Tempted beyond polite restraint, he ignored the curious glances of nearby patrons, disregarded the distant chatter of the waitresses, and leaned across the table to press his mouth to hers. He swept his tongue along her bottom lip and relished her soft sigh of pleasure as she kissed him back. And, oh man . . . she tasted just as delectable as he’d imagined. Warm, welcoming, and tempting. All of which continued to hum through his veins after he’d released her and sat back.
“And the future?” she whispered, her drowsy lids lifting slowly.
Voice husky, he cleared his throat. “For the first time in a long time, I think it holds more than its fair share of possibilities.”
They stayed there another ten minutes. He asked more questions, some of which she answered and others she politely sidestepped, bu
t it didn’t matter. The sound of her voice, her shy smile between sips of coffee, and the soul-stirring kiss were enough to keep him rooted right there, wishing, for the first time ever during a visit to Hart’s Hollow, that he could stay put forever.
The thought sat well with him. As he paid the tab, he imagined what it would feel like to visit the restaurant every Saturday morning with Kristen. While he drove the truck to the hardware store, he examined how the daily grind on the farm had gained an exciting appeal over the weeks as a result of her presence. As they browsed various colors and patterns of cushions for the porch swing they’d chosen, he pictured her poised on a window seat by the stained-glass window upstairs, painting a blank canvas and bringing it to life the way she had that worn-out wooden sign they’d positioned by the driveway.
And he found himself wanting to focus more on the future. Wanting, with every fiber of his being, to make a place in his heart, in his life—at Hart’s Hollow—for Kristen. And for Emmy, Sadie, and Dylan.
“What about this one?” Kristen held up a red-and-white-striped cushion. “Do you think Sadie would like it?”
The cushion was over four feet long and spanned the length of her frame, from her shoulders to her toes, and so her bright smile and excited expression were the only visible parts of her body from his angle.
Mitch smiled. “She’ll love it.”
Pleased with his answer, she folded the cushion, tucked it under her arm, and glanced around. “We’ve picked out the rockers, the swing, and the cushion. Anything else we need to look at?”
“Nope. We’re all set.” He nodded toward the back of the store. “Although if you don’t mind staying a little longer, I’d like to take a look at the screen doors they have on display. Emmy’s birthday is the last week of June, and I thought a new one would be a nice finishing touch for the porch.”
“Her birthday? She hasn’t mentioned a word about it.”
“She wouldn’t. Emmy hasn’t formally celebrated her birthday in nine years.” He shrugged. “Said she doesn’t like anyone making a fuss over her.”
“I can see her wanting that.” Kristen looked toward the back of the store, then asked, “I’d like to get her something, too, though. What do you think she’d like?”
“I expect she’d be happy with anything you gave her.” He took a few steps in the direction of the back of the store and then waited as she fell in step beside him. “Figure if they have a screen door I think she’d like, I’ll go ahead and order one today so it’ll arrive in time for the big day.”
Kristen bumped her shoulder against his. “Think she’d let us throw her a party?”
“Well,” he said, winking down at her, “I’ve always heard it’s better to go ahead and do something and ask for forgiveness later rather than waiting around for permission.”
She laughed. “Sounds good to me.”
An hour later, they had ordered a new screen door and had purchased and strategically loaded into the truck a white hardwood porch swing, two rocking chairs, and the cushion Kristen had chosen. Mitch tied the items down with several thick ropes, then pulled out of the parking lot after waiting several minutes for traffic to clear.
“It’s busy,” Kristen commented, watching the traffic whisk by at a rapid pace.
“Yeah.” Mitch looked at the steady stream of cars, SUVs, and transfer trucks, and an uncomfortable churn started in his gut. “I imagine it’s worse because it’s the weekend.”
Once they left the busiest part of downtown Peach Grove and passed The Scoop Ice Cream Parlor, the traffic thinned, and he pressed the accelerator pedal. Congested parking lots, honking horns, and the sporadic thump of music from passing cars faded into the distance as the tree line on both sides of the road thickened. For the first five miles, the only sound in the cab was the rumble of the aging truck’s engine.
“What will happen to Hart’s Hollow, Mitch?”
He glanced at Kristen, and the somber look on her face and the heavy tone in her voice intensified his discomfort. “If they build the bypass?”
She nodded.
Mitch faced the road again, pulled in a deep breath, and focused on the broken yellow line clipping by. “They’ll tear down the house and pave over the fields. Time will pass. People will forget. Then it’ll just . . . disappear.” He swallowed hard. “Like it was never there.”
He could feel her gaze on him, could hear her small breaths each time she started to speak, then hesitated.
“Like Cindy Sue’s?” she asked.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.