studies a display at the other side of the tent.
I slide up behind her. “How old are you, Wildflower?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
She glances at me over her shoulder, lips tilting in an easy smile. “I just turned thirty-three in January. You?”
She kept her age but changed the month. Interesting. Most people would make themselves younger.
“Thirty-five last month.” I link my fingers with hers, drawing her out of the tent and back into the throng of people.
We weave our way through the fair, heading toward the barns, the loose gravel kicking up under our shoes. The crowd’s thinned some, but laughter still floats through the air. Kids tugging at their parents’ hands, begging for just one more ride. A group of teenage girls giggling as they pass a group of guys.
There’s something soothing about it, the slow, simple flow of small town life. Nothing like New York. No blaring horns, no over crowded sidewalks, no rush.
It’s…nice.
It’s no wonder Lane picked New Haven to start her new life.
“Did you like growing up in Philly?" I ask, keeping my voice casual. Asking about her past is delicate territory, and I need to tread carefully.
She’s likely to give me a fabricated story, but the investigator in me needs to see how much her two lives overlap, if at all.
