Page 12

Lexi

Twenty-Five Years Earlier

The sun over Sutter Creek bears down heavy over the earth, baking the ground beneath our feet. But it does little to slow down our summer fun. To my twelve-year-old self, time isn’t something to savor. The school break simply feels like an endless, magical time to play in various sections of the wide open land connecting our properties. We’d run through the vines from sunup to sundown. They were a maze built just for us.

“Bet you can’t catch me, Lex!” Sam yells over his shoulder, his dark hair flying wild as he darts down one of the long rows.

“You cheated! You took a shortcut!” I laugh, my sneakers kicking up small clouds of dirt as I sprint after him, my chest heaving with the sheer joy of a summer day that felt like it would stretch on forever.

“Watch it, you two!” one of the field workers calls out, wiping sweat from his brow with a bandana as we tear past his picking crate. “You’d better be careful around those vines. If Hank catches you trampling the low branches, he’ll have you both hauling water buckets till sundown.”

“The old man would have to catch me first.” Sam throws his head back and laughs. The bright sound always makes me feel like I can run ten miles without stopping.

“What about me?” I whine through giggles. “You’re faster than I am. Don’t let him catch me, Sam. I don’t want to be a bucket lady.” I hoot.

“Bucket baby, you mean.” He guffaws.

“Hey!”

Sam ducks under a heavy wire trellis, flashing me a mischievous grin before disappearing into the thick canopy near the edge of the property. One game turns into another, and we run, play, and laugh until one of our family sounds the horn that it’s time to come in for dinner.

By the time late afternoon rolls around, our wild game of chase has dissolved into hide-and-seek along the shaded tree line where the rows meet the wild oak grove. The heat and humidity are thick. Between the climate and the constant activity, my lids grow heavy as the cicadas buzz within the high branches.

I sink down into a thick patch of soft, overgrown grass tucked behind the trunk of an old oak tree. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I count to thirty and wait for Sam to search for me. Yet the warmth of the earth beneath me is intoxicating. My lids grow impossibly heavy, the filtered golden light through the leaves blurring into a soft haze. Before I even realize I’m drifting, I’ve fallen fast asleep.

When I wake, the sharp edge of the afternoon sun has softened into the quiet orange glow of twilight. Confused, I rub my eyes. How long had I been asleep?

I don’t open my eyes right away. Not until I feel the gentle, feather-light brush of fingers threading through my hair near my temple.

Startled, my eyes flutter open. Sam is kneeling in the grass right beside me, his knees caked in dried mud and his shirt dusty from our day in the field. He’s being so quiet, so remarkably gentle for a boy who usually moves through life like a tornado.

I reach up, my hand brushing against his warm fingers, and feel the delicate stem he’s tucked behind my ear. It’s a small twig of yellow and blue wildflowers he must’ve picked from the creek bed.

Our eyes meet, and Sam just shrugs, a soft, rare little smile touching his lips.

“Pretty,” he whispers as if someone might hear and make fun.

A strange spark ignites in the pit of my stomach. It’s weird. It’s a fluttering, weightless feeling, like I’ve accidentally swallowed a butterfly. My heart gives a strange, hard thud against my ribs.

I know he meant the flowers. Of course, he meant the flowers. But as I look up into his big blue eyes, an odd thought blooms in my muddled brain.

I’d give anything if he meant me.

The thought scares me so much I find myself holding my breath. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. We’ve shared juice boxes, traded comic books, and built forts in the dirt. I know the exact shade his cheeks turn when he’s about to get into trouble, and he knows never to touch my braids. It takes me too long to do them right and place the hair tie around the bottom.

Is this what it feels like to have a crush?

Whatever this strange ache in my chest is, it isn’t supposed to happen with the boy next door. The one who helped me dig for earthworms. It’s the innocence of childhood colliding with something new. A feeling I don’t quite understand yet.

I don’t know where that reaction came from, or why I let my hand linger on his. Sitting in the cooling grass as the crickets begin their evening song, I can’t help but question whether something has shifted between us.

Something tells me that no matter how fast I try to outrun this sensation, the days of being childhood playmates may be coming to a close. I just hope if this is a crush, it doesn’t break me.

Chapter Seven

Sam

With the most recent Sutter Creek catastrophe dealt with, for now at least, my focus is set squarely on tackling the finances. Sitting at this desk is damn demoralizing. It feels as if I’m working in a funeral home.