In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(76)

The last thing I hear before I drift back to sleep is his rough chuckle, his fingertips carding through my hair.



When I wake up again, I’m curled on Beckett’s side of the bed, clinging to the sleeve of a flannel hanging from the bedpost. I laugh at myself and give in to an indulgent stretch beneath the comforter. There hadn’t been a discussion last night as to where I would sleep. We stumbled in from the greenhouse with our clothes rumpled and I followed Beckett into his bedroom. I draped my body over his, pressed a sleepy kiss to his mouth and fell asleep with his arm slung over my hip.

He grumbled about me hogging the blankets, but I woke up in the middle of the night to Beckett holding most of them close to his chest, his face buried in my hair.

I reach blindly for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. The house sounds too quiet without Beckett here. I miss the sound of drawers opening in the kitchen, metal spoons and the clink of his coffee mug.

10:37 am

Josie: Text me when you’ve got a second. I’ve got news.

I tap her name and let my phone rest against my chest as it begins to ring. I stretch out my legs with another groan.

“You don’t need to sound so smug,” Josie says when she answers, catching the tail end of my stretching sounds. I let my body flop back to the bed, my arms above my head. My hand brushes against something soft and cool and I wrap my fingers around it.

A long green stem. A cluster of small blue blooms. Meadow sage, I think it’s called.

I hold it under my nose with a smile.

“What’s your news?”

“Nuh-uh,” Josie admonishes. “You were way too short on our video call. I have things I want to discuss first.”

I said maybe two words to Josie the other morning in the kitchen before I slammed the laptop shut. Luckily she had been too gobsmacked by the appearance of Beckett’s bare torso to do anything but gape like a fish.

I guess she’s collected herself.

“I’d like to start with the tattoo along his collarbone and work my way down.”

I laugh. “No.”

“I took a quick screenshot, but he moved. It’s kind of blurry.”

“You … what?”

“I’m gonna frame it and put it on my wall.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Does he have flowers on one arm and the stars on the other? Because that’s pretty devastating.”

It is devastating. Lovely and sentimental and sexy as hell, too. I had curled my hand around the constellation on his forearm last night when he braced his palm on the table next to me. A bull with its horns lowered. Crowns of thick, vibrant greenery twisted around its head. “I’m not going to objectify him.”

“Appreciation is not objectification.”

I set the flower I’ve been twirling between my thumb and forefinger on the nightstand and see a post-it note stuck to his stack of books. Sneaky man. I pick it up and glance at his neat handwriting. Muffins on top of the oven, it says. Be back soon.

A scribble beneath, something that looks like a … cat dozing? His doodles are horrendous.

But I like it better than any saccharine thing he could have written. One hundred percent Beckett. Practical and sweet—care through action. Breakfast waiting on the counter and coffee in the pot.

I place his note next to the flower.

“What’s your news?”

“We will circle back to this.”

I laugh, a quiet snicker that has one of the cats poking her head up from beneath a mountain of sheets to look at me. She flops back down and nudges me once with her paw for the inconvenience. “I have no doubt.”

“Alright, then. Your news.” I hear paperwork in the background and imagine her in the office in the front of her house. The big bay window that looks out over dense green forest, a thin layer of fog in the mornings that rolls against the glass. “Theo gave me a call when he couldn’t get through to you.”

That’s right. The head of the small business coalition. We’ve talked briefly over email about the position and what it would entail. Small business advising, more or less. Helping people like Ms. Beatrice and Stella get up on their digital feet. I had given him Josie’s number in my email back, letting him know my phone was temporarily out of service. I didn’t mention that it was at the bottom of a pond. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, he was thrilled to hear from you. He said you can expect an email today, but he wanted to follow-up by phone, too. He wants you to come in for an interview.”

My heart beats a little bit faster in my chest. Excited, I think. Hopeful, too. Nervous as hell, surprisingly. “Yeah? That’s good, right?”

“I’m pretty sure he would have offered me the job on your behalf.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “That’s how excited he is for you to come in.”

I’m flustered, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt with it. “Do you think—do you think I’m qualified for something like this?”

“Of course you are.” Josie’s response is quick. No hesitation. “You created your own social following from nothing. An entire content stream that attracts hundreds of thousands in ad revenue. You’ve helped countless businesses thrive. Developed your own grant that has literally made people’s dreams come true. Frankly, I think you’re overqualified.” She pauses for a second and I hear the tip-tap of her keyboard. “Maybe this Theo guy should work for you,” she muses as an after-thought.