Bloom: Seeds of Love
Honey Creek Books

Excerpt

She slid her lips back and forth on twenty-dollar gloss and glanced in her rearview, confirming what she already knew. No one was waiting behind her.

She cut her eyes to the bedazzled smart phone that buzzed and vibrated on the leather seat beside hers.

“Hi, Grandma.”

“Where are you?”

“I just got off the highway.”

“I’ll put on the tea.” Short and sweet. Her grandma supported all laws against cell phone usage while driving.

Cynthia disconnected and bit into the thick of her bottom lip. It was time to check in on Grandma. She was all alone since her grandfather died, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Besides, it’d be nice to settle in for a couple of weeks and detox from the pace of life in the city.

Coming home was a good idea. Goosebumps covered her skin despite the heat. She couldn’t avoid him forever, and she needed to face what had happened. Plus, there was Grandma.

Twenty-seven miles to go. She adjusted her mirrors and dawdled as long as she could. Then she shifted into first and pulled onto Route 22. She’d be home in less than an hour.

The evening was warm and beautiful, the end of a perfect summer day. Her pearly white convertible allowed a panoramic view of the countryside as she floated along the familiar hills and curves. She tried wrinkling her nose at some passing cows, but they smelled like home. The sights, sounds, and smells were all as she remembered them. The sun nuzzled into the horizon and cast a surreal pink and orange glow over the world. Crows flew up in bundles from the fields when she passed, cawing their complaints as they soared. Horses meandered in the distance near decrepit red barns, and an enormous tractor was fast approaching the grill of her BMW. She lifted her oversized shades onto her head and sighed at the potential hold up.

The convertible slowed to a crawl behind the combine, and she prayed the driver would show her some courtesy and pull off the road to let her pass. It’d only take a moment. There was no other traffic and they were creeping along at ten, no eight miles per hour. Her hands beat a rhythm against the steering wheel, threatening to blow the horn, hoping he’d just pull over.

Several minutes slugged by, giving her ample time to reconsider her visit. If she didn’t get there soon, she might change her mind. She glared at the combine driver’s silhouette in his rearview. All she could see of the farmer was a narrow straw hat over a tan neck and thick shoulders exposed where blue plaid sleeves were ripped off. The setting sun left his face in shadow, but illuminated his skin until she imagined him glistening with honey instead of sweat from a long day’s work.

The dashboard clock read eight thirty. She’d missed dinner, and she knew if she didn’t arrive before nine, her grandma would likely lock up and go to bed, leaving her to sleep in her car, or the barn. Honey Creek boasted many things, none of which was a hotel, motel, or bed and breakfast. She could stay at the lodge, but she’d much prefer to climb into her old bed. Her foot pressed gently against the accelerator, wishing she could shove the tractor out of her way.

The driver made a strange gesture, drawing her attention back to his silhouette before her. He was waving? The jaunty motion of the combine might be the reason for his bouncing, but Cynthia began to suspect he was laughing at something. Her eyes darted around the fields. There were no people, no cars; heck, she didn’t even see any livestock. She leaned into her steering wheel and closed the small distance between them. What was he doing up there? Laughing? He was laughing. At her. Her cheeks flared at the thought. Here she was, the only car as far as the eye could see, and this yo-yo had her trapped behind his giant jalopy, keeping her from dinner, from getting out of her suit, possibly from having a bed to sleep in, and he was laughing at her.

Cynthia jammed her toe against the brake pedal and shifted into neutral. She waited, counting to ten as the combine chugged forward, then she moved the shifter into gear, kicked her shoes off against the floorboard and applied the gas with purpose. The engine revved to life and her tires spun on handfuls of loose gravel over pavement. Her little convertible rocketed towards the combine.

At the last minute, she jumped left into the lane meant for oncoming traffic and glared up at the farmer beside her. A shadow masked his face, but she was sure he was smiling. For a moment she thought he waved at her, and she felt a pang of guilt for overreacting. It only took a second for her to understand he wasn’t waving.

“Gah,” she scoffed, ramming her gearshift down and throwing her car back into the right lane before him. She gawked in her rearview as his combine shrank into the distance. “Good riddance,” she whispered and left the combine in her dust.