most of her other birthdays, the party was much more about everyone else in the world than it was about Ginger, which made Woodman’s thoughtfulness all the more precious to her.
“You got me somethin’?” she asked, the heaviness in her heart relaxing as she fell into step beside him.
“Course! You’re twelve. Hell, next year you’ll be a teenager, Gin, and then . . .”
“And then?”
He stopped halfway up the gravel road that led to the main house, the sound of glasses clinking and a fiddle playing bluegrass floating down to them on the breeze.
“And then you’ll be . . . well . . .” He swallowed, dropping his eyes to his shoes.
“Woodman?” she prompted.
He looked up, his cheeks pinker than they’d been before. “Nothin’.”
“You’re actin’ weird.” She smacked his arm lightly and grinned up at him. “Now, ’bout this present . . .”
He smiled, his features relaxing as he dropped her hand and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pink velvet pouch and offering it to her.
“What is it?” she demanded, reaching for it with an excited giggle.
“Open it and see.”
She pulled the drawstring and opened her hand to catch whatever was inside, sighing “Ohhh!” as a silver charm bracelet caught the setting sun behind them and made the shiny metal sparkle in her palm. “It’s just darlin’!”
“You like it, Gin?”
“I love it!” she said, throwing her arms around Woodman, the bracelet clutched carefully in her fisted hand around his neck.
His arms came around her, his chest pushing into hers like he was holding his breath. After a moment, he exhaled against her neck, and his warm, sweet breath kissed her skin like a promise. She felt her heart kick into a gallop, suddenly aware—all too aware—of Woodman’s maleness. His body, pressed into hers, didn’t have the flashy definition of his cousin’s, but it was solid and strong pushed flush against her small breasts.
“I wanted you to have somethin’ special,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear as the picker on top of the hill switched from a bluegrass lullaby to “Sweet Virginia.”
Her skin flushed with heat just as goose bumps popped up along her bare arms. She was cold and hot, and for the first time in her lifelong friendship with Woodman, she felt embarrassed, like a secret that he’d kept from her for years and years was suddenly out in the open. Confused and a little shaken, she stepped away from him, careful not to seek out his eyes and opening her fist to distract herself.
“What all’s on it?” she asked, her voice trembling a little, her body aching for more of something she couldn’t name.
His eyes, which seemed a darker green than ever before, glanced down at the bracelet, as he cleared his throat. “Uh, um, well, a little barn there . . . to remind you of the annual jump. And, uh, an apple. For Apple Valley. That there’s a little banjo, ’cause your pickin’ sure is gettin’ good. I thought that little silver horse looked like Heath. And then there’s . . . a, um . . .”
She looked more closely and noticed a small silver heart behind the horse. “A heart.”
Looking up at Woodman, she felt her own heart flutter with some indescribable emotion caught somewhere between hope and unease as she asked, “Yours or mine?”
He stared at her, his eyes as true and earnest as always, though his cheeks sported a deep pink now. Just this summer she’d noticed the blond hair on his face—the light mustache when he didn’t shave, the stubbly beard along his square jaw at the end of the day, when he was covered in dust from working with Klaus. He was growing up just as fast as Cain, but it hadn’t registered—she hadn’t really seen it—until right now.
“Mine,” he whispered, taking the bracelet from her palm and hooking it carefully around her wrist.
***
Two hours later, the party was winding down, and Ginger, who’d blown out her candles with Woodman beside her, stood alone at one of the many white-painted split rail fences on McHuid Farm, looking out over the bright green paddocks as she toyed with the bracelet around her wrist and remembered Woodman’s declaration.
Mine.
She screwed up her face and sighed. She didn’t like it that Woodman, who was her friend—her most beloved friend in all the world—had made her feel such confusing things this afternoon. She didn’t like it that her cheeks had gotten so hot while they’d hugged. She didn’t like it that