Teddy

A WHIRLWIND OF FLUFFY WHITE DANDELION WISHERS float around my feet as I trudge a path through the grass. Just last week the ground was covered in a bright sea of yellow before the dandelions transitioned, the hardy weed overtaking the grass in reckless abandon.

Since I was a young child, I always loved the appearance of dandelions. How they dot the earth in their cheerful presence, only to transform into a vessel of wishes.

I bend to pluck one from the ground, holding it in my hands while I think of the perfect wish. Then I bring it to my mouth and blow, watching the seeds fly away, caught in the light breeze.

"What'd you wish?" a masculine voice whispers in my ear from behind me. An arm snakes around my stomach, drawing me closer to his body.

I turn my head to look at Jensen, shining my brightest smile, signaling a warning for a smartass remark in 3, 2, 1.... Before I can open my mouth to speak, though, he silences me with a kiss. Even from this awkward position, his kiss ignites a colony of butterflies in my stomach. I turn in his arms without breaking the kiss and stand on tiptoes to hook my arms around his neck. When he tries to pull away, I fist my hands in his hair and hold him captive against me.

He laughs when he finally manages to inch away, his breath warming my face. "Let me guess, your wish was something dirty?"

I steal a few more kisses before falling onto my feet. "I can't tell you. I'm afraid it'll be months with no action if I do."

I take off on a run, squealing, as he chases me across the farm. We come to a halt in front of the cutely styled hut designated for the Wood Fire Pizza Nights. There's a window cut into the side of the building with a solid ledge for writing down people's pizza orders. On the outside of the building are two large chalkboards hung on either side of the window, listing the nightly specials on one and the regular menu on the other. Off to the side is a tall cooler with a glass door that holds all the non-alcoholic beverages.

We walk around the building and pass another window cut into the side. A sign denotes this as the pick-up window. Jars are lined up along the wooden ledge filled with cutlery and napkins and condiments. Rounding another corner of the building, we come to the door that opens into a small counter that sells the limited supply of alcohol. We only stock local brews and wines from nearby breweries and wineries.

Finally, our stroll around the building takes us to the rear door. Before I can open it, Jensen pulls me to a stop. He snatches my hand and tugs me toward him, sandwiching our hands between us. "We're no longer in a fight," he declares unceremoniously.

"Oh, yeah?" I smirk. "That's good to know."

Just as he tilts his head down to kiss me, the door opens, revealing a woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun and wears a white apron over her clothes. "Oh, hey," she says when she notices us. "Vivi said you'd be helping out tonight."

"Hi, Rosie." Jensen nods at his employee. "Happy to help. Put me to work wherever."

Rosie has run the pizza nights for the last several years, perfecting an organized system that keeps things rolling in an orderly fashion. She won't let a minor detail like her boss subbing in for the night deter her. She's the boss in this setting.

"Will do," she confirms. "If you two could start chopping the fruit and veggies on the counter, that'd be great. I'll be right back."

When she disappears around the corner, Jensen steals the kiss that was interrupted before guiding me inside the kitchen.

The smell of garlic permeates the air, and I follow the smell to a large pot simmering on the stove. I stir the bubbling marinara sauce, sniffing the aromatic smells. My stomach rumbles in response.

"Hungry, Chipmunk?" Jensen asks, looking at the sauce over my shoulder. "You didn't skip lunch, did you?"

Most lunch hours are spent with Jensen in his apartment above the offices, but today I was preoccupied with the extra chores in preparation for the opening of the pizza nights. I shrug in response and go to the prep counters to find a basket full of onions, peppers, mushrooms, and pineapples.

Jensen follows me over. I hand him an apron, but instead of putting it on himself, he drapes the strap over my head, spins me around and ties the strings on my back. He slaps my butt signaling he's done and then grabs another apron for himself. After washing our hands, we set to work chopping side by side at the counter.

Rosie returns a handful of minutes later, a group of people bustling in behind her. It's her usual crew who work the pizza nights alongside her. Vivi brings up the rear, and she smiles when her eyes settle on us.

"Jensen, you showed up!" She walks up between us and whispers in my direction, "Is he still grumpy?"

Jensen hip checks her, and she bumps into me. "Watch it, little sister. I'm wielding a knife."

Holding her hands up, she wisely backs away. "Thanks for filling in. Looks like the rest of the crew is here, so it's probably ok for you to head out once you're done with the chopping. Is that right, Rosie? Or do you need them for anything else?"

Rosie looks up from her task at the stove and nods in agreement before returning to work.

Jensen and I make a great team as we work together and soon the basket is empty. We tidy up the station, remove our aprons and bid our goodbyes to everyone.

The temperature outside is noticeably cooler and it feels good against my damp skin. I lift the braid off my neck to allow airflow to cool me down, and Jensen steps up behind me, pressing his lips to my exposed skin. Goosebumps work their way down my neck and over my shoulders, following the trail of his lips.

"Want to stay and order a pizza for supper?" he asks before lightly grazing his teeth over my earlobe. He spins me around to face him, waiting for my response.

"Duh."

After being forced to smell the sauce for the past 30 minutes, all I've been thinking about is the pizza. Plus, the opening night has always been my favorite. Most of the locals show up, creating a party buzz to the atmosphere.

Jensen intertwines our fingers as we backtrack our earlier steps to the side of the building that houses the alcohol. He nods his head in that direction, a silent question. "Yes, please."

We part ways with a soft goodbye kiss, him to the bar and me to mingle with the community.

Picnic tables are set up all over the property, but some families bring their own chairs or opt to dine picnic-style on blankets. Off to one side is a designated playground area with wooden play structures and a giant sandbox. One corner has a makeshift stage with a wooden platform under a canopy where local bands will sometimes play. Another area has a large stone firepit with Adirondack chairs circling it. Later, the fire will be lit and the makings for smores will be available for those interested. The whole greenspace is decorated with twinkling lights, which creates the most romantic setting when the sun sets.

Groups of people are spread around, claiming their spots, and then moving through the crowds to visit with each other.

I skirt the perimeter, taking in the setting with a smile on my face. This night marks the beginning of many outdoor events in Lake Hope, specifically at Anderson Farm; and after a long winter, it never fails to incite the same childish excitement in me.

"There's my Teddy Bear!" Rylie shouts from across the space. I spot her dodging between people before she finally reaches me. She has a wine glass in her hand, and she holds it away from us as she brings me into a one-arm hug.

"I guess we never discussed our plans for tonight, did we? I just assumed everyone would come here instead of Roxy's since it's the opener." I look around to see if I spot any others from our group. Sutton and Vivi are huddled together with a group of people near the firepit, Sutton's loud laugh giving her position away. I scan the crowd for the others when I notice Finn heading in our direction.

"Oooh, look what the cat dragged in," Rylie purrs when he's within hearing distance. "Puurrr."

Finn caresses his eyes over her, starting at her feet and lingering at her chest a few beats longer than should be comfortable. When he finally reaches her face, she's grinning widely at him.

"Wylie Rylie, hot as sin, as always," Finn finally greets her.

I laugh at them, thoroughly enjoying the way they play off one another. Although they relentlessly flirt and shamelessly lean into the sexual chemistry between them, they've never actually pursued each other. Rylie confessed one night after too much wine that it would probably be a sinfully fun night, but since neither of them have any inclination of settling into a comfortable relationship, she'd rather not create awkwardness and tension among their group.

"And where's your more attractive clone?" Rylie asks, taking a sip of her wine.

"Oh, you must have me confused with my twin. I am the more attractive one. Charlie's...somewhere..." Finn gestures vaguely around the farm.

Rylie surveys the man. "Hmmmm, based on that ratty shirt I know has a hole in the armpit since you wear it like every other day," she pauses to lift his arm to showcase the hole before continuing her assessment, "and the jeans covered in dirt, I'm going to have to give my most attractive twin award to Charlie. I'm sure he had the sense to change after work and is now in his signature polo." She gestures toward the unruly curls falling into his eyes. "And don't get me started on that. Your twin's head doesn't look like some sort of bird chose it for their nest."

Finn smirks at her as he runs a hand through his hair, doing nothing to tame the curls, the offending words only amusing him further.

Finn and Charlie are identical in most ways—matching ice blue eyes and the same dimples punctuating their grins. Only the minor differences give them away. The most noticeable one being their personal style choices.

Finn chooses to keep his hair shorter on the sides with the curls falling over his forehead, whereas Charlie religiously gets his trimmed every other week to maintain the short style. Finn's clothes are casual, with graphic tees and worn jeans (of which Rylie constantly ribs him about his "immature style"), where Charlie dresses more preppy in polo shirts and crisp jeans he undoubtedly irons.

If I'd pick a twin for Rylie based solely on physical appearance, it'd definitely go to Charlie. He more closely resembles her usual preferences. But when it comes to personality, Finn is the one who best matches her wit and quirks.

"Careful, Wylie, your insults are like foreplay to my ears."

Rylie palms his face, pushing his head backwards. Before she can back away, he grabs her wrist, trapping her in place. "You have me, now what are you going to do with me?" she tempts him in a sultry voice.

"Oh, gross," Sutton groans as she and Vivi sidle over to us. "You guys should just fuck and get it over with already. We're all sick of watching this tired show every week."

"She couldn't handle me," Finn drawls at the same time Rylie declares, "I'd destroy him."

"My money is on Rylie," Jensen says, joining the group with a bottle of beer in each hand. He hands me one with a kiss on my cheek. "Sorry it took so long. I got cornered by Marg. Pretty sure she was interviewing me for her column."

Rylie and I lock eyes before I screech, "Marg is here?"

We do some best friend telepathy and break free from the group. "What's the plan?" I demand. "Tell me you have a plan."

Rylie empties the contents of her cup down her throat and wipes a hand over her mouth. "Don't rush me, woman. I am not prepared. I didn't realize tonight would be the night."

"Uh," Vivi interrupts our two-person huddle, and I realize they're all staring at us suspiciously. "What's going on right now?"

"Best guess is they're trying to weasel their way into Paperback Riders," Sutton supplies the group.

"Um, no," I hedge. "That's not true. Even a little bit. We just, uh, want to talk to her about an idea for her column."

"What the fuck is a paperback rider?" Finn asks. He's standing with his hands wedged in the back pockets of his jeans.

"Mind your business, boy," Rylie shushes him. She waves a dismissive hand at our friends and tugs me away to a semi-private corner of the farm. "So...the plan..."

"Well, hello, ladies," a voice pipes up from behind us, startling us so much we jump and beer splashes out of the bottle in my hand. When we realize it's the woman in question greeting us, we instantly become mute.

Marg's dress pattern of choice today is pink flamingos lounging on pool floaties; and the fabric is so mesmerizing, I can't peel my eyes away. Finally, though, I remember my manners and respond. "Hi, Marg. Nice to see you, as always. Are you enjoying the pizza night opener? Nice night for it, right?"

Rylie winces next to me confirming my suspicions that I completely botched it in the coolness factor. "Marg," she tries instead, "what a lovely dress. Is it new? I don't think I've had the pleasure of seeing this one before."

Marg holds the boxy dress out at the sides to show it off in all its glory. "Why, yes, it is. I found the fabric in a clearance bin at Joann Fabrics and knew it'd make the most perfect dress."

We nod our heads, willing to agree to just about anything in our efforts to suck up to the lady who controls our book club destiny. Marg continues telling us about the other fabric she purchased on this shopping trip, never breaking her stride, as she pulls two white envelopes out of the pocket in her dress and conspicuously presses them into our hands, subtly gesturing the universal sign for zip your lips. When her story ends, she claps her hands together and wishes us a goodnight, never once broaching the topic of the envelopes that exchanged hands.

Rylie and I share wide-eyed looks, conducting a silent conversation. We nod at each other and then pivot on our heels, walking at a pace that puts power-walking middle-aged women to shame. We burst through Rylie's office and lock the door behind us before flipping on the lights. Still, even in complete privacy, we stare at each other.

Once the shock wears off, we hold up the envelopes to the light, examining them from every angle.

"This is it, right?" I ask, finally breaking the silence.

"It better be," Rylie exclaims. "If this is an invitation to her annual beginning of summer BBQ, I am going to be pissed."

"No, no. She puts that in the paper. Never hand-delivers invitations." I wave off Rylie's doubts. "Plus, look how official these look. This is it. I can feel it."

"On the count of three?" she asks, running a finger under the sealed seam of the envelope.

When I nod, we begin the countdown together. On three, we tear into the envelopes to reveal gold-embossed invitations. I don't read anything past the words "Paperback Riders" before I'm jumping up and down screaming.

"We did it, Ry! We did it! We're in!"