I can’t look at him. I don’t want to meet his eyes and see that he looks at me differently now that he’s heard the shit said about me.

  She’s a whore, just like her lowlife of a mother was.

  She’s a bastard who even her own mother never wanted.

  She kind of looks like so and so. Do you think he could be her dad?

  Could you imagine wanting to kiss her? She might be your half-sister. Disgusting.

  I’ve heard them all. I’ve cried over them.

  I focus on the wind rustling through the willow tree above. The white petals of the wild daisy in my hand as I pluck one off at a time. The chirp of the birds flitting about overhead.

  Anything other than letting him see the shame that is eating me whole. Anything other than finding out he believes any of it.

  I was able to keep him away from it all last summer. I was an idiot to think I could do the same this year.

  It’s too hard to speak, so I keep staring at what’s left of the daisy blurring from my welling tears and brace myself for what comes next.

  Ledger’s ridiculously expensive tennis shoes come into my view as he steps up to me and squats down. I still can’t look at him.

  “You don’t deserve this, Ash. None of it. You couldn’t pick the mom you got any more than how fortunate I am to be born into my family. It’s all a crapshoot. It’s all . . .” He growls in frustration and hucks a rock as far as he can throw it. It hits the water with a loud plunk. “It makes me so mad that you have to deal with that. That you have to hear that utter crap.”

  I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yes, it is,” he practically shouts at me. “It’s horrible and wrong and—”

  “And I’ve lived here my whole life, so for the most part, after sixteen years, they pretty much don’t say it to my face. At least there’s that.”

  He shakes his head. His hands are fisted. His teeth are gritted.

  “What did they say?” I ask again.

  “Nothing.” He plops down beside me, his arm going around my shoulder and pulling me against him. “It’s nothing.”

  “Which one was it? Bastard-child Asher? She’s a slut just like her mom? She’s a homewrecker and needs to go?” I shift so I can face him, our knees bumping against each other’s. “You’d think after all this time they could think up new ones.” I emit a self-deprecating laugh to hide how I’m crumbling inside.

  “It wasn’t anything.” And the way he says those three words and the glance he gives me says it all—the slight was too harsh even for him.

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Ledger. I need to know so I can protect myself.” He looks out toward the creek, and I grab his hand. “Please.”

  “It was just something about how easy you must be, because you’re just like your mom, and questioning if I’m afraid I’ll catch something.”

  I blink the tears away, hating that he won’t look at me.

  I will not let their words get to me.

  I will not let him pity me.

  I will not . . .

  “Forget about it.” I grab his face and press a kiss to his lips. At first, they remain rigid and angry before slowly softening and kissing me back.

  It’s like little explosions of warmth happen all over my body when Ledger kisses me. Little acknowledgments that he sees the real me. Likes me for me. It’s the only time I know I’m looked at and not judged. It’s the only time I can let my guard down.

  When the kiss is over, I rest my head on his shoulder and we sit like this for some time, lost in our thoughts.

  I don’t ask who made the comment.

  Needing to know isn’t a necessity.

  Because whoever it is today, it will be a different one tomorrow. And even a different one the time after that.

  Gran and Pop have taught me that no one else defines my worth but me.

  But it still hurts like a bitch, regardless.

  “Thank you for defending me. You didn’t have to. I’m sorry you got hurt,” I whisper and press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you really have to leave next week?”

  He links his fingers with mine and sighs. The topic we’ve been avoiding the last few days is his inevitable departure back to Manhattan and his fancy prep school. We did this last summer—said goodbye before school started—and somehow stayed in touch. His coming back gave me something to look forward to. His calls, while he was gone, helped the time pass. I just hope we can make it work this time too.

  “I’ll be back next summer. We can talk all the time on the phone and text and Skype, just like we did this year. We’ll make it work, Ash.”

  “I don’t want to let you go.”

  He chuckles as we fall into our routine. “You have to, though.”

  “On one condition.” I quirk an eyebrow at him, going for humor to mask my sadness.

  “What condition is that?”

  “That you promise me you’ll come back next year. That you promise me you won’t forget me.” My voice breaks on those last words. All I can think about is the rich, sophisticated, beautiful girls at his prep school back home. Ones who have moms and aren’t called sluts. Ones who would gladly enjoy Ledger’s kisses and attention just as much as I do.

  How can I compete with that? How will phone calls and texts beat sitting beside them in class every day?

  He reaches out and runs a thumb over my cheek, his smile soft, his eyes warm. “You’re my lavender girl. How could I ever forget you?” He presses a kiss on my lips. “Stop worrying. They’re all pretentious and ridiculously shallow,” he says, reading my mind. “And I’ll make sure I talk about you so much that they’re all jealous of you.” Another tender kiss. “I won’t forget you. I wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted to.”

  Asher

  I’m daydreaming again.

  Then again, is it daydreaming if it really happened and you’re simply replaying it in your head over and over because it was that good?

  Dinner at Bessie’s Diner. Making out on the porch swing on the veranda in the moonlight. Talking on the phone into the early morning hours. My time spent with Ledger has made me feel like a teenager again in some senses and a cared-for woman in others.

  “Asher?” I look up to see George standing in the doorway. “Wow.” He scans the office. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this . . . uncluttered before.”

  “I’ve made progress, right?” My smile beams because I have, and I’m not ashamed to welcome the praise. It’s been taxing and confusing and a huge learning experience as I’ve gone through each piece of paper or receipt or napkin with scribbles on them, and tried to figure out its importance. Is it a recurring bill? Is it a monthly supply invoice I need to budget for? Is it, is it, is it . . .

  “I’m impressed. Can I show you something?”

  “Not if you’re going to ruin my good mood.”

  A smile breaks over his face. “It won’t. I promise.”

  “Whew,” I say, rising from my seat and closing the lid of my laptop. I’m nowhere near ready to have anyone see what I’m working on yet. Not until I know I can actually make it happen.

  I follow George down the steps and toward the fields. “How’s Angel doing?” I ask him about his wife.

  “Good. Stressed over the new resort. I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries to pull off a smile that looks as if it’s nothing, but . . .

  “About the resort?”

  He nods. “She’s in charge of catering over at Lakefront,” he says, referring to another smaller resort on the lake. “She thinks The Retreat is going to wipe out their business, and she’s afraid she’ll get laid off.”

  I don’t even know what to say. It’s definitely a concern of many businesses around town. “Maybe it’ll do the opposite. Maybe it’ll be the only affordable place in town to hold events if The Retreat is too expensive.”

  “Maybe.” He doesn’t sound too sure.

  I pat him on the shoulder. “Let’s hope so.”

  He nods as we round the corner, and when I look up, my feet falter. “George.” His name is a gasp as I take in the barn.

  “She looks good, doesn’t she?”

  I look from the barn, to him, then back. The weathered wood of its exterior looks brand new. He’s kept its patina charm but has not stained it to look like it was just built yesterday. “You guys did all this?”

  “Yep. We power-washed it down then sprayed on a treatment to protect it from bugs trying to find a new home.” Pride shines in his eyes.

  “In two days. You did this?”

  He nods, his grin widening. “The fields are behaving themselves, so we’ve had some time. It looks good, huh?”

  “Wow.” I take a few steps closer, shocked how such a simple thing has virtually given the ranch a facelift.

  “You’re happy with it?”

  “Happy doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “Okay. I wanted to make sure you were good with it before we started on the inside.”

  “By all means, George.” I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off it.

  “That’s it, then. See? I told you it was good news.”

  “Very good news. I mean . . . thank you.” I’m honestly in awe.

  “What are you planning on doing with this, anyway?”

  “Making this a destination, George.”

  “A destination?”

  I nod. “I’m still figuring that out, but I want other people to enjoy this place. To find happiness here. To make memories here.”

  But when I turn back toward the house again, my smile is so wide my cheeks hurt.

  For the first time, I really think I might be able to pull this off.

  What do you think, Pop?

  I hope it makes him proud too.

  A sample business proposal I found on the Internet is beside my laptop. It feels confusing and impossible with its mission statement and graphics and pricing structures. Now it’s up to me to translate all of that where my cursor blinks on the blank screen in front of me.

  I have to start somewhere, right?

  A knock on the door startles me.

  “One sec, Geor . . .” But my words fall off when I look up and find Ledger standing in the doorway.

  Seeing him is like a sucker punch to the gut and a jump-start to my libido.

  Every freaking time.

  He’s wearing casual clothes—blue jeans, a pale green V-neck that fits just right—and flip-flops adorn his feet. There’s something about seeing his choice of shoes that makes me smile.

  This is as casual as Ledger Sharpe gets, and he wears it well.

  Then again, he wears everything well.

  “Hi.” His grin could light up the room. “George? Should I presume that’s the man who just drove out of the gate in his truck?”

  It’s the first time I notice the fading sun and the color streaking across the sky indicating that it’s well past seven in the evening. “I completely lost track of time.”

  “Working on something important?” he asks. The sun is at his back, creating a halo around his silhouette.

  “Yes. No. Maybe.”

  “You can’t go wrong with that answer.” He laughs as I rise from my seat and move to him. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Just a pipe dream that I’m trying to figure out if I can make a reality.”

  “Tell me more,” he murmurs as I step into him and press my lips to his. Partially as a distraction and mostly because he and that glorious mouth of his are all I can think about.

  And just like that, the budget numbers and figures and graphics I’ve been trying to piece together all afternoon slip from my mind.

  There is only him. Only Ledger.

  “We need to stop this before I forget my surprise for you,” he murmurs against my lips before kissing me again.

  “Only if you promise we can start where we left off later.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Wait. Did you say surprise?”

  “Go for a walk with me?” he asks cryptically and holds out his hand.

  I look at him and then look at his hand. “Here? On the farm?”

  “Yep.”

  We take off in a slow stroll toward the back part of the property, walking near the end of the Folgate. There’s a breeze, which makes the lavender look like it’s at the bottom of the ocean, its leaves floating back and forth like water. A tide of purple.

  There is a lot to be said about The Fields, but one thing that’s always held true is its sight, scent, and the tranquility that comes with each of them, leaving an indelible mark on you.

  It was my short-lived time at the Pratt Institute that made me realize it.

  It was returning home to take care of Gran and nurse the pain of losing my dream that reinforced it.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Ledger says.

  “It is. And so very far from your normal, everyday life.”

  “True,” he says with a nod, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize beauty when I see it.” He looks at me in a way that says he’s talking about me.

  I blush like an idiot and look around, curious what this whole walk thing is about. What is he up to? But rather than give me any clues, he just swings our hands back and forth.

  “When did that happen to the barn?” he asks. “I’m usually an observant person. Did I miss that it’s always looked like that or has something changed?”

  “I figured this place needed some curb appeal.” I’m not ready to tell him about my idea yet. I need more time to figure it all out. The last thing I want to do is make an ass out of myself for aiming too high. Especially with someone like Ledger who brings and transforms resorts to life for a living.

  “It looks great. What else have you got in mind?”

  “I’m figuring that out,” I say, more than grateful when he doesn’t push for more. “What about you? Any headway with the mayor and his ridiculous demands?”

  “Some. We’ve hired local contractors who want to work with us. It’s a costly move given the cancelations with outside companies already contracted. But we’re making it work and trying to make it right since we did overpromise and under-deliver.”

  “That’s admirable.”

  He shrugs. “It’s the right thing to do. Did it give Grossman the right to blackmail us over it? Force me to be here for two damn months? No way in hell, but we pride ourselves on standing by our word—so we will.”

  Two damn months.

  In that whole comment, that is what I heard the most. What my mind fixated on. I knew this was the scenario. Ledger told me the time frame that first night at Hank’s almost three weeks ago, but hearing it now after . . . everything, makes it hit a lot harder.

  He’s going to leave again, Asher.

  It’s no surprise. You knew that. Enjoy him while you can . . . but guard your heart.

  Easier said than done because, despite my resolve and the short few weeks we have been involved, I already know my head and heart aren’t on the same page.

  It’s ridiculous. How could what some would consider puppy love as a teenager suddenly come back with a vengeance upon seeing that same person as an adult?

  Get a grip.

  This isn’t love.

  This is lust with a side of history thrown in.

  And as if Ledger timed the reveal of his secret to stop my over-analytic mind, I look over to see why Ledger has stopped walking. In the middle of the clearing, he has a blanket laid out. On one of its corners is a basket with a few bottles of wine beside it.

  I look over at him and simply shake my head. Words escape me.

  “This is the place, right? Where we used to go and get lost in nothing but each other?” he asks as if my silence is a bad thing.

  “Yes.” The single syllable is laced with surprise, affection, and . . . love. “How—I mean—what—”

  “You deserved a date. Especially one without the town watching your every move. This—our old stomping ground—fit the bill. At least we won’t have to worry about Pop catching us fooling around.”

  “Oh my God,” I say as I step forward, stretching our hands across the distance between us. “Do you remember that time—”

  “When my hand was up your shirt and your hand was down my pants and Pop came out—”

  “With a flashlight?” I laugh. “There’s no way he didn’t know what was going on.”

  “None. At all.” Ledger’s smile is wistful, and it strikes me that it’s a rare look from him. He’s always steadfast. Always intense. Something else looks good on him. “I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life.”

  “My favorite was the sweatshirt you balled in your lap to hide your hard-on.”

  “I totally forgot about that.” He laughs.

  “How could you? You stammered out excuse after excuse about why you couldn’t stand and take a walk with Pop when he asked you to go check out the new tire swing—”

  “No. It was the new tractor because he said city boys needed to learn how easily accidents can happen on a farm. I’m pretty sure he wanted to add me to that statistic by pushing me under the tire simply to prevent me from touching you again.”

  “As any father would.”

  We both laugh, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve thought about Pop and truly laughed at his memory rather than feeling sorrow.

  I’m healing.

  Minute by minute. Day by day. Memory by memory.

  And I think a huge part of it is having Ledger here to talk about him with.

  As we approach the blanket, he stops when I squeeze his hand. “This was very thoughtful of you and just what I needed. Thank you.” I step up on my toes and press a kiss to his lips. His hands slide up the length of my spine before fisting in the hair at my neck as he deepens the kiss.

  My body reacts to his touch, to his lips, to everything about him in a way I don’t remember doing for anybody else before. Nothing is ever enough. His touch. The groans of pleasure in the back of his throat. The feel of his muscles tensing beneath my palms as I run my hands up and down the plane of his chest.

  “If that’s what I get for a picnic in a field, you can bet your ass I’ll be planning something more elaborate next time.”