patience in answering my gardening questions. I miss his silly jokes and his philosophical discussions. I think of his kind smile and over-the-top optimism way more than I should.
This scares me. I used to think that I was only physically attracted to him, but my feelings are bigger than that. It was easy to dismiss physical attraction. It’s much harder to ignore the budding friendship we were developing.
Footsteps crunch down the leafy path, sounding louder and louder. When they still, I turn away from the bay. Sage waits where the wooden planks meet the soil.
Speak of the devil. If devils could be that cute and kind.
“I finally found your hiding spot.” He walks across the short dock. “Can I join you?”
I nod and turn back to the water. “I wasn’t hiding—”
“Hiding, running, avoiding.” He pulls off his shoes then sits next to me, placing his feet in the water. “Call it whatever you want.”
I can’t keep denying his words. He’s right, after all. How does he know me so well?
For the next few minutes, the only sound is of Sage’s splashing feet. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t find the words. I’m not even sure how to respond. Do I apologize for over-reacting to the kiss? I can’t stop replaying that moment in my mind. I certainly don’t want to talk about it.
I could just explain why growing close to someone is so hard. But that would mean talking about Robbie. I’m not ready. I can’t say his name or tell our story without drudging up a torrent of feelings.
Silence is certainly the easiest response. Maybe he’ll give up and go away. Leave me to my misery.
Sage sighs. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
An apology? That certainly wasn’t what I was expecting. “Why? What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I didn’t mean to push you,” he says. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“How do you know that?” I turn so I’m facing him.
“It’s kind of obvious.” He pulls his feet from the water and faces me.
His words sting. Do I really look that broken? I study my lap, unable to look at him.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude.” He places one finger under my chin and raises my head until our eyes meet. “If you ever want to talk about what happened, I’m here. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”
“Thanks, but I’m not…”
“Not ready. I get it, but can we go back to being friends?” He pauses. “I miss you.”
I miss him too. Even during this awkward conversation, I’m just glad he’s here .
“I’d like that.” Feeling brave, I add, “A lot.”
Sage grins. As always, his smile lights up his face. “Should we get breakfast? I finished the field so we actually get to work together today.”
As we hike back to the picnic tables, I can’t help smiling. I’ve spent too much of this past year alone. I’m ready for friendship. Maybe with time, I’ll even be ready for more.
O VER BREAKFAST, Susan does not give us her daily list of chores. “The raspberries are ripe, and the lorikeets have been flocking, waiting to snatch whatever berries they can. We’re going to spend the day canning.”
“Canning?” The term conjures up memories of the Amish farms back in Ohio. “We’re going to make jam?”
Sage groans and rubs his stomach. “I’m picturing tomorrow’s breakfast already.”
“I have to warn you. Canning is a tedious chore that’s going to take the entire day,” Susan says.
The nice thing about being on the farm, away from the rush of school and friends, is that I have nothing better to do. “What do you need us to do first?”
Susan grabs eight white buckets off the highest shelf and hands them to us. “Fill these with the ripe berries then meet me back in the kitchen.”
The sweet-tart smell of raspberries fills the air as we pick. The sun’s warmth and the breeze waft the berry fragrance around even more. At the university, I once wondered why anyone would settle for manual labor, but now I
This scares me. I used to think that I was only physically attracted to him, but my feelings are bigger than that. It was easy to dismiss physical attraction. It’s much harder to ignore the budding friendship we were developing.
Footsteps crunch down the leafy path, sounding louder and louder. When they still, I turn away from the bay. Sage waits where the wooden planks meet the soil.
Speak of the devil. If devils could be that cute and kind.
“I finally found your hiding spot.” He walks across the short dock. “Can I join you?”
I nod and turn back to the water. “I wasn’t hiding—”
“Hiding, running, avoiding.” He pulls off his shoes then sits next to me, placing his feet in the water. “Call it whatever you want.”
I can’t keep denying his words. He’s right, after all. How does he know me so well?
For the next few minutes, the only sound is of Sage’s splashing feet. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t find the words. I’m not even sure how to respond. Do I apologize for over-reacting to the kiss? I can’t stop replaying that moment in my mind. I certainly don’t want to talk about it.
I could just explain why growing close to someone is so hard. But that would mean talking about Robbie. I’m not ready. I can’t say his name or tell our story without drudging up a torrent of feelings.
Silence is certainly the easiest response. Maybe he’ll give up and go away. Leave me to my misery.
Sage sighs. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
An apology? That certainly wasn’t what I was expecting. “Why? What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I didn’t mean to push you,” he says. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“How do you know that?” I turn so I’m facing him.
“It’s kind of obvious.” He pulls his feet from the water and faces me.
His words sting. Do I really look that broken? I study my lap, unable to look at him.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude.” He places one finger under my chin and raises my head until our eyes meet. “If you ever want to talk about what happened, I’m here. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”
“Thanks, but I’m not…”
“Not ready. I get it, but can we go back to being friends?” He pauses. “I miss you.”
I miss him too. Even during this awkward conversation, I’m just glad he’s here .
“I’d like that.” Feeling brave, I add, “A lot.”
Sage grins. As always, his smile lights up his face. “Should we get breakfast? I finished the field so we actually get to work together today.”
As we hike back to the picnic tables, I can’t help smiling. I’ve spent too much of this past year alone. I’m ready for friendship. Maybe with time, I’ll even be ready for more.
O VER BREAKFAST, Susan does not give us her daily list of chores. “The raspberries are ripe, and the lorikeets have been flocking, waiting to snatch whatever berries they can. We’re going to spend the day canning.”
“Canning?” The term conjures up memories of the Amish farms back in Ohio. “We’re going to make jam?”
Sage groans and rubs his stomach. “I’m picturing tomorrow’s breakfast already.”
“I have to warn you. Canning is a tedious chore that’s going to take the entire day,” Susan says.
The nice thing about being on the farm, away from the rush of school and friends, is that I have nothing better to do. “What do you need us to do first?”
Susan grabs eight white buckets off the highest shelf and hands them to us. “Fill these with the ripe berries then meet me back in the kitchen.”
The sweet-tart smell of raspberries fills the air as we pick. The sun’s warmth and the breeze waft the berry fragrance around even more. At the university, I once wondered why anyone would settle for manual labor, but now I
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