Page 10 of Your Two Lips
Some things never changed. In short, he didn’t think I could do it. Even with ultra-successful Lucas’s backing, Dad still doubted me.
I worked my ass off on the farm, and he questioned my choices every time. He paid for me to go to college but resisted the farming innovations I learned in favor of the old ways. I knew my stuff, whether or not he thought so. This resort was my chance to prove myself to him, and then maybe he’d relax. He had trouble relaxing about anything.
“Dad’s dragging his feet saying, ‘I’ll get to it, but here are a few things I need you to do right now.’ We should talk to him this weekend. The weather is drying out, and the county is coming to do the water lines. I need to schedule the grading work if I want it done this summer, so I’m sending them a deposit this week. I’ll act like I own the land even if I don’t.” I shook my head.
“You’ve done the research. You have a rock-solid business plan. You’ve included his suggestions and found a solution to all his roadblocks. He’ll sign the papers.” Luc punched my shoulder.
“Thanks, Luc. I hope you’re right. You coming with me this morning or Mom and Tess?”
“You,” he said.
“Then get your boots on and meet me at the truck in fifteen. The market opens in an hour.”
7
EMILY
I learnedto parallel park in a city where parking anywhere required professional-level skill and precision. It wasn’t that way in my new small town, and I loved it. I grabbed a spot on a side street up from the gravel lot near the marina that hosted the Perry Harbor Farmers’ Market. Bill’s Dry Dock held what must have been hundreds of boats scattered to the right of the bright white tents in the sunny morning light.
I had planned to bike the four miles to the market this morning, but instead, I brought my SUV. The leather seats molded to me like a hug, and after an entire bottle of wine, a dozen brownie bites, and two Bridget Jones movies followed by fitful sleep, a morning bike ride wasn’t happening. And this way, I could stock up on a few things.
With a shower and a cup of coffee, I was mostly human again. I needed to stand back up and keep moving forward. I allowed myself to be sad for a little while because it acknowledged the hurt. But only a little while, so I didn’t slip back into despair.
Dad insisted on this SUV with all the safety features when I decided to stay in Whistler for the winter. It was reliable, and the hitch held my heavy bike rack. So heavy, I was leaving it in place until the fall.
The market was already busy with shoppers by the late morning hour, which meant moms and strollers. I usually avoided parks and events attracting baby strollers, like parades. The moms, haggard to happy, were hard not to envy, and envy drained my soul. I would have to gut through the farmers’ market like everything else.
Walking the stalls with a latte, I inhaled the clean sea air, the scent of lavender soap, and the ever-present festival smell of kettle corn cooking. Similar to Seattle’s Pike Place Market, several stalls were overflowing with beautiful spring flowers. Sweet peas and tulips in all their colors, even a unique orange color I planned to buy on my way out.
I grabbed fresh-baked bread, salmon spread for lunches, a carton of eggs, and two thick grass-fed beef strip steaks to pan-sear and slice for salads. My bags were getting full, so I went in search of my last items.
“Hey, Emily, you need a hand?” Lucas was standing by a pastry stall wearing an apron.
“Hey.” I walked toward him, eying the apron. “Do you work here?”
“I’m on a break.” He winked and wiped sugar crumbs from the side of his mouth. “I could give you a little tour of our fine farmers’ market.”
“The other night, you said you worked in tech. Are you a weekend baker or something?”
“Ha, not a baker, of bread anyway. That booth, that’s my family’s farm.” He pointed to the Bakker Farms sign above bins and tables overflowing with vegetables. Right, a Bakker, not a baker.
“I’m helping today … can I take something to your car?”
I glanced at my overloaded bags like I was just noticing them. “Oh, no. All I need is beets and kale, and I’m headed home.”
“We should have some still. Come on, let me help.” He grabbed a couple of bags and led me toward the booth. Once there, I weaved past an older couple selecting salad greens and came face to face with Mr. Big Man, Finn, also in an apron.
Damn, he looked as good as I remembered. Broad and bulky with the sleeves of his worn work-shirt rolled up, revealing muscular forearms and big, rough hands. All the breath left my lungs, and I sucked in air so quickly I coughed. Exceptionally smooth, I was not. I shifted my bags to create a distraction.
Finn held a mostly empty box with a few bunches of the orange tulips I had seen earlier, and Lucas was setting one of my shopping bags in the same box. “Hang on to these, bro.” Looking at me, Lucas said, “I’ll go grab the beets and kale.”
“Hi, Finn. Emily.” I gestured to myself. “We met Wednesday night.”
“Yeah, I remember. It’s … nice to see you again.” His expression was reserved, and his words were more like a growl. That gravelly sound did something to my insides. I wanted to press myself against him and lick the rough skin of his neck below the scruff on his jaw. Would he taste salty and smell of sweat and hard work?
I stepped closer to allow room for the older couple to move farther into the stall, and I glanced at the bins of fresh tulips rather than meet his eyes. They were much sparser than earlier. “Those flowers, is that the last of that color?”
He cleared his throat and his expression softened. “Yes. You interested?” Umm, yes, very … and in the flowers. He leaned in and bent down slightly to be at my eye level. Oh, he smelled good. Something sweet mixed with earth and sunshine. I was staring.
