Travis (Pelion Lake 1)

“That was kind,” he said.

“Yes. Yes, she was kind. She and her husband both.” I cleared my throat when the final word of my statement came out scratchy with emotion.

“What happened to them?” Travis asked.

I took a deep breath, surprised that it still hurt to talk about the Kims, that the scar their loss had left behind still pulled tight sometimes. “Mr. Kim died of a heart attack when I was in middle school and Mrs. Kim went back to South Korea where she had family. I send her postcards.”

“But she doesn’t have a permanent address where she can write back to you,” he said.

I didn’t look at him. “No. Not right now.”

“How old were you when she left?”

“Sixteen.”

“And the garden?”

I paused. “The landlord let it remain, even after the Kims left. I replanted a few things in pots and brought them home. And I tried to keep the garden alive, but gardens take a lot of time and a lot of effort, and some money to maintain, and I . . . well, it died. At first it was slow, and I had hope, but then . . . but then, one day it seemed to die, all at once.”

“And the ones you brought home?” he asked, his tone gentle.

I paused, a sharp pain cutting through me. “Well those died eventually too.” Later.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the empathy in his voice was so very clear that a lump formed in my throat.

I managed what I hoped was a bright smile and shrugged. “Anyway, gardening wasn’t really a possibility anymore, but I did get this job at a health food store. It was halfway across town, so I had to take three buses there and back for every shift. But . . . like I said, we didn’t have stores like that in my neighborhood and regardless, without the garden, we couldn’t afford that kind of food. Even with the employee discount at the health food store, I still shopped off the discount shelves. I . . . got that job and I was able to bring home fruits and vegetables . . . eggs . . . so the commute was worth it.” Nourishing food. Food that made us healthy and strong, not sick and still hungry all the time. Food that I sometimes went without so my skinny, little brother would thrive.

The group had come to a stop in front of what had to be Clarice’s booth, a rich velvet blue curtain enclosing the small space, gold moons and stars sewn onto the fabric. Travis and I joined them.

“Who’s up first?” Burt asked, and it had to be noted that his words were markedly slurred.

“I’ll go!” Betty said, pulling aside the curtain and heading unsteadily inside.

Travis raised his brows and gave me a look and I laughed, the heaviness of my memories about the Kims and the rooftop garden that died melted away by the warmth of the sun, and the mildly numbing effects of bad beer.

A dark head of perfect hair came into view, moving above the small group he was walking with.

Gage stepped out of the crowd, a woman next to him saying something and laying her hand on his arm. He stopped and listened to her for a moment, his eyes meeting mine.

I smiled and so did he, even as the woman continued to chatter, oblivious of anything except him. Gage’s gaze moved to Travis and he gave him a small chin lift, his brows lowering slightly as he looked between the two of us.

I felt Travis’s gaze on me too and glanced his way. He appeared to be wrestling with something. But then his expression cleared and he leaned in, his breath at my ear as he said, “Look at me adoringly, Haven.”

“What?”

“Look at me like I’m the only man here at this festival.”

I blinked, tipping my chin, our faces close, those golden-brown eyes catching the sunlight as he smiled that slow grin. I stared, mesmerized, and suddenly, it did feel like he was the only man at the festival. I swallowed, pulling my gaze from those spellbinding eyes to where Gage stood, his brow lowering further as he watched us. The woman talking to him swatted at his arm as if he’d neglected to answer or comment on something she’d said. Gage startled, responding to her and, evidently satisfied, the woman continued talking.

Travis took my hand in his and leaned in again, mock whispering. His hand was warm and enveloped mine. Small sparkles danced up my arm. “Men are simple,” he whispered. “Add a little challenge, a little healthy competition, and the interest increases tenfold.”

I turned to him, my hand still held in his, “Is that true of you too, Travis?”

“Of course. I’m a man, aren’t I?”

“You are definitely a man. I can’t argue with that.”