In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(8)
I swat her hand away. She could persist on this topic for the next six months for all I care. It’ll just sound like background noise.
I turn my attention to Stella and wedge my boot against hers. She stops the nervous tapping of her foot and grimaces. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize over,” I shrug and scan the edges of the room. “Luka not coming?”
If Luka were here, he’d smooth his hand between her shoulder blades and she’d melt like butter. They were like that before they got together, and it took them a stupidly long time to see what was right in front of them. I didn’t win the town-wide betting pool, but it was close. Gus over at the fire station hasn’t shut up about it, going as far as making a plaque to hang above the ambulance bay at the firehouse. It says Inglewild’s Top Matchmaker, like he had anything to do with Luka and Stella orbiting each other for close to a decade. I slip down further in my seat and try to rearrange my legs so I actually fit in this damn chair.
“He’s on his way,” she says, eyes darting to the door and holding like she can make him appear by sheer force of will. A hand pushes tangled black curls off her face. “But he’s running late.”
“He’ll be here,” I assure her. Pretty sure Luka wouldn’t miss this for anything. Even if his tiny Italian mother and all her ferocious sisters were blocking the door. If he said he’d come, he’ll be here.
“Hey,” I lower my voice and lean closer, conscious of Layla still snacking away on my right. She’s started tossing pieces up in the air and catching them in her mouth. Accurate every time. “I didn’t plant any bell peppers.”
That seems to relax Stella a bit, a coy smile turning the corners of her lips. “I know that.”
“Why’d you lie then?”
“Because you looked like you needed an out. And I know a thing or two about having to sort through feelings before you can share them with everyone else.” The door to the rec hall creaks open and Luka steps inside, eyes searching. His hair is sticking in every direction, the edge of his shirt half-tucked into his jeans. He looks like he ran straight here from the Delaware border. Stella breathes out a sigh and a grin pulls her mouth wide. An answering smile blooms on Luka’s face the second he finds her in the crowd. Watching them together is like shoving a cupcake directly into my face.
“Plus,” Stella’s eyes don’t blink away from Luka as he tries to climb his way through rows of people to get to the empty seat next to her. He knocks over a folding chair and almost sends Cindy Croswell to the ground with it. “I’ve been wanting bell peppers on the farm for ages.”
“Ah, okay. There it is.”
“Luka makes really good stuffed peppers,” she chuckles as Luka slips into the space next to her. His hand immediately sneaks under her hair and her shoulders do a little shimmy as she leans further into him. I avert my eyes to the front of the room where Sheriff Jones is getting ready at the wooden podium, but I don’t miss the low murmuring between them, the way Stella folds her body into his. How Luka’s foot hooks in the bottom of her chair to pull her a little bit closer.
Not for the first time, I’m jealous. I’ve never had that with another person. Never been able to slide into someone’s space and press my fingertips to their skin, watch them lean further into me.
I think of my thumb against a full bottom lip, red as a cherry, and shift in my seat. The metal squeaks ominously beneath me.
I’d really love to stop thinking about Evelyn.
Layla leans around me, her bowl digging into my ribcage. “The maintenance closet is available if you two want to get a room.”
I snort a laugh. Stella groans. Luka bends forward and scoops his hand in the popcorn bowl.
“Does it have a lock?”
Layla cackles loud enough to attract attention from the front of the room. Some of the salon ladies stop their conversation to give us a look and Alex from the bookstore raises his coffee in greeting. I notice Deputy Caleb Alvarez standing just behind the Sheriff, a smile twitching on his lips, his gaze fixed on Layla.
I catch Stella’s eye and she grins.
“Alright, let's get this show on the road.” Sheriff Dane Jones clears his throat and then clears it again, the chatter in the room quieting as everyone settles in for the meeting. “First order of business. Ms. Beatrice, the police department would appreciate it if you stopped trying to tow the cars in front of the cafe on your own. You don’t have the equipment for it, and using your vehicle as a battering ram has resulted in a few complaints.”
“She tried to kill me,” Sam Montez shouts from the back of the room, his hat falling off sideways as he jumps from his chair. “I was out of my car for a minute—two tops—and she tried to kill me!”
I hide my smile behind my fist. Sam has a bad habit of double parking. Not usually a problem on our small town roads, but annoying all the same. I can just barely make out the top of Ms. Beatrice’s head sitting at the end of the front row, her gray hair pulled into a messy bun. She mutters something that I don’t quite catch. Dane frowns, and Caleb practically swallows his tongue.
“Well, there’s no need for that kind of language. If someone is blocking the loading dock, you can give me or Caleb a ring.”
She mumbles something else and Shirley from the salon gasps. Dane pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Bea, what have I told you about making threats of physical violence in front of a police officer. Sam, sit down.”