High-rises? Kristen studied Mitch’s broad frame with fresh eyes. The dark pants and white dress shirt he’d donned in place of his sweaty jeans and T-shirt looked boardroom ready, even without a tie. His strong hands—those of an architect?—hung steady and sure by his sides, and his demeanor had altered slightly since they entered the community center. He seemed more formal. Reserved.
Mitch smiled, stepping back as the young woman released him. “I’m getting by. Kristen, meet Iris Jackson. She’s another former classmate and—”
“Troublemaker.” Iris laughed. “Mitch always covered for me when I misbehaved in Mrs. Landrum’s class.” She gave Kristen a once-over, then said, “I thought I heard someone new had settled in at Hart’s Hollow. Are you Mrs. Emmy’s new hire?”
“Yes,” Kristen said.
“Oh, that’s great. It’s always nice to have someone new join the Adams County fold. If you decide you need a break from the farm, look me up. Peach Grove might be small, but there’s plenty of fun to be had if you know where to look.” Iris leaned close and winked. “And I can give you all the juicy dirt on Mitch.”
Kristen avoided Mitch’s eyes. “Thank you, but I don’t know that this will be a permanent position.”
“Well, look who it is.”
Thankful for the distraction, Kristen moved aside as another man greeted Mitch. The small group began to reminisce. Before long, they were chatting and laughing in jovial tones, like most of the other people in the room. And, like most of the others, they were all dressed formally save for two other couples around Emmy’s age and a young woman who was flipping through a thick notebook.
Kristen tugged her T-shirt down lower over her worn jeans, smoothed a hand awkwardly over her ponytail, then inched across the room to the kids. For the first time in a long time, she found herself wishing she had more clothing in her bags than standard outdoor-work wear. And she was equally uncomfortable with the idea of being pulled into the Adams County fold, as Iris had put it. The community was obviously close-knit and full of entanglements, which she didn’t need.
“Good evening, everyone.” A woman moved to the front of the room and smiled. “I’m Dana Markham, a consultant with the Georgia Department of Transportation, and I’ll be leading Adams County’s first Citizens Advisory Committee meeting tonight.” She spread her arms toward the table. “It’s about that time, so if you’ll all have a seat, we’ll get started.”
Kristen looked at Dylan, who glanced at the doors behind them, a look of mournful resignation in his eyes, which she had to fight herself not to return.
“Dylan, there’s room on the bench in the back if you and Sadie would like to sit with my son,” Charles said. “You and Zach are in the same grade at school, aren’t you?”
Dylan cast a quick frown at Charles’s son, who looked just as enthusiastic to be there as he did, a skateboard propped against his shins. Then he presented to the older man a polite—if strained—smile. “Yes, sir. Come on, Sadie.”
The kids sat on the bench, and Emmy and Mitch headed for the packed table. All the wide leather chairs surrounding the table, except for two, were taken or reserved with purses or stacks of paper, which people moved before sitting.
Kristen turned and walked toward the door.
“Kristen.” Her steps slowed as Mitch’s low voice sounded behind her. “Where are you going?”
She whispered over her shoulder, “There isn’t room, and I’m not a member of the committee, so I thought I’d wait outside.”
“Oh no.” His hand curled loosely around her upper arm. The tangy scent of his aftershave teased her senses as he leaned close. “You’re in this, right?”
Heart tripping, she stopped and faced him. His charismatic demeanor affected her more than she had expected, and she stumbled, her breasts brushing his chest, as she turned. The masculine heat radiating from his sculpted length beckoned her to press against him and nuzzle her cheek against the smooth skin at the base of his throat.
“I-I’m in what?”
His gaze drifted over her mouth, then down to her chest. Lean cheeks flushing, he glanced around, released her arm slowly, then stepped back. “You’re in on this plan to save Hart’s Hollow with Emmy,” he prompted quietly. “As in, according to you, my word and ill-fated predictions aren’t gospel, remember?”
“But this is a county meeting,” she whispered. “I’m not a permanent resident, so I shouldn’t be here. And”—she lifted her chin toward the packed table—“there isn’t room.”
“We’ll find room.” He cupped her elbow, the rough pads of his fingers sliding over her skin, sending frissons of pleasure through her that were even more tempting than she’d imagined. “I’ll make a place for you, Kristen.”
His words were soft—so soft she barely heard them. But she did, and the unspoken possibilities she imagined behind them . . .
The hopes and dreams she’d let go of long ago, which she caught herself searching for in his voice . . .
Kristen spun toward the exit. “I’m just gonna slip out.”
The double doors thudded shut before she could take a step. The woman who’d welcomed the group earlier smiled, released the doorknobs, then returned to the front of the table and said, “Lights, please.”
Darkness engulfed the room as the ceiling projector clicked on and beamed a colorful image of Peach Grove’s welcome sign onto the wide screen.
Mitch lowered his head, his warm lips brushing Kristen’s ear and a smile in his voice. “Too late now.”
* * *