I laugh.
She shoots me a hard look.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask.
“No, I’m not kidding,” she says with a laugh. “I know I can be bossy, but only when I have to be. I honestly prefer to be told what to do, as long as the person in charge knows what they’re doing. By the third year of my show, my assistant, Li, was managing almost everything. All I had to do was come up with menus, give her an ingredient list the week before, and show up on set.” She sighs as she stares out at the gently waving wheat. “It was nice.”
I squeeze her hand, hesitating to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. But then I remember the promises we made last night.
No more secrets and that means not avoiding asking questions, even when I’m not sure I’ll like the answers.
“Do you ever think you’ll go back?” I ask. “Start doing the show again?”
She shakes her head. “No. I usually never say never, but it feels like that part of my life is over. It was so much fun and I loved it, but it was also exhausting. It felt like there wasn’t enough time for real life and I like real life. A lot.” She looks up at me, the peaceful expression on her face making me believe her as much as her words. “And I don’t miss it. I’m ready for something new, a fresh start with the focus on my family and hopefully a new baby sometime soon.”
“Have you thought of having a child of your own? Instead of adopting?” I ask in an even tone, careful not to let on that I know about the baby she lost. She wouldn’t like that her brother revealed things about her private life without her permission, no matter how innocently it was done.
She shrugs and looks out across the field again. “I’m already thirty-three. I think I’m too old for that kind of motherhood.”
“You’re not. You still look like you’re eighteen.”
She laughs. “I do not but thank you.” She stops, lifting a finger to point to the edge of the field, obviously ready to stop talking about babies. “Is that your dad’s place?”
“It is,” I say, ignoring the disappointment that flashes through my chest.
She’ll tell me about her loss when she’s ready. She isn’t breaking the promise she made last night; she’s managing her grief the way that’s best for her. If anyone can understand not wanting to talk about the person you’ve lost, it’s me, so I don’t push her. I simply hold her hand a little tighter and aim us toward my dad’s backyard.
“I thought we could swing by and check up on the place while we were out here,” I say. “Dad’s spending a year in Alaska hunting with an old Navy buddy, so Jamison and I are taking turns making sure the house is holding up.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize where we were.” She twists to get a look at the entire field. “This used to be fenced in for horses, right?”
“Uncle Bill had his horses here,” I confirm as we reach the edge of Dad’s property. “But he sold them about four years back. Since then, Aunt Clare’s planted winter wheat here.”
Naomi hums beneath her breath. “Aunt Clare is the one with the glass eye and the shotgun collection, right?”
“Yep.” I hold the gate open, waiting while she passes beneath my arm.
“Is she going to take a switch to us when she finds out we picnicked on her crop?” Naomi asks, making me laugh. “No, seriously,” she continues, her eyebrows pinching together. “There are people I wouldn’t mind crossing, people I wouldn’t cross with a gun to my back, and then there’s Aunt Clare.”
I chuckle as I recapture her hand, so grateful I don’t have to resist the urge to touch her anymore. “We didn’t hurt anything, and Jamison and I run the combine for her come harvest time. Aunt Clare will have no idea we were ever here.”
“Oh, good,” she says with a relieved sigh.
“Want to come inside?” I jab a thumb toward the house. “You’re welcome to, but I’ll warn you—Dad’s housekeeping has gotten even worse since Jamison and I moved out.”
She delicately wrinkles her nose. “That’s okay. I’ll wait here. No offense, but your dad’s housekeeping was bad enough back in the day. Remember that time we found an onion tree in the pantry?”
“I do. He made me and Jamison eat it in a soup he cooked up a few days later. It tasted like dirty sweat socks mixed with elbow macaroni.”
She laughs and sticks out her tongue.
I lean down, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Back in ten.”
“I’ll be here,” she says, her voice breathy, making me think I’m not the only who’s hypersensitive to the chemistry simmering between us right now. Even kissing her cheek is enough to make my blood pump faster.