I wrack my brain, remembering the roses I got for Valentine’s Day from an old boyfriend.
"Not since high school."
"Oh no." He comes over and hugs me into his arms again. "And I bet I know what happened to that poor bastard. He got dumped for being too nice."
Immediately, I relax into the warmth of his chest and inhale his scent. Tonight he smells like citrus with undertones of cedar. He's so delicious, I wish I were a vampire so I could drink his blood. I probably shouldn’t voice that thought aloud.
"Don't worry." I give his shoulder a gentle bite. "You're not as nice as he was."
I feel him shaking with laughter, his breath on my hair.
"No doubt," he says. "I can be awful."
"True."
"I'm way too judgmental and overprotective."
"You're just a worrier," I say. "You like to make sure everyone you care about is okay."
I look over at the pretty arrangement in the mason jar. The fact that he got wildflowers instead of a dozen red roses makes me feel like he knows me. They're exactly what I would have picked out for myself.
"I love them," I say earnestly. "Thank you."
He runs his hands down my arms, and I get goose bumps from my shoulders to my fingertips.
"Now, was that so scary?" he asks.
He has no idea.
* * *
For dinner,we're headed to yet another small town in the area where some of Seth's friends recently opened a restaurant. Apparently, there are endless rural enclaves around here that are being revived under the local food movement. This one a twenty-minute drive from the goat farm. On the way there, Seth plugs in his phone to play music, and I feel myself start to relax to melodic alt-country guitar rhythms and melancholy male voices.
Typically, I feel the need to fill silences when I'm hanging out with quiet people, but with Seth I'm comfortable being together and having my own thoughts. Most of what I'm thinking is about him though. His shirt is ironed to perfection, and he would have done a better job on the bodice of this dress than I did. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music as he drives. I remember how those fingertips felt running over my lips and holding my hands above my head. In one night, I feel like I know his body so much better than I did before, yet there's a world more of him that I want to know.
I lean over and kiss his stubbly cheek, feeling so full of affection for him that it almost hurts. He turns to me, surprise and pleasure lighting up his face, then reaches out with his right hand and places it over mine. I know in that moment that Seth is someone I'll always have intense feelings about, no matter what those feelings might be. Hate. Anger. Lust. Maybe even love, someday. The sensation in my stomach is a version of what I feel at the top of a rollercoaster.
The Blue Sage Cafe is an old white farmhouse that has been converted into a restaurant. The original beadboard ceiling and heart pine floors have been restored to pristine condition, and they've knocked down walls to make the inside feel open and expansive. The name strikes a familiar chord with me even before I see a sign that says the cafe is affiliated with Blue Sage Farm, where Rhett works. Rhett is even in a photo that hangs in the restaurant's foyer, where Seth and I wait for our table. The group of young people in the picture all look to be under age thirty, and they're standing in a field of ripe strawberries.
"An old friend of mine owns this place," Seth explains. "Andrew and I go way back, to our 4-H days."
The teenage hostess who is about to seat us overhears him. "Andrew isn't here tonight. Marietta had a baby a few days ago so he's taking some time off."
"No problem," Seth says. "I heard they were expecting again."
"Savannah is in the kitchen though," she says, picking up two menus.
Seth nods. "Thanks. You don't need to bother her on my account."
She smiles politely and leads us to a table, while I wonder about Savannah and where she fits into Seth's past. He has a history in this town, and I can't turn into a green monster every time someone mentions a woman he knows. If there's one thing I never want to be, it's the jealous girlfriend.
Our hostess seats us next to a window that overlooks the fields behind the restaurant. A family of deer wander in to graze in the grass. With the setting sun as their backdrop, it's almost too picturesque.
I point to the deer. "Paid actors?"
He laughs. "Yeah, I threw a bunch of corn out there earlier to attract them. I pulled out all the stops tonight."
We decide to order several small plates and salads that we can share, and Seth orders himself a steak that he will be eating alone.
