“No, you’re being an overprotective jerk. If you hired someone from town to dig that patch, would you be playing doctor for them too? Would you finish the job yourself even after you paid them?”

Hazel eyes narrow on me. “You’re not giving that money back.”

“Then you’re getting your damn vegetable patch.” I shove my chair back from the table, head throbbing. “Deal with it.”

And I know I’m making too much of this, know that I’m acting crazy, but digging this patch for Everett Bray is literally my sole purpose in life right now. If he takes that away—if I have to face reality—

Chair legs clatter over the tiles, and then Everett’s in front of me, the hollow of his throat level with my nose. I plunge forward without thinking, wet hands gripping his shirt, palms hot again with pain, and strong arms wrap around me. Hold me close while I press my face against his neck.

I’m melting down. This is a humiliating turn of events.

But oh, god. This man smells so freaking good.

“Please let me finish it,” I mumble. My pulse thuds in my ears, and I go cross-eyed trying to focus on the dark chest hair peeking above his open collar. “Please, Everett.”

The broad planes of his chest shift against me. Drops of spilled salt water drip steadily on the tiles behind us, and I can feel every ragged breath dragging in and out of his body. His hurried heartbeat thumps near my chin.

“Let your hands heal first,” he says at last. “It’ll keep.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I nod.

This is my cue to step back and clear my throat. To apologize for acting like a prize lunatic, and make some excuse. To say I’m on my period or something. Then we can go back to keeping a careful distance from each other, orbiting each other like two sexually frustrated moons.

I let out a sigh and burrow closer.

“This is a bad idea,” Everett mutters, and I’m not sure what he means—the vegetable patch, or our off-limits cuddle. But then his bristly chin rests against the top of my head, and either way, I don’t care.

It’s happening.

And I never want it to stop.

Six

Everett

There’s something so restful about carving wood. Hearing the steady scrape, scrape, and watching little blonde curls rain onto the floor, and breathing the scent of fresh sawdust into my lungs. Normally, getting my hands on a beautiful block of wood is my happy place. It’s how I make sense of the world.

Tonight, though, I can’t get this right, no matter how long I try. It’s nearly midnight, the moon bright through my workshop window, and I’m too jittery to go to bed, but too on edge to carve anything worthwhile.

Can’t relax into it.

Can’t make my body unwind.

Fuck, Josie felt right in my arms.

She only hugged me because she was emotional, and I know that, but adrenaline has been coursing through my veins ever since. How am I supposed to recover from the green apple scent of her shampoo? From the way her soft hair tickled my chin?