CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eli knew that after the last four hours of nonstop movement, he should be happy. No, scratch that. He should be ecstatic. Less than two minutes after the front gates for the farmers’ market had swung open, they’d seen a steady stream of customers at Cross Creek’s tent, asking for and buying everything from asparagus to zucchini. Between him and Owen and their old man, they’d sold every last Jonagold they’d been able to spare from the trees—including the ones he and Hunter had picked by the light of his F-150’s headlights at eight thirty last night—and more than half their other produce had practically flown out of the crates. Eli had chatted up dozens of folks who had seen yesterday’s video online, and paused for as many selfies with Scarlett, who had stayed true to her promise of keeping up with social media along with taking what looked to be a ton of new pictures for FoodE. Hunter had even called in to say that Cross Creek’s Internet traffic still looked as great as the last of the sweet corn he’d harvested for this week’s delivery to the Corner Market, who had increased their order for fall produce. So yeah, Eli should definitely be ecstatic.
Except for the fact that he was a fucking idiot.
The thought panged through him from chest to conscience, and he turned toward the box truck to grab a fresh crate of watermelons even though he’d replenished the three beneath the tent less than an hour ago. Okay, so he hadn’t meant to be so fast and loose with the writing thing when he and Scarlett had talked this morning. But between the hell-yes feeling of bringing in desperately needed business for Cross Creek and flirty banter with a smart, sexy woman, Eli had felt good—really, truly relaxed—for the first time in weeks.
Then he’d just had to go for the icing on the feelgood cake and sneak in a little wordsmithing, and bam! Scarlett had picked up on his passion in two seconds flat.
Which might not be so bad, except for the fact that in that tiny sliver of time after she’d asked if he had writing experience, Eli had wanted nothing more than to tell her the God’s honest truth.
He was the only Cross in three generations to not want to work the land in the Shenandoah Valley. He wasn’t a farmer. In his heart, his blood, in every last one of his bones, he was a writer.
Yeah. Make that a colossal fucking idiot.
Reaching into the back of the box truck, Eli hooked his fingers beneath the rough-edged hand slots of the wooden crate in front of him. He’d made a mistake, letting Scarlett grab a glimpse of who he really was, but it had been exactly that—a mistake. One he wouldn’t be making again.
Dodge. Deflect. Move the hell on.
Eli slid a glance at the sun, double-checking the hour against the time stamp on his cell phone. Although the farmers’ market would still be going strong for another few hours, foot traffic had slowed enough for him and Scarlett to head off to a quiet spot in the park to shoot today’s video as promised. With one last deep breath, Eli made his way back to the tent, his cocky cover hammered into place. But then he caught sight of Scarlett, who stood face-to-overly-made-up-face with Millhaven’s biggest gossip over by the crates full of sweet corn and summer squash, and oh hell, nothing good could come from this in any way.
“Oh my Lord in heaven!” Amber Cassidy threw her perfectly manicured hands in the air just as Eli walked into earshot. “Scarlett, right? Scarlett Edwards-Stewart.”
Scarlett lowered the camera from her face, blinking at the sight of the tall, thin blonde, whose shellacked-on jeans and four-inch platform heels earmarked her more for a Girls Gone Wild video than a Saturday morning farmers’ market. “Um, yes?”
“I’ve been wonderin’ when I’d finally get the chance to finally meet you!” Amber purred.
Scarlett took a step back on the concrete, her olive-green eyes going round with obvious confusion, and Eli swooped in for damage control.
“Ladies. Where are my manners?” He dialed his smile up to eleven as he lowered the crate of watermelons next to the others already on display, then stepped behind the table to stand beside Scarlett. “Scarlett Edwards-Stewart, this is Amber Cassidy. She’s a local from Millhaven.”
Scarlett’s lips parted, which did little for Eli’s cocky cover. “Oh! I wasn’t aware anyone from Millhaven even knew I was in town before yesterday.”
Amber laughed as if Scarlett had just suggested they all sprout extra heads and start a sing-along. “Well bless your heart. Of course I did! The Crosses might be keepin’ you all to themselves up there at the farm.” She paused to flicker a shame-on-you glance in Eli’s direction, and his smile grew just a touch harder to reconcile. Damn, Amber was really pouring it on like warm molasses. “But I’ve known you were visiting all week, honey! That convertible of yours is tough to miss.”
“You noticed my car?” Scarlett asked, and Eli swallowed the curse in his throat. Of course, Amber would pounce on an unfamiliar vehicle with out-of-state plates in the parking lot at the Twin Pines. Just like, of course, the idea of that sort of small-town familiarity was probably as alien to Scarlett as little green men in a galactic battleship.
Eli leaned in for the assist. “Amber’s a bit of a social butterfly,” he offered, but funny, now that her surprise had worn off, neither the scrutiny nor the spotlight seemed to bother Scarlett.
“Wow,” she said to Amber, her smile polite yet not tight or forced. “Looks like you’re really in the know.”
Amber nodded sagely, her bottle-blond hair refusing to move despite the action. “And, of course, I saw that cute little video on that fancy-food website. Y’all are just two peas in a pod! It’s so exciting to have a celebrity staying in our little ol’ town.”
Now that threw her. “Oh, no,” Scarlett protested with a startled laugh. “I’m glad to be here, taking pictures of Cross Creek Farm for FoodE, but I’m definitely not a celebrity.”
Amber’s expression said she wasn’t even buying the argument wholesale. “Look at you, not wanting to be all braggadocios. But it’s okay. You can trust me with the truth, girl.”
From just the recent shots she’d posted on her website, Eli knew Scarlett could legitimately claim the celebrity status Amber offered, just as he’d bet dollars to doughnuts Amber knew it, too.
Only Scarlett didn’t budge. “Sorry to disappoint you, Amber. What you see is what you get. I’m really just a photographer.”
“A famous photographer,” Amber corrected. “I saw online that you’ve taken pictures of all sorts of celebrities.” She ran a hand over her bright-purple tube top, smiling as if she was primed and ready for a close-up of her own. “Between you and me, I was all set to be a fashion model. I was a finalist in the Miss Cook County pageant three years in a row.”
Eli’s gut sank like a stone sliding down a steep grade. Yeah, Amber might be far more annoying than downright cutthroat or mean, but her small-town experiences probably seemed lame to a woman like Scarlett. She’d been to six of the seven continents, for Chrissake.
Yet she didn’t show any signs of boredom or irritation when she looked at Amber and said, “Those pageants can be pretty competitive. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Isn’t it?” Amber beamed. “But you know, then my true passion showed itself, and I couldn’t ignore the call.”
“Oh? And what did you do instead of going into modeling?”
Amber’s chest puffed out within a half inch of a wardrobe malfunction. “I’m an artist over at the Hair Lair.” She pronounced the word ar-teest, and seriously, Eli couldn’t make this up if he tried. “We’re right on Town Street in downtown Millhaven,” Amber continued, gesturing to Scarlett’s tousled blond-on-blond hair. “You should come on down and see us before you go back to New York. I could fix those dark streaks right up for you, good as new.”
“Actually,” Scarlett said, not skipping so much as a single beat. “They’re lowlights. My stylist put them in on purpose. Thanks for the offer, but I love the way they look.”
“Oh. Oh.” But rather than looking chagrined, Amber dished out a sympathetic stare. “Well aren’t you sweet. I could never pull off that sort of hairstyle, but look at you.”
Something hard and strangely proprietary turned over in Eli’s gut, and he interrupted without knowing he would. “I think Scarlett’s hair looks sexy.”
Both women gave him the brows-up treatment, which he guessed he deserved. Not that he hadn’t been honest—Scarlett’s bold, edgy looks turned him on like Friday-night lights at a football game. But saying so out loud, in front of the town freaking crier? He was seriously losing it.
Amber rebounded with a flashy smile. “Oh, you would, Eli Cross,” she said, turning her knowing gaze back toward at Scarlett. “He is such a flirt. But I guess you knew that, now didn’t you?”
Before Scarlett could answer or Eli could swap the topic to something safer, like oh, say, juggling chainsaws, Amber said, “Anyhow, I’d best be makin’ my rounds. I promised Greyson I’d stop on over at Whittaker Hollow’s tent to pick up some peaches. Did you hear they had a big ol’ bumper crop this week? Kinda makes things exciting, if you know what I mean.” She paused to give Eli a wink so obvious the damn thing had probably been visible from outer space. “Anyway, it was super nice to meet you, Scarlett, and the invite to the Hair Lair is good anytime in case you change your mind. See y’all soon!”
Eli counted off the seconds until the woman was out of earshot before releasing an exhale and chancing a look at Scarlett. “Sorry about that. Amber’s mostly harmless, but she can be a little, um. Much.”
“Eh, she didn’t seem so bad.”
Scarlett’s shrug was so honest, so not what he would expect out of any woman in the face of Amber Cassidy’s obvious efforts to kick-start the gossip mill, that his surprise popped out before he could cage it. “We are talking about the same woman, right? Nosy blonde, too much makeup, was just less than polite about the way you wear your hair?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Scarlett said, a wry smile hooking at the corners of her mouth as she slipped her camera’s lens cap into place with a soft snap. “I’m not saying I want to jump on the BFF train with her, and a tiny, awful part of me would love nothing more than to Photoshop a nose onto her ass just to see the meltdown.”
A laugh barged past Eli’s lips. “That’d be just desserts.”
“But even though Amber is pretty annoying, she also seems upfront about who she is. So while I might not like her personality-wise, at least I can respect her.”
The words dove right into his solar plexus, knocking his breath loose on a huff. “You respect Amber Cassidy?”
“I don’t love the whole pot-stirring thing, but I respect that she’s forthright, in her own way,” Scarlett said with a shrug. “As far as her throwing a little shade about my hairstyle . . . well, the truth is, I can’t be everybody’s favorite flavor. And while I may not be perfect by any means, I’m not going to live by anyone else’s standards, either. I’ve got to be my own brand of perfect if I’m going to be happy.”
Eli’s pulse pressed hard and fast at his throat. He was sailing headlong into dangerous water, he knew, just like he also knew he needed to come up with a cocky comeback and a freshly minted subject, the sooner the better.
But Scarlett was so matter of fact, so right out in the open with herself, that instead he asked, “Are you always so unapologetic about who you are?”
“Yes.” Scooping up her backpack, she slung the strap over her delicately inked shoulder, waiting for Eli to grab his own bag before asking right back, “Aren’t you? I mean, that whole cocky-charming thing you do is pretty relentless.”
He gestured across the tent to his old man that he was taking a break, which thankfully gave him a couple of seconds to land on his feet. “Relentless, huh? For the record, most of the time ‘charming’ is a compliment.”
“Relax, cowboy. I didn’t say I don’t like it.” Scarlett followed him toward the main thoroughfare of the pavilion. “It’s just not something a lot of people can pull off without seeming disingenuous.”
Eli shouldn’t flirt with her. He shouldn’t. But all it took was one look at Scarlett’s sassy little smile, and his dick outmaneuvered his defenses for control over his mouth.
“You like my charm?” he asked, a dark thread of satisfaction uncurling in his chest as her cheeks pinked with a sexy-as-hell blush.
“You made an apple-picking video go viral on the Internet, Eli. Everybody seems to like your charm.”
“Ah, but that’s not what I asked you, now is it, bumblebee?”
For a second, he thought she might balk. But then her chin hiked into that stubborn lift he knew all too well now, and good Christ, he liked this woman way more than was proper.
“Yes,” Scarlett said, his attraction to her instantly doubling as she looked him directly in the eye. “I like your charm.”
“And I really do think your hair is sexy.” Reaching out, Eli tucked an errant, bright-blond lock behind the row of tiny hoops and studs climbing her ear. Of course, it had a mind of its own just like its wearer, sliding right back where it wanted to go as soon as he moved his hand. “And for the record, we made an apple-picking video go viral on the Internet,” he reminded her. “Charming or not, I couldn’t have done that without you.”
Laughing, she lifted her hands in concession. “Fair enough. We do make a pretty good team.”
They walked for a few minutes in comfortable quiet, with Scarlett taking in all the vendors and Eli taking in Scarlett. Her genuine interest was contagious, and even though he knew every vendor like the back of his work-callused hand, seeing the way she was seeing them made his brain start sparking with all sorts of ideas and words. Now that Cross Creek was getting more online exposure, they could probably do with adding an in-depth article or two to their website. He could write up something seasonal and update it weekly—or no, if he could figure out a way to tie Cross Creek’s article to whatever Mallory was going to post on FoodE, he could even—
“Yoo-hoo. Anybody home in there?”
Eli registered Scarlett’s voice and the soft brush of her fingers over his forearm all at once, and he realized—clearly too late—that he must have missed whatever she’d asked him at least twice.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and dammit, how had they reached the end of the pavilion already? “Guess I got a little lost in thought. I apologize for being rude.”
Scarlett’s throaty laughter took him by surprise, even as it heated a path down his spine. “Must’ve been a hell of a thought. And no apologies. Thinking isn’t rude.”
“No, but ignoring you is,” Eli countered. Leading the way from the pavilion over to the network of paths branching out toward the picnic areas, he said, “So please. Ask again.”
She gestured over her shoulder, where the tent bearing Whittaker Hollow’s logo was still visible beneath the pavilion. “I was just curious what the deal is with this bet. And before you get all tight-lipped about it, I’m keeping my end of our bargain. Unless the camera’s rolling or we’re discussing Cross Creek’s operations directly, anything you and I talk about is off the record.”
Eli’s brows shot up. “So you want to know about the bet I made with Greyson Whittaker just for shits and giggles?”
“Unless you’d rather talk about the merits of prime lenses or the difference between JPEGs and RAW files. Which I could do all day, but I really don’t think—”
“Okay, okay.” The laughter welling up from his chest scattered any unease he might’ve had about the topic of this dumbass bet. “We can talk about the bet. Although the whole thing is stupid, really.”
Scarlett’s soft snort called him out right off the bat. “There’s nothing stupid about five grand.”
Annnnd point. “I guess I should say the way we got to the bet is stupid. The rivalry between Cross Creek and Whittaker Hollow goes back for decades. Think the Hatfields and the McCoys, only not as cuddly.”
“Ouch,” she said. Their footsteps measured out a few more seconds on the asphalt as Scarlett followed his lead toward a more secluded path, where the glossy-green leaves and the gentle breeze that rustled them was totally at odds with the topic of the rough-edged grudge between families. “Was there some kind of blowout that triggered the whole thing?”
“You know, I’m not really sure. My old man doesn’t talk about it much.” Okay, so his old man didn’t really get chatty about anything all that much. Not that Eli or his brothers pushed. They were, after all, a family full of men, and farming men on top of it. If everyone was upright, working hard, and not trying to throw punches, all systems were assumed to be a go.
Eli shook his head and continued. “Anyhow, Greyson and I are the same age, and we’re both the youngest, but he’s got three sisters, none of whom are interested in operating Whittaker Hollow. So he’s got a lot to prove, and rivalry or not, his old man is junkyard-dog mean. Greyson’s not too far from that particular family legacy.”
“He sounds like a real prize.” The words slid between Scarlett’s teeth, and Eli laughed long and loud at the euphemism.
“Oh, he’s a complete asshat. We’ve pretty much hated each other since birth, and I’ll admit, we got into more than our fair share of scuffles back when we were in school. The fact that our families own and operate the two biggest, most productive farms in the county and half the Shenandoah Valley besides doesn’t help matters. Greyson got to shooting his mouth off like a two-dollar pistol at the farming co-op a week and a half ago, and he threw down this stupid bet that his family’s farm would make more money than Cross Creek between then and the town’s Fall Fling event in a couple of weeks.”
“And you shot your mouth off right back and took the wager.” Scarlett paused, her lashes fanning wider in sudden understanding. “Is that why there’s all that weird tension between you and Owen? Because of this bet?”
Unease trickled into Eli’s chest, pushing his heartbeat faster against his ribs. But her question had been straightforward enough, and more to the point, she wasn’t stupid. Scarlett had been witness to damn near every minute Eli had spent with his oldest brother over the last eight days. The tension between them was thick enough to spread on toast.
And what’s more, he was sick of keeping it all bottled up.
“The bet is part of it, yeah,” Eli said carefully, because while a little venting might feel really freaking good right now, he also wasn’t going to let loose with all the whys behind his love/hate relationship with his brother. “Owen’s none too happy I picked up the gauntlet Greyson threw in my face, and he’s not shy about reminding me that he’s pissed. I’m sure you’ve noticed he takes the farm real seriously.”
Without even the smallest hitch in her voice or her steps, Scarlett said, “Spoiler alert. Owen’s not the only one who takes Cross Creek seriously. You dragged me all over—what did you call it? Ah, right—hell’s half acre this week, trying to bring in more business. Anyway, you were just standing up for the farm when you took the bet, right?”
“I was, but Owen doesn’t see things that way.”
“There’s another way to see them?”
Eli exhaled in realization. Scarlett didn’t have any brothers or sisters—hell, she’d told him herself how foreign sibling relationships were to her. And as much as his had deep, dark layers he wasn’t about to talk about with anyone, including his siblings, Scarlett had promised they were off the record. Blowing off a little more steam couldn’t hurt.
“There is,” he said. Scanning the picnic areas dotted along the winding path in individual alcoves, he spotted a table farther away from the others, beneath a cluster of oak trees. Scarlett fell into step beside him as he changed course from the neatly paved path to head for the privacy of the alcove, and they covered the grassy, partially wooded space side by side.
“Okay.” She put her gear safely at the other end of the picnic table before settling in on the bench across from him, propping her elbows over the weathered wood. “Explain it to me.”
“Ever since Owen and Hunter and I were little kids, there’s always been this sort of unspoken way of doing things around the farm,” Eli said, making Scarlett’s brows dip in confusion.
“You mean the way you split up who does what?” she asked.
“Sort of. I mean, my brothers and I all know how to do the important stuff, and a lot of that has to be done together.”
She tilted her head, clearly processing. “Like when you harvest corn for the feed distributors.”
“Exactly.” Not even his old man could do the high-caliber tasks like that single-handedly. “But the other tasks and responsibilities fall under this weird sort of umbrella. Owen’s the serious one, and he’s always lived, slept, and breathed for the farm. He’s never made any bones about wanting to run the place when our dad retires.”
Okay, so Eli couldn’t imagine a scenario in which his old man would retire completely, but farming was backbreaking work. At some point, he’d hand over the bulk of day-to-day operations to Owen, just as his old man had done with him. Cross Creek was Owen’s legacy, and always had been.
“I can see that,” Scarlett said slowly, a ray of sunlight catching in her hair as she nodded. “Owen is pretty focused. Plus, he’s obviously devoted to Cross Creek.”
“He’s also the innovator,” Eli said. “Owen loves the farm, but at the same time, he wants to make it bigger and better.”
Her expression balanced between surprise and recognition. “So that’s why he’s always in the greenhouse. He’s working on the specialty produce to help Cross Creek pioneer new territory.”
Eli wrestled the urge to laugh. Of course, Scarlett was sharp enough to make the connection with ease. “And brushing up on new technology. And researching the best soil-to-fertilizer ratios for every plant under the sun. And trying to figure out how to build, staff, and maintain a fixed structure on site that would replace our roadside farm stands. But yeah, you’ve got the idea. If it has to do with Cross Creek, it’s not just on Owen’s radar. It’s in his blood.”
“How about Hunter?” Scarlett asked, and now Eli did laugh.
“Classic middle sibling. Hunt’s the peacekeeper, the guy who we can all count on to split the difference and keep his head on the level.” Christ, Hunter had kept Owen and Eli from knocking knuckles so many times he probably should have been sainted. “He’s just as serious about Cross Creek as Owen, though. He’s never wanted to do anything but work the land. Well, that and be with Emerson.” At Scarlett’s brow lift, Eli added, “They were high school sweethearts.”
“Ah. Another thing that makes perfect sense, given how they look at each other.” She paused, shifting her weight on the silvery, weather-worn bench beneath her. “So Owen is the serious one and Hunter keeps the peace. How about you? Where do you fit into the mix?”
Although her movement had been slight, it had closed some of the space between them, with only the scant width of one table board now separating his hand from her elbow. Scarlett leaned forward, her chin on her long, folded fingers, her green eyes honest and wide open and so wildly pretty that Eli edged closer, too.
“Behind my brothers, I’m afraid. Don’t get me wrong. I like Cross Creek well enough,” he said, because fuck, despite it all, he really did. “But being the charming youngest brother has its disadvantages sometimes.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Not a question, but straight to the point all the same.
So that’s just how Eli answered her. “With four men operating the same farm, someone’s got to be the extra.”
A laugh worked its way up from her throat—he could see it forming at the edges of her mouth in the tiny creases around her eyes. But all at once, the gesture crashed to a halt. “Wait . . . you’re serious?”
“Sure.” He should feel vulnerable, he supposed, laying the truth out there like the Sunday paper. But it was the truth, one anyone who spent enough time looking at the Cross family could see.
Ever since Eli could remember, they’d been the patriarch, the prodigy, the peacekeeper . . .
And the pariah.
“You work pretty hard to be an extra, don’t you think?” Scarlett asked, and his defenses kicked his shoulders into a shrug.
“Everything’s hard work when you operate a farm, and the truth is, I don’t love it the way my old man and brothers do. All four of us have got a role. Mine’s just to do whatever no one else is doin’.”
For just a breath, she sat without speaking, an odd sort of confusion flickering through her stare. But then her expression shifted, and she asked, “It’s been just the four of you, then? Since you and Hunter and Owen were little?”
The question surprised Eli just enough to make him pause, and Scarlett bit down on her lower lip hard enough to leave tiny, curved indents on the skin there.
“You know what, forget I asked. You’ve already said you don’t want to talk about it, and I shouldn’t have—”
He closed the space between his hand and her elbow in an instant, her skin so smooth and warm that he couldn’t pull back if he wanted to.
And he didn’t.
“Since I was four,” Eli said, and funny, the words didn’t stick in his throat the way he thought they would. “My mother died of breast cancer.”
Scarlett’s breath pushed out on a whisper-soft puff that he heard as much as he felt on his cheek. “Oh my God. Eli, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. I am, too.”
The steady thump-thump-thump of his heart turned his pulse into a whoosh of white noise against his eardrums. This was the tipping point—the part of the conversation that always went from zero to sympathy-awkward in less than two nanoseconds. Although Rosemary Cross’s death didn’t come up as a topic of conversation but once in a blue moon, especially around Eli or either of his brothers—or worse yet, their old man—everyone in Millhaven knew the story.
But rather than gloss over the subject with some overused platitude, Scarlett simply dropped one hand to cover his and held on tight to his stare. “She must have been really young if she died when you were only four.”
“She was thirty-seven when she was diagnosed. She died later that same year.” Again, the admission came out more easily than he’d expected. Which was pretty messed up considering how much dust had collected in its corners.
Scarlett’s fingers remained a sweet, steady pressure on his. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sure that was really difficult for you. And, oh.” She broke off. Inhaled. Then whispered, “For all of you.”
The unvarnished words, the pure emotion in her green-gold eyes that matched them, loosened the tension gripping his chest, at least enough to allow him to breathe.
“Screenings back then weren’t nearly as common or advanced as they are now, and my mother’s cancer was extremely aggressive. By the time she and my old man found out how sick she really was, it was too late to even do more than one round of chemotherapy.”
Of course, Eli had learned that bit from Millhaven’s longtime town physician, Doc Sanders, after fifteen years of not being able to call up one single memory of his mother and not having the heart or the balls to ask anyone who shared his last name. The details of her death hadn’t helped him remember her, though—not even in scraps and clips, the way he remembered kissing Missy Tremaine on the playground in the second grade or falling off his dirt bike and breaking his wrist three days before his sixth birthday.
They did, however, remind him all too well that he should be able to remember at least something about her just like everyone else in his family did, and dammit—dammit! Eli needed to throw the brakes on this conversation right now, otherwise Scarlett was going to see the one thing he was desperate to keep hidden.
He wasn’t just the extra. He was the odd man out. He didn’t belong.
And the guilt was eating him alive.
“Right. Anyway, we should probably get to this video, huh?” Eli shifted, fully prepared to slide his hand from beneath Scarlett’s with a cocky smile and an ironclad vow to keep his trap embroidered shut from now on.
Only she curled her fingers over his and refused to let go.
“Don’t. Please.”
It was the please that froze him into place, the soft, small word arrowing all the way through him and stealing any deflection he could possibly put together. For a second—or maybe it was a minute or an hour, because fuck if Eli could feel anything other than the warm, unyielding pressure of Scarlett’s hand on his—he said nothing, sitting perfectly motionless on a picnic bench that might as well have been light-years away.
But still, Scarlett didn’t blink. “I know talking about your mom must be difficult, and we can change the subject if you want. But don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Eli managed past the tight knot in his throat.
“Don’t hide,” she said. “I meant it when I said I like your charming side, Eli. But this”—she paused to draw an imaginary loop between them with the index finger on her free hand—“this side of you is real. It’s honest. And I like it even better. So please, no matter what we talk about, don’t hide.”
Eli knew the words should scare the hell out of him as much as Scarlett’s beautiful, wide-open stare and the sure-and-steady grasp on his hand that marked what she’d said as true.
But they didn’t. So he tightened his fingers around hers right back and said, “Okay.”