Four Weddings and a Swamp Boat Tour - Erin Nicholas Page 0,14
of commenting on her living here for the next few months. Or forever.
“Really?”
“Yep. There are dozens of uses.”
“And it’s not really moss at all,” she said. “It’s a flowering plant that’s actually related to pineapple.”
He grinned. “You did do your homework.”
She looked pleased. “The Native Americans called it ‘tree hair,’ and then when the Spanish and French settlers came, they came up with names for it that were supposed to be insulting to the other. Since the French outlasted the Spanish in this area, ‘Spanish moss’ stuck.”
“You’ve got it,” he said. “So do you know about the tupelo tree fruit and honey?”
“No. I didn’t read about tupelo trees.”
“Well, the Ogeechee tupelos have a fruit we call ‘Ogeechee limes.’ They’re used in drinks and sauces. But what they’re really known for is the honey. Gets a really high price. Kind of a vanilla flavor. Beekeepers bring their hives down here by boat and float the hives along the water when the trees are blooming in April and May.”
“Wow.” Paige was looking out at the trees again and seemed genuinely fascinated.
“I’ll get you some so you can try it.”
“I’d love that.” She gave him a sweet smile.
The kind of smile that made him want to declare that she could have anything she wanted from him for the rest of his days.
He was so screwed here. This woman was going to meet his family and go running.
“We can come down and check out the bees in April, too,” he suggested.
Was he pushing his luck asking her to still be here in April? Maybe. Giving her a reason to stick around? Hopefully.
She slid him a look that said it was maybe more pushing his luck. But she nodded. “Maybe.”
Well, that wasn’t back the fuck off, buddy.
“What else do you want to know about the bayou?” he asked.
“I think I want to know what you wanted to get me alone for.”
He looked at her. That was a question with many answers. The simplest was that he just wanted to be with her. Talk to her, hear her voice, see her face, make her laugh. They’d been apart for a week, and he’d missed her. It had been six months between the first time they met and the second. He’d thought of her constantly, texted her, acknowledged that she was the reason he had no interest in any other women.
But this time… since he’d left Iowa, he’d been nearly aching for her. The texts had still been sweet and fun, but they’d wound him tighter every time one came in. He’d actually talked himself out of getting in his truck and heading back to Appleby twice.
Now she was here. She’d come here, to him, of her volition. And now he was wound tight in a new way.
Having her here, in his world, in his life, was going to make it so much harder when she left.
If she left.
No. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t think about it like that. He needed to just enjoy the time she was here.
He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’ve missed you,” he said honestly. “I wanted a chance to find out if you’re okay. What you’re thinking. What I can do.”
She studied their hands, then lifted her eyes to his. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“What?”
“That you want to know what you can do for me. How you can make it all better. Without even knowing what ‘it’ is or what it would take to make it better.”
He thought about that. Then lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”
She took a deep breath. “Maybe I should spend the night and then head out.”
“Back to Iowa?” His frown was deep and immediate.
“No. Just… maybe I should just road trip. See some sights. I wanted to get away and have alone time. Maybe that’s the way to do it. Now that I’m packed up and on the road.”
She’d told him last week that she’d been planning a Year of Aloneness—her actual term for it. She felt stifled by her family and frustrated with their expectations and she wanted a chance to do her own thing out from under their watchful eyes. Her plan was pretty specific. She’d been saving up money to go to Colorado Springs. She planned to teach yoga and just live alone, enjoying her space, and the chance to make her own choices without explanation or judgment. For a year. She didn’t intend to leave home for good, but she needed a break.