They arrived at truck, originally red, now faded by sun and years of driving on dirt roads. “Well, this is Bert.”
“Bert?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I bought it from a mushroom grower named Bert who’d upgraded to a newer model. Every time anything went wrong, I’d yell, ‘Oh, Bert.’ The name kind of stuck. Hop in.”
As he yanked open the passenger side door, it shrieked, probably something to do with the dent in the door. They glanced at each other over the top of the truck and in unison said, “Oh, Bert.”
She backed the truck out and drove the short distance to the Chance place. She bumped down the narrow country lane towards her cottage and the rows of fields nearby. The sun was low and lit the fields golden.
He pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket, as though he’d forgotten it was there until he sat down. Placed it beside him on the seat.
“Did you buy something?” She wondered how he’d found time to shop being as busy as he was.
He shook his head. Opened the bag so it made a crinkling sound. “It was a gift. From the soap lady.” He shook out the bag and a bar of bright yellow soap fell out, with a hand-written tag attached with twine. The loopy scroll read Kitchen Soap. “That was nice of her.”
“I’m guessing there’s a card on there with her phone number, in case you ever need more…soap.”
It was a bitchy thing to say and she was immediately ashamed, but she’d had such a good view of the line-up of women who looked at Alexei – probably exactly the same way she looked at him.
He turned to her, and in the close proximity she could see the flecks of black in his eyes. “I don’t ask for this, you know.” He threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Women.”
“This happens a lot?”
He grimaced. “All the time.”
She almost laughed at his helpless expression and then realized she was as bad as the soap lady. As she geared down to avoid a rabbit leaping across the lane in front of her, she said. “Oh, God, I brought you tomatoes.”
“No! That was different. I wanted your tomatoes. I mean, we’re friends.”
“Right. Exactly. Friends.”
They pulled up to the shed where she parked the truck. They got out and she was once more conscious of the stiff hinge that shrieked out on his side of the car. The dim shed contained stacks of wooden crates and without even asking, he opened the back of the pick up and hefted out the crates she’d used today, stacking them with the others. “Okay, show me your operation.”
“It’s really not much. I don’t want you getting all excited about nothing.”
“Hey, I’ve already tasted some of what you grow here. You have lots to be excited about.”
She led him out. The afternoon was fading but the last of the sun lit the land in a golden autumn light. She walked him down the rutted lane to where the fields stretched out in neat rows. “Most of it’s fallow now, but the dark green shapes you can see are kale, which will grow all winter. I’ve got three varieties. There’s also cabbage and squash. More potatoes to harvest but we’re winding down.”
He nodded, gazing at the rows with interest. “You must have more time on your hands at this time of year. What do you do in the more quiet months?”
She couldn’t tell him about her newest project, online dating. “I do a little winter gardening still. I catch up on my reading, plan out the crops for next year, get more sleep.”
“Sounds nice.”
She glanced at him curiously. “You don’t think it sounds like I’m a really boring woman who should get a life?”
He glanced at her in surprise. “No. I can see that you have a life, and it’s a life that suits you.”
Because she was talking, and concentrating on Alexei, she didn’t notice the loose rock at her feet. As she stepped on it, she stumbled. She wouldn’t have fallen, but as she put her hands out to steady herself Alexei grabbed her hand. She felt a rush of warmth and a current of electricity that pretty much shocked her to her core. As she righted herself, feeling suddenly breathless, she tried to retrieve her hand from his strong, warm clasp. But he held onto it for a moment and stopped walking so she was compelled to stop walking too. He opened out her fingers and ran his palm over hers. It was possibly the sexiest thing anyone had ever done to her. Her hands were far from her best feature: they were rough, working hands and she was embarrassed at how unfeminine they were. Alexi said, as though he had read her mind, “Your palms are calloused. I thought they would be.” But he didn’t say it in the tone of, “Girl, go get yourself a manicure.” He said it more in a wondering tone, as though he actually liked her leathery working hands.
There was a moment, when he looked at her and she returned his gaze and felt trapped in a fantasy of her own creating. If she were a very foolish woman, she could believe that he was looking at her the way a man looks at a woman he wants to kiss. Her lips started to tingle and she could feel the longing build within her. There was nothing in all the world she wanted at this moment more than for him to lean forward and close the gap between them and put his mouth on hers. In her imagination, that’s exactly what he did, but in reality, she burst into a flustered giggle and tugged her hand back. “You must be crazy. I have the hands of a longshoreman.” She rubbed them together. “I’ve tried every hand cream, but it’s no use.”
“I like them,” he said. And then he continued walking on. She fell into step beside him trying to pretend that she wouldn’t relive that curious moment about seven thousand times in the next twenty-four hours. Just the fact that such a small gesture could curl her toes was more evidence that she really needed an actual man in her life and not this Greek god of a fantasy.
“Winter is a slow time for us, too. We still run the trucks, obviously, but for shorter hours. I usually only operate the one main truck and have a couple of backups for busy weekends. I guess we’ll both have more time on our hands.” He gazed over the fields. It was a glorious afternoon, she could see the green fields and in the distance the main house where she’d grown up. In the farther distance the hills looked like paper cutouts of dark green.
“What will you do with your extra time?” She asked, pretty much echoing what he’d asked her.
