In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(21)

But I know myself. I know if I gave it a day, I would have talked myself right out of it. I would have found something else to occupy myself with—a new project, a new task—and in a week, a month, a year, I’d probably still be stuck in this same rut, this endless loop of numb ambivalence.

I frown and glance out one of the big windows that looks out over Main Street, the street lights wrapped in vibrant green vines with flowers starting to peek open in bloom. Mabel, the stunning and slightly terrifying woman who runs the greenery, must have put them up to welcome spring. The last time I was here, there were wreaths hanging from every front door, garland and lights strung neatly from pole to pole—a row of perfect gingerbread houses wrapped in tinsel and lights, guiding you to Lovelight Farms at the very edge of town.

I’m glad people are finally discovering this gem of a town. I only wish it wasn’t when I needed it, too.

“Any other ideas on where I could stay?”

Maybe I’ll check local listings tomorrow morning and see if anyone has a space they’re willing to rent. I have no idea how long I plan on being here, but I do know that this feels like my best chance at getting back to myself. At figuring out what’s wrong.

Jenny’s face brightens for the first time since she came padding down the front steps in a pair of bright blue slippers. “Oh! I could use the phone tree.” Her face collapses into a frown almost as quickly. “Shoot. But we’re not allowed to use it past seven unless it’s a true emergency.”

“You have a phone tree?”

She waves her hand above her, like she’s calling upon the spirits to explain the mysticism of it all. “It’s how we communicate across the town when there’s news. I could use it to figure out if anyone has a place for you to stay.”

“But you can’t use it past seven?”

She shakes her head sadly. “There has been some … abuse of the system lately. Gus did a town-wide call last Tuesday at 10 pm to ask if anyone had extra tortillas to spare for taco night at the firehouse. The Sheriff almost disbanded the entire system. It was only on account of Caleb stepping in with the curfew rule that the phone tree was salvaged.”

“Uh, thank goodness.” From the gravity of her tone, it seems like the right response.

She nods. “I’ll use it in the morning, do some digging for you. In the meantime, I think you might find some spare room at Lovelight Farms.” I’m not sure, but it looks like a smile curls at the edge of her lips. A thoughtful look knits her brows together. “It used to be a hunting retreat, I think.”

I remember Stella saying something about that the last time I was in town. I also remember her little cottage at the edge of the pumpkin patch, filled to the brim with various odds and ends. At one point, Luka stood in her kitchen with his arms outstretched. He could touch one of the windows and the entry hallway at the same time. I don’t want to show up on her doorstep in the middle of the night and ask if I can crash. Especially if she already has Luka there.

“Thanks for that,” I say. I have absolutely no intention of driving up to Lovelight tonight. Not until I have a shower, a fresh coat of lipstick, and a serious pep talk. I’m not anxious to see Beckett again, I’m just—

I don’t want him to see me and think I’m—that I’m asking for anything. I didn’t come here for him.

I came here for his fields. I want to sit in the tall grass and stare up at the sky and try to find the place within myself that's locked up or rusted over or whatever the hell that's been going on with me lately. I want to fix it. I’m tired of feeling like this.

I came here for a break. I want to sit in the quiet and do nothing. I have seventeen emails in my inbox from right before I left—courtesy of Sway—and I haven't looked at a single one. Anxiety grabs me by the throat every single time I see the little red number on my screen. I turned my phone off the third time I reached for it and buried it at the bottom of my bag. Maybe I’ll get a burner while I’m here. Really lean into the whole off the radar thing.

I thank Jenny for her time and assure her another four times that everything is fine before slipping out the front door and down the marble steps to my rental parked at the curb. A gust of wind lifts my ponytail and the edge of my coat, bringing with it hints of honeysuckle and jasmine from the flowers twisted around the light pole. I eyeball the back seat as I stand at the driver’s side door.

I’ve slept in my car before—during long road trips and last-minute ones. Once when I was driving through Colorado, my rental car kicked it in the higher altitudes and I had to push it halfway off the road and wait until morning when it was safe for a tow to come and get me. I had slept fine in the backseat, only slightly terrified a bear was going to come careening through the windshield.

I’ll have to find somewhere slightly private. Somewhere Jenny won’t see me. Or the Sheriff. Or anyone who might call the Sheriff. I don’t exactly want to start my trip here with the town gossip mill rolling about Evelyn St. James sleeping in the backseat of her car.

I also don’t want a picture of me going viral, curled up in the back and using my sweater as a blanket.

I bite at my bottom lip. Maybe not such a great idea after all.

I’m still debating my choices when I hear footsteps on the pavement across the street. I glance up at the same moment Beckett glances across, and it’s just like that night in the bar, when he elbowed his way through the front door and looked right at me, those damn eyes of his sweeping across my face and down my shoulders. A glance like a touch, a fingertip at the hollow of my throat.