In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(3)

Was not. Expecting. That.

Cookies tempt me from the shiny pewter tray in the corner. I snag one and swipe at my phone.

Josie answers on the third ring. “Did you get there okay?”

“We have a problem,” I say around a mouthful of dark chocolate and peanut butter.

“Uh oh,” her voice turns serious over the sound of paperwork being shuffled on the other end, the clink of a mug being set on a saucer. I check the time. It’s still late afternoon in Portland. She’s probably on her eighth cup of coffee. “Did Sway book you one of those escape room things again?”

Two months ago, my representation team thought it would make quality content if I were locked in a room for forty-five minutes by myself. No preparation or warning. Thank god I’m not claustrophobic.

“No. Thanks for the reminder though.” Josie laughs and I collapse on the edge of the bed, eyeing the plate of cookies. “I got to the farm today.”

“And? You were excited about this one.”

I was excited about this one. I am excited about this one. A Christmas tree farm just off the eastern shore of Maryland, owned and operated by a woman named Stella. Her story is lovely and romantic, and the small glimpse I got of the farm today was nothing short of magical. I just wasn’t expecting her head farmer to be the same man I had my first—and only—one-night stand with three months ago.

He had wandered into that dive bar with messy hair, a white t-shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled, and eyes like sea glass. He took one look at me and I felt my stomach drop all the way to my toes.

“Beckett is here.”

“Who?”

“You know,” I drop my voice. “Beckett.”

I hear the fumble of a glass and a string of creative curse words. “Maine Beckett? Hot, tattooed Beckett?” She sucks in a breath through her teeth and when she speaks again, her voice is three octaves higher. “Out of the ordinary, Evie is finally cutting loose, one-night stand Beckett?”

I give in and grab another cookie. “That’s him.”

I told Josie about Beckett after one too many glasses of Sauvignon blanc, wrapped up on her couch like a burrito. I couldn’t figure out why I was still thinking about him months later. It was supposed to be fun and fleeting. A harmless night. No strings.

Not something to relive in a marquee performance every other night in my fever dreams.

Josie laughs, a sharp cackle that has me pulling the phone away from my ear. I roll my eyes.

“Thank you very much for your support.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says with a snicker. She tries to sober herself, but another chuckle slips through. “What are the odds? Is he visiting?”

“No, he works here. He manages the farm operations.” He runs the place with the owner, Stella, and the woman who heads the bakery, Layla.

That sets her off into another fit of giggles. I debate hurling the phone right out the window. “Guess that explains why he was so good with his hands, huh?”

“I’m going to fire you.”

I never said anything to Josie about his hands, but I remember them in explicit detail now. How his palm covered the entire expanse of my thigh. How, when he flexed his fingers and lifted, his biceps did something delicious. He was demanding with them, guiding me into the perfect position. The press of his thumb behind my ear. The delicate lines of a constellation trailing from his wrist to his elbow.

“You’ll never fire me,” Josie says. “How would you have any fun at all?”

Josie’s been my self-appointed personal assistant since we turned eighteen and I decided to start my own YouTube channel. Her role and title have been formalized since my social media explosion, but her job as my best friend remains her top priority. I can always count on her to tell me how it is.

It’s both the best and worst thing about her.

“Okay, let’s recap. You slept with a smoking hot stranger in August. You left without a word and now, in November, you’ve run into him again while judging his farm for a social media contest.” She makes an amused sound that I do not reciprocate. “Really, though. What are the odds?”

“I have no idea.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Again. I have no idea.”

I pick at a loose thread at the edge of the quilt. I can’t leave. What would I tell my corporate sponsors? Sorry, I can’t do this trip because I slept with one of the employees three months ago. They’ve been agreeable in meetings, but I don’t see that going over well.

And more than that, I’m not in the habit of running from my problems. Beckett was a choice I made. A choice I have zero regrets about, despite the memories of that night sticking to me like glue. I was telling him the truth when I told him he made a fine distraction. For once, I was blissfully out of my head. I laughed. I had fun.

I felt like myself.

But I’m here to do my job. Stella deserves that. Lovelight Farms is everything she described and more in her application. She deserves to be a finalist for this competition and she deserves the recognition. All I need is a second to pull myself together. Get over the shock of seeing him again and move forward.

“The plan is … ” I have no plan. I look around the room for inspiration. I guess the plan is to finish the rest of these cookies. Find a bottle of wine from ... somewhere.