In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(91)

“He doesn’t know about that,” I mumble.

Josie makes a sound, exasperated. The bottle in her hand almost goes flying across the room. “So it is a miscommunication thing.”

“It’s not.” I rub my fingertips against my forehead. I think about our late nights on the porch, talking about everything under the sun. Everything, apparently, except our plans for the future. The things I was working towards and the things he was afraid of.

See where this thing goes.

God, we’ve both been so stupid.

But I’ve shown him, haven’t I? Trivia with his family and my name written on the registration sheet for next time. Afternoons spent in town and evenings spent with him. I’ve been putting down roots this whole time, carefully cultivating each one to be something lasting and true. Hasn’t he seen that? Hasn’t he realized?

Josie pours the amber liquid into the shot glass and I frown at it. “What do you want me to do with this?”

She raises both eyebrows. “Drink it.”

“I’m not twenty-two anymore.” Taking a shot physically hurts me these days.

“We need to commemorate this new chapter of your life and solve the giant mess the two of you have made.” She takes the shot out of my hand, sips half of it, and almost spits it right in my face. She swallows it down with effort, her fingertips at her lips. “Oh my god.”

“I told you.”

“You did not tell me.”

“I thought my refusal might say enough.”

“Alright, change of plans.” She scoops up her phone and scrolls and taps— and taps some more. “I ordered us two bottles of wine and a pizza.”

“That was very efficient.”

“Modern technology, baby. We cannot shepherd you into the great unknown without grease, fried cheese, and carbohydrates.” She wiggles her phone and places it to the side. “Alright. Let’s talk through your plan with the farmer man.”

It’s a loose plan, at best. I want him to see that it’s not just him I’m going back for, but everything else, too. I think he needs to see that I mean it.

“Well, I’m going back.” I always planned on going back.

Josie nods.

“And I have that little house I’m renting. It’s weird that it suddenly became available, but whatever.”

It’s not weird. I know for a fact it’s been empty since before I came to town. Gus told me so when I called him to put down my deposit over the phone. Apparently, he wanted to try his hand at flipping houses—in addition to the trivia night emceeing and firehouse dancing. A man of many strange talents. Unfortunately for him, there were no other houses to flip in Inglewild town limits and that dream came to an abrupt halt.

“And I’ll—” this is where the plan gets murky. “—I’ll go to the farm. I’ll show him that even though I left, I always planned on coming back.” I’ll bring burgers and fries in a brown paper bag. Maybe I’ll wait until the sun sets so the stars are bright in the sky. “If he doesn’t want to see me, that’ll be okay.”

It’ll be heartbreaking, but I won’t leave.

“I’ll stay in the house and I’ll visit if he’ll have me. I’ll bring him the cookies he likes. I’ll keep showing up. I’ll stay.” I breathe in a shaky breath through my nose. “I’ll tell him I love him. That I love the town, too. That I went there looking for one thing and found a bunch of other things instead. The best things.”

Happiness and freedom and belonging and community and—shortbread cookies in the dead of night. Weird trivia. Layla’s buttercream frosting.

“I think you could have saved yourself some trouble and told him all of this earlier, but—” she reaches for my hand with hers. “It’s a good plan.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, you could text him and tell him you’re coming back, but I like the drama of this.”

“I did tell him I’d see him soon. When I left.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I told him I was coming back.”

Didn’t I? I swear I did. I pressed my thumb to the constellation on the inside of his forearm and traced the inked lines all the way down to his palm. I tapped there twice and told him I’d be back. “It’s not a miscommunication,” I explain.

We just keep missing each other. Every time we collide, something is slightly off. We smack into each other and go ricocheting back into space, a million miles between us. One of those meteors.

A misalignment, maybe?

A missed opportunity, certainly.

Hopefully I can fix that.

Josie taps her fingers along at the open bottle of liquor and keeps her gaze on me. She looks like she’s considering another taste, previous experience be damned.

“Either way,” she tells me. “I’m here for it.”



“I’ll finish out whatever contract work I’m on the hook for, but after that I’ll be exploring other opportunities.”

I stare out at a conference room full of blank faces. For some inexplicable reason, they called the entire organization in here for this meeting. I see Kirstyn in the corner, openly weeping with her face hidden in a patterned handkerchief. She has a tiny glass of espresso at her elbow and a miniature cucumber sandwich. There’s no bass coming from the speaker in the center of the room this time, thank god.