Sweet as Honey (Aster Valley 2)

I nodded because I knew exactly what he meant. “When I’m here on the farm, I feel like I can do anything I want. I’m close to the earth, and it’s a bit… timeless. Sometimes I can almost imagine what it would have been like to be a pioneer or one of the original tribes who made their home here. That connection to the land and the weather, to helping others… that’s what I inherited from Aunt Berry even if I hadn’t inherited the farm, too. It lives inside of me, and I’m so grateful for it.”

It was the most I’d ever admitted out loud to another person in regards to my true heart. Maybe it was because Sam was safe. He was a “dead end” as Chaya called it—someone who wouldn’t or couldn’t repeat the information in a way that would hurt me.

It felt good to share those thoughts, even if an urban construction worker couldn’t understand what I meant about a connection to the earth. But I suspected he could. Not because he had experience bonding with nature or anything “woo-woo” like that, but because he seemed empathetic in general.

Sam’s eyes met mine. “I’m grateful to your aunt for giving you a place to feel yourself.”

I nodded again and looked away, fussing with the candles I’d laid out on the kitchen table so I didn’t have to look at Sam’s intense face and feel the laser-focused attention he gave me.

“So maybe you should leave Houston,” I suggested. “Find a place that makes you feel yourself.”

The silence was thick enough to cause me to glance back up at him. His green eyes pinned me in place. “Maybe it’s not a place,” he finally said. The low words slid between us like somnolent temptation. Did I dare wonder what he meant by that? Did I dare hope he was implying home was a person?

No. I didn’t dare. Because men like Sam Rigby weren’t for me. He was a flash of bright light, here one minute and gone the next. I would bathe in its warmth for that singular shining moment and then try my hardest not to wallow in the dark when he was gone.

I put on a big smile that didn’t feel quite as comfortable as before. “Phenology is the study of the timing of natural phenomena as relates to the environment as a whole,” I said apropos of nothing. “In other words, studying the timing of various features of the plant growing cycle can give us indicators into the effects of climate change. Well, that’s one of the things it can tell us. But it’s also critical to understanding how various natural phenomena interact with causative impact on other phenomena.”

Sam stared at me. Because I was spouting ridiculous information. There was nothing to do but barge through it.

“Imagine if dandelion fluff appeared just in time for a season of no breeze. That would be nonideal timing, and it would have a great impact on the dandelion’s ability to spread its seed far and wide. Now imagine if bears came out of hibernation after all of the fruits of the season were gone. Terrible timing. The bears would starve. So this timing situation is critical in nature.”

I started to low-key panic because I really had no idea what my point was. Didn’t matter. I carried on like a good little soldier.

“Phenology is a leading indicator of climate change. Birds time the building of their nests and the laying of their eggs with the hatching of insects to feed their young. Once these factors get out of whack, the gentle organiz—”

I hadn’t noticed Sam’s approach, but suddenly his lips were on mine, and the giant rounded muscles of his arms were wrapped around me once again.

Forget phenology. The timing of Sam’s kiss couldn’t have been better. I groaned my approval into his mouth as his lips and tongue took control. He kissed me like he did most things—confidently, assertively, silently.

Meanwhile, I was the one making all kinds of noises. Mewling sounds and rapid breathing, little whimpered pleas not to stop. It was like a quick summer storm—flashing in and throwing things around, drenching everything in reach, before leaving just as rapidly as it had come.

Sam stepped back and adjusted himself while I stood there gasping for air.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Nor should you,” I said breathlessly.

He grunted out a laugh and shot me straight through the gut with a devastating grin. “Then maybe I won’t.”

Oh please, oh please.

“Did you want to hear more about environmental science?” I teased. “Because I’m going to take that enthusiastic response as a positive indicator that I was on the right track to wooing you with my fascinating, albeit trivial, knowledge.”

Sam laughed again. “You wooed me with something, alright.”

When the meal was ready, we sat down together at the table and dug in. The food was amazing, and Sam asked more questions about the herbs and spices.