“Honestly, I don’t really know. I lost my job in May, so I came home.” She sighed. “For the last couple years, I taught writing to college students, but I’m not sure I’m meant to be a teacher.” She took a sip of minty iced tea, rolled onto her stomach, and told him everything. About State’s financial troubles and her plans for New York. About Jennifer and Adam and how those plans were derailed. About winning the radio contest and volunteering at the hospital and…well, almost everything. Talking to him was like talking to an old friend, but free from the baggage that comes with a relationship muddied with history. He spoke little, and his quiet attention released her internal floodgates all the more. When the grass tickled her belly and weeds jabbed her legs, she flipped onto her back and glanced at her watch. “Oh my gosh, I’ve been talking over an hour. I’m so sorry.”

He leaned to one side and lifted a piece of dried grass from her hair.

Lurching to sitting, she ran her fingers through tangled locks. Dried weeds and bits of clover rained around her.

“Not at all,” he said. “You’re a fascinating woman, Tessa Rose.”

At the sound of her name rolling off his tongue, she stilled, her cheeks bursting into flame. She tossed her hair and shook it again, hiding behind the coppery mass. “Yeah right. International woman of mystery.”

“I like thinking about possibilities. You have so many paths to the future.”

She swept her hair over one shoulder and tipped back onto her hands. “Maybe, but I don’t see them. All roads seem to lead right back here.”

“Your home will always stay with you, I think. And your family.” Resting against the tree, he interlaced his fingers atop his thighs and gazed into the canopy. “But I believe human beings have to move forward. We need change in order to grow.”

She considered his thoughts carefully before responding. When she finally dared to speak, she kept her voice soft and deliberate. “I guess I don’t know much about your life, but what you just said, doesn’t sound very…Amish.”

He met her gaze. “I suppose not.”

His tone was matter of fact but gentle. She didn’t move. Had she really crossed a line now?

Rising, he brushed together his palms, extended one hand, and stroked her hair.

Her pulse quickened at the featherlight brush of his fingertips. Like a poppy drawn to the great, golden orb in the sky, she tilted her head toward his touch.

He dropped his hand and, looping his thumbs through his suspenders, loped back to work.