The driver’s door opened and I nearly bobbled the cologne but it somehow landed in the cup holder. Rather loudly. But Vance was decent enough to overlook my snooping. Instead, he settled in the bucket seat and cranked the beast of a motor. It roared to life, and as he grasped the gearshift between us and deftly shifted the car into first, my eyes latched on to the strain of muscle in his forearm. I was disgusted with myself for being so attracted to him, but not enough to stop staring.

“What’s with that farm sign?” Vance asked.

I blinked out of my daze. “Sign?”

Vance sent a sidelong glance my way, connecting those emerald peeps with mine before looking forward. “The one by the road. It’s pretty gnarly on one side.”

I twisted to look behind us at the weathered white sign with nolia Farms est. 1875 written in faded-blue paint. Fixing it up was actually on Charlotte’s project list for the summer. “Oh. That’s Pa making a statement to your precious town.” I resettled the pig on my lap and ran my palm along her back. She was surprisingly soft. “That sign used to say Magnolia Farms. But folks didn’t care for how Pa ran the farm after he took over from his father. He let people who were down on their luck stay in the guesthouse and had all kinds showing up for Sunday services in the little chapel. The town said he had no business doing such and the farm wasn’t fittin’ to carry the name Magnolia, so Pa took a saw to it and hacked off the first three letters. He refastened what was left to the post, renaming the farm Nolia.”

“For real?” Vance gave me a quick look.

I nodded. “It even made the front page of the paper. My mother showed it to me. It was a picture of Pa standing by the severed sign with a quote underneath. He said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with being different. What’s wrong is when people refuse to accept it.’”

“Makes sense.”

“Yep.” I tore my eyes away from watching him, from admiring the gray polo shirt and how the sleeves hugged his bicep and the faded jeans taut on his thighs. Good grief, I was a hot mess of hormones. Focusing back on the driveway, I realized we weren’t even halfway there yet. “I could have walked faster.”

Vance chuckled. “Nothing wrong with taking your time, Austin.” He let go of the gearshift and gave my knee a gentle caress before moving to pet the pig, and I declare if the fat little thing didn’t mew like a cat. “And I like spending time with you.”