Sweet as Honey (Aster Valley 2)

He finally rested his forehead against mine. “I have to tell you I’m having some feelings.”

My heart jumped around like a puppy catching sight of his leash. “What, um, what kind of feelings?”

His normally stoic face turned soft, but his mossy-green eyes were just as intense as they always were when they met mine. “Positive feelings. About you. Possessive feelings.” His hand moved from my cheek to my hair as he brushed my messy mop out of the way and slid the helmet on my head. “I don’t want to rush things, Truman. But I really like you, and I hope you’ll give me a chance to spend more time getting to know you. I’m really happy you asked if we could define what this is between us. I like that. You and me.”

I nodded, noticing my head felt heavier with the helmet on it. “Me too,” I said with as much courage as I could rustle up. “I’m having feelings, too. Strong feelings.”

Sam’s grin was as bright as the midday sun, and it gave me permission to trust his words. He really meant it.

Sam Rigby was having feelings for me. Truman Sweet. The guy who was nothing very special and about as sexy as a toilet brush. What in the world had I done to attract him?

When Sam threw his leg over the bike and knocked back the kickstand, the bike tilted precariously to one side. I yelped and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I dared. The low rumble of his chuckle vibrated against my chest, and I decided I might be okay with risking my life if it meant spending a few minutes plastered to this big warm body.

When he started the engine, it added a completely new rumble, and we set off down the driveway. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could and focused on breathing. This was obviously not his usual bike, but he rode it like it was. His body was loose and easy as he leaned into the turns. Mine, on the other hand, was a tight ball of strained elastic band on the verge of snapping.

The cold mountain air was mostly buffeted by Sam’s much larger body, and I eventually noticed the warmth of the sun on my back through the thick jacket. We rode away from the town and up into the mountains, slowly rounding the curves and catching glimpses of the valley far below until finally stopping at an overlook. Sam parked the bike and helped me off.

“This is gorgeous,” I said, referring to the view of Aster Valley below. I could barely make out the meadow behind my property across the valley. It was a tiny bare patch among the trees. I recognized the small white farmhouse and tidy grids of my farm plots.

I squatted down to investigate a patch of small pinky-purple blooms. The air was crisp and clean, and there was a special kind of hush around us, only interrupted by the gentle mountain breeze and faint trickle of snowmelt somewhere.

“Phlox subulata,” I murmured. “Did you know the roots of this plant were used to make an eyewash in early native tribes? The Cheyenne also used it to treat body numbness. Like a kind of stimulant. They’d make it into a bodywash. I actually use Phlox in my eczema mixture. There’s an edible version of Phlox, but it’s not this. This is the wild creeping Phlox subulata. Definitely not edible.”

I stood back up and glanced over at Sam, wondering if my sudden burst of plant knowledge had turned him off. He stood right next to me, pointing his phone at the small flowers and taking a picture. Then he pointed it at me and took another one.

I blinked in surprise, moving a hand up to uncrush my overgrown hair. “I must look awful. Helmet hair and whatnot.”

Sam’s fingers took over and brushed through my curls. “Love your hair. And you never look awful.”

“You’re one to talk,” I muttered, trying not to preen under his attention.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually taken a selfie, but can we take a picture together? Maybe commemorate our first ride together?”

Sam looked adorably unsure of himself, a state he was probably completely unfamiliar with.

“Only if you can make my hair look decent,” I said, knowing it was impossible.

He got a devious look on his face. “What if I can make it so you don’t care what your hair looks like?”

Within seconds, he was kissing me with full tongue and sneaky hands. Somehow he had octopus hands because he managed to get his phone out at the same time and snap a picture the minute he stopped kissing me. I sputtered and flapped my hands, demanding to see the photo so I could delete it into oblivion.

But it was amazing. One of those magical shots no one could ever capture on purpose.