The Best Man. Kristan Higgins
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make me a snob.” She flipped a braid over her shoulder.
“And I am?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “You never talked to me till this year, and even then, it’s only because of Jeremy. And even then, only when you have to.”
He didn’t answer, just tied up another vine. “So everyone has to adore you, is that it?”
“No. But we’ve known each other since third grade. We were both in that special reading club that Mrs. Spritz had, remember? And I invited you to our Halloween party.”
Oh, yeah. Pumpkin carving and apple bobbing and a haunted hay ride. That’d been a fun night, even if it had been weird, being in the famed Holland house. “Right.”
“But I wasn’t cool enough for you to talk to. And when my mother died, you were the only one in our class not to write me a note.”
He felt his face flush. “Quite a memory you got there, Holland,” he muttered, tying up a few more branches.
“Well, you always remember people who hurt your feelings.”
Oh, the poor little drama queen. “So you wanted to come to the trailer park and play?”
“One time,” she continued, “I sat next to you at lunch, not to be near you, just because it was the empty seat next to Colleen. And you got up and moved, like you couldn’t stand to sit near me.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips, and the lust stirred again, even as she was listing his sins. “So.” Her voice was calm with just a little edge to it. “Who’s the real snob here, Levi?”
Girls. Way too complicated. He missed Jess, who more or less used him for sex. At least she was direct. He bent over and tied up another dangling vine, lifting up the grapes carefully. “You’re not very smart in the ways of the world, are you, rich girl?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
He gave her a look. “I would.”
“Why?”
He remembered how she and her mother used to come down to West’s Trailer Park once in a while with a bag of clothes for Jessica. Lady Bountiful and her little angel, visiting the poor. Sometime around fifth grade or so, he’d found Jess hiding in the little cave of scrub bushes they used as a fort, waiting for the Hollands to leave. She’d been crying. Even then, he understood. Being poor was one thing; having the people on the Hill decide you were their charity case was another. Levi’s mom may have had to work two jobs, and money was always a worry, but they’d done okay. Scrappy, his mom liked to say.
But the Dunns had been truly poor. Food stamps and electricity turned off kind of poor. No way they could turn away a bag of nice clothes and coats. Small wonder Jess hated Faith.
His silence seemed to make Faith mad. She grabbed a vine with gusto, her movements sharp, rather than flowing now. “It’s funny that you think we’re rich. We’re not. We’re not even close.”
“I grew up in a trailer, Faith. Your idea of rich and mine are pretty different.”
“Which made it okay for you to hate me all these years.”
“I don’t hate you, for crying out loud.”
“No. You just ignored me and made me feel like a lump, and God forbid we should ever be friends.”
“You wanna be friends? Fine. We’re friends. Let’s play Barbies and go to the movies.”
She rolled her eyes and bent down to tie another vine. “I never understood why Jeremy thinks you walk on water. I think you’re a jackass.”
“Now, see? I want to be friends, and you’re calling me names.”
“Jackass.”
“Does this mean no tea party later on?”
She glared. He grinned.
And then she blushed, her cheeks growing pink, color staining her throat and chest. Her eyes fluttered down his bare torso. Then she jerked her gaze back to the vine and fumbled for a tie. Dropped it.
Well, well, well. Levi’s smile grew.
“You’re doing a crappy job,” she said, glancing back at his row. “You need to use more ties, or the grapes will be too heavy, and you’ll lose the fruit.”
“Is that right,” he murmured. Actually, his work had gotten spotty only since she’d arrived.
She came over to his row and demonstrated. “This one, see, it’s off the ground for now, but when the grapes mature, they’ll get too heavy. See?”
“Yep.” She smelled like grapes and vanilla and dirt and sunshine and sweat. The stir of lust became a throb.
“Tie it up higher,” she said, kneeling down to demonstrate. Faith Holland, on her knees in front of him. How could he not picture what he was picturing? “Just go back along what you’ve already done and make sure you got everything.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Her shirt brushed his ribs as she stood up and went back to her row.
Keep your eyes to yourself. And get going. The Lyons are paying you. You can jerk off later.
The mental advice worked for an hour.
She was much faster and steadier than he was, he had to give her that. He looked at the sky, which was a perfect, endless blue, and decided it was time to eat.
“You want some lunch, rich girl?” he called. She was twenty yards or so ahead of him.
“I brought my own,” she answered.
“Then do you want to eat with me? Now that we’re BFFs?”
“Such a jackass.”
“Is that a yes?” He lowered his chin and gave her a patient look, something that had always worked well with girls.
“Sure,” she grumbled.
Hey, idiot, his brain chided. She was dating your best friend a few days ago. What are you doing?
But the facts were blurring fast. First of all, there was the whole Jeremy-shouldn’t-be-dating-a-girl thing. Speaking of Jeremy, he wasn’t even in the Empire State at the moment. Then there was the breakup, or whatever they wanted to call it.
And let’s not forget the sight of a dewy and dirty Faith Holland in cutoff jeans and a shirt tied under her generous chest, and the fact that she was irritated with him, which Levi had learned generally meant a girl was interested.
She came over to him, taking out her braids and retying her hair in a ponytail. “There’s a nice place about five minutes from here. By the falls. Do you know it?”
He shook his head, looking at her steadily. She had blue eyes. He never really noticed before. Freckles.
She swallowed.
Oh, yeah. Faith Holland was feeling some feelings.
“Come on, then,” she said. They walked up to her father’s truck, the dog running ahead. Levi grabbed his shirt from where he’d dropped it and pulled it on.
John Holland’s truck smelled pleasantly of old coffee and oil, just as dirty inside as the outside, the dashboard and seats covered in dried mud and dust. Smiley jumped, his feathery tail hitting Levi in the face. “Sit, pooch,” he said, and the dog obeyed, his furry side pressed against Levi’s arm. Seemed like the Hollands always had a Golden retriever or two. There was always one in their brochures.
“You guys breed these monsters?” he asked Faith as she started the truck and put it in gear. The fact that she could drive a made-in-America pickup truck with a standard transmission only increased her hot factor.
“We belong to the Golden Retriever Rescue League,” she answered. Smiley