Wander and Roam (Wander #1) Page 3

  “Since I’m ready to go, why don’t I give you some space to change? Meet you at the tables?”

  A loud yawn escapes. “See you in fifteen.”

  Twenty minutes later, I’m still brushing my hair. When I glance at my watch, I can’t believe how much time has passed. Normally, I throw on whatever clothes are the cleanest and most convenient then quickly brush my teeth. I’m lucky if I even take the time to run a brush through my hair.

  I wrinkle my nose, throw the brush on the bathroom counter, and muss up my hair a bit. I rush down the trail to the covered breakfast area. Walking so quickly leaves little time to wonder about my radical shift. Why would I care what Sage thinks of me?

  When I finally reach the tables, Sage reads his book, so engrossed he doesn’t even notice me.

  “We have oatmeal this morning.” Susan points out various bowls that dot the table. “There are fresh peaches and berries, cinnamon sugar, and dried currents and raisins. Fix your bowl however you’d like.”

  “Wow, this looks incredible.” I fill a bowl with oatmeal then add peaches and cinnamon sugar to the top. “I never imagined we’d be getting such delicious meals.”

  “Cooking’s how I get my pleasure.” Susan gestures to the empty land around us. “I’m lucky I have the two of you to feed. It would get lonely cooking only for myself.”

  Zachary peeks his head over Susan’s shoulder and shrieks from his backpack.

  “Don’t worry, no one has forgotten you.” Sage leans over just enough to tickle Zachary’s toes. “You’re just too little to eat much.”

  Susan turns to two metal carafes. “Sage only drinks green tea, so there’s hot water in the first, but I made another carafe of coffee in case you prefer something stronger.”

  “Thanks.” I pour a steaming cup of java. “I’m not fun in the mornings without my caffeine fix.”

  “Come up to the house if you need anything else.” She waves as she heads home.

  I settle across from Sage, who continues to read his book. The next few minutes are an exercise in patience. Sage seems to be respecting my need to be alone, but the silence presses on me.

  I haven’t wanted to talk to anybody in forever. In actuality, it’s only been six months. I could even give you the exact last date I initiated a genuine social interaction. That date is emblazoned across my mind. I’ll never forget it.

  Sage takes a bite, licks his spoon, then turns the page. I watch him for ten agonizingly long minutes before I cannot take another minute of silence.

  “That’s a different book than you were reading this morning.” Cinnamon and peach melt in my mouth as I take my first bite of oatmeal. I cannot believe I’m sitting here, initiating conversations. When I pictured volunteering on a far-away Australian farm, I figured I was signing up for a few months of lovely isolation.

  “I usually read a few books at once.” He places his book, something about the Dalai Lama and compassion, cover down.

  “Interesting reading choices. Why all the Buddhist stuff?” Guys in my college were too busy going to the next party or hitting on the cutest girl to care about religion. Especially religions from halfway across the world.

  Sage reaches for the first carafe, pours steaming water over his tea bag, and studies the clear green liquid. “Australia wasn’t my first choice of destinations. If it were up to me, I would have gone to an Asian country. Thailand or Cambodia, maybe.”

  “What would you have done there?” I take a drink of the rich, pungent coffee.

  “They have these Buddhist monasteries that welcome visitors. You can stay for a week or a month and pray and meditate with the monks.”

  He was different from the guys back home, but I didn’t realize how different. “You wanted to become a monk?”

  He smiles but shakes his head. “Not a monk. I wouldn’t have minded studying meditation and yoga techniques with their masters, though.”

  “What stopped you from going? Was it too expensive?”

  Sage takes a long sip of his tea. “My mother’s a worrier. She didn’t like the idea of my traveling abroad at all, so we comprised. I needed to pick a western, first-world country within a half-hour’s reach of a major city.”

  “Wow, talk about overprotective.”

  Sage’s smile falters. “Yeah, well, she has reasons for worrying so much, so I tried to make her more comfortable with me leaving.”

  “Ah, such a sweet son.” I gaze into his gold-speckled eyes and for a moment cannot look away.

  He stares back at me. “I try. Besides, an isolated farm is another great place to practice my meditation. I rarely get interrupted.”

  Those deep brown eyes are too tempting. I need to focus on why I’m here; losing myself in the hard work of the farm. “So is it digging new garden beds or gathering apples today?”

  Sage slides a list in front of me. “Susan leaves a new list every few days. We’re free to choose to do the tasks in whatever order we want.”

  As I finish the last of my oatmeal and coffee, I glance at the short list. Debug tomatoes, add composted manure to the empty beds, harvest melons.

  “I’ll give you a tip. Whatever we harvest for the day often appears on the menu for the next day.”

  “Harvesting the melons already seemed like the most appealing choice.”

  Sage grins. “Glad to hear it. I always end up smelling like crap after working with the compost. It’ll be good to save that one for later in the day, after I practice.”

  “It must be hard to focus on meditation when you smell like the back end of a cow.” I can’t stop the giggle that escapes.

  “Very funny.” Sage piles the dishes together then offers me a hand. “Let me show you where the melon beds are.”

  I hesitate before taking his hand. Rejecting a simple act of kindness would be rude, but I haven’t allowed myself to touch anybody in so long. Six months, to be precise.

  Sage’s warm palm—so different from Robbie’s—presses against mine as he helps me up. Sage’s fingers bear calluses of hard work, whereas Robbie’s fingers were much smoother. Sage’s hand radiates warmth to mine, when Robbie’s hands were always cold and clammy.

  Before I realize it, we’re already on the trail to the gardens, and my fingers are still entwined in his. Sage keeps up an easy banter as he walks, and we reach the gardens far too quickly. Or not quickly enough, depending on how you look at it.

  Why have I allowed him to hold my hand? The answer comes easily, though. The contact is comforting. If I’m honest, it’s more than comforting.

  I free my hand under the premise of examining the garden beds. Sage gestures to the beds at the far end. Thick, wide-leaved vines grow across the beds and down onto the grass. Each vine lies plump with fruit.

  “Watermelons.” I run my hands over the large, green-speckled orbs then turn to the next bed, which is filled with rough, brown spheres. “And cantaloupes. How can you tell if they’re ripe?”

  “They call them ‘rock melons’ in Australia.” Sage squats on one side. He gently pulls me next to him then holds up one of the fruits, still attached to its vine. “They get a sweet, musky smell when they’re ready to be picked.”

  Sage leans even closer to me, until the melon is the only thing separating our faces. For a moment, I forget to breathe.

  “Did you smell it?” he asks.

  “Smell what?” I sound dumb, but I’m having so much trouble concentrating on mundane garden tasks with Sage so close. Cantaloupes, or whatever they’re called Down Under, are so much less enticing.

  His cheeks widen into a smile. Sage’s teeth are white, straight, and as perfect as the rest of him. I smile back.

  “The rock melon? Could you smell how ripe it was?” He lowers the melon down to the bed.

  A bee breaks the spell. It buzzes so close to my face, its downy fuzz brushes against my cheek. I squeal and leap backward.

  Sage doesn’t even try to hide his laugh. “If you’re going to be working out here, you’ll have to get
used to the pollinators. They’re everywhere in the garden, but that’s a good thing. Too many places are losing their bee populations.”

  I wipe at the spot the bee grazed, and my cheeks warm in response. I haven’t looked at another guy since meeting Robbie, yet I allow myself to go all speechless and mindless whenever Sage gets close to me.

  Maybe that’s normal when you’re attracted to somebody.

  Attracted. The word makes me want to run for my backpack. I yearn for my notebook so I can write my confession. I want to be loyal to Robbie, but I can’t even get through a melon-sniffing lesson with Sage.

  “I’m going to take care of the tomato plants.” Sage hands me two empty baskets. “Fill one with watermelon and the other with the rock melons. I usually leave the full baskets at Susan’s kitchen door.”

  I can’t remember how to tell the ripe ones from the not-yet-ready ones. My boy-addled brain has completely failed me. I quickly fill the baskets, choosing random melons from each bed. The one with the prettiest colors, the roundest one, the largest one. Hopefully, my picking criteria will suffice.

  Besides, as soon as I deliver these safely to Susan, I will be free to take a break. I’m in desperate need of my backpack, stationery, and a pen. I have another confession to write, after all.

  THE NEXT evening, I’m calmer as I hike to dinner. I managed to select solitary tasks all afternoon. Forget hand-over-hand vegetable picking or fruit-sniffing lessons from too-cute boys. I spent the afternoon with an empty garden bed and a shovel.

  Sage offered to complete that task, as it was the most physical of the options, but when I noticed the single shovel, I made my choice. Anyone can dig up dirt, after all. With every muscle in my body aching and sore, I could only focus on the job at hand. I abandoned thoughts of Sage, and of Robbie, to the lift, tug, and swing of the shovel.

  The moment I set the shovel down, though, they all returned. I ran my hand once over the sweaty mess that used to be my hair and booked it for the shower. I wasn’t coming to dinner smelling like the inside of a boys’ locker room.

  I sit down at the table, across from Sage. His curls are still damp. They frame his face more closely when wet, without their normal lift and bounce. He looks hot both ways. I’m not sure which I prefer.

  “I didn’t want to come to dinner smelling like a cow’s behind.” He grins.

  “What’s for dinner?” I glance around the still-empty table.

  “Susan must be running a few minutes late.” No sooner does Sage finish his sentence than Susan crunches up the trail.

  “So sorry I’m behind tonight.” Susan sets two covered bowls on the table. She lifts the cover of the first. “I made a quinoa salad with fresh, garden veggies.”

  “My favorite.” Sage piles two large scoops on his plate. “Susan, you are too kind to me.”

  “I try.” She smiles but shakes her head as she uncovers the second bowl. “I’m sorry about the melon. These melons still needed a few weeks to ripen. It’s fairly bitter, but I couldn’t bear to waste food.”

  “Bitter?” Sage takes a bite but can’t hide his nose wrinkling.

  “That bad, huh?” Susan frowns at the cantaloupe. “Sage, could you give Abby a lesson on how to select ripe melons tomorrow?”

  “No problem.” He puts down his fork before taking another bite. “I started the lesson yesterday, but she was a little distracted…”

  My cheeks blaze.

  “A particularly bothersome bee interrupted us, right, Abby?” He winks at me.

  Sage knows exactly what preoccupied me. I should be vehemently opposed to any more lessons that involve Sage and me in close proximity together, but I find myself nodding in agreement.

  “Sorry about the melons,” I say. “Sage was a great teacher. I just got a little overwhelmed…”

  Sage’s grin widens. “Yeah, all those fruits and vegetables can be mighty overwhelming.”

  “I better get back to the house.” Susan steps back onto the path. “Zachary will be waking from his nap at any time now. Enjoy your meal.”

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, Sage places another scoop of melon on his plate. “After thinking about it, I rather enjoy this melon.”

  I need to veer the conversation to something other than my melon catastrophe. “Tell me about your family.” Great. Basic Conversation 101. How much more pathetic can I get?

  Sage takes pity on me, though. “It’s just my mom and me at home.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  He looks away for a moment. “Siblings would’ve been nice, but I’m an only child.”

  I take a bite of cherry tomato and quinoa. “I feel the opposite. The privacy and solitude of being an only child must be wonderful. I grew up with three brothers, a sister, and not a moment to myself. Even now.”

  “Even now?” He wrinkles his forehead. “Were you still living with your family before you came to Australia?”

  “No, but between the four of them, someone’s always calling to check in on me.” I glance at my bowl. I’m entering dangerous territory here. “I’m the youngest, so they’re all pretty protective.”

  “Sounds nice. When you’re the only one, all the expectations are piled on top of you.” He shakes his head. “There’s no one else to try if you goof up. It can be suffocating.”

  “That theory never worked for my parents.” I try a bite of the orange melon then pucker up in response. “My siblings all have great careers: My brothers—the professor, the lawyer, and the accountant—and my sister, the doctor. They’ve left big shoes—really big shoes—to fill.”

  He glances at my discarded melon. “So am I just a terrible teacher, or is there some other reason you picked unripe melons?”

  Is he’s flirting with me? In high school, none of the other boys ever flirted, an unspoken, unanimous sign of respect to Robbie. Respect they didn’t have for any of the other girls’ guys. When I started at Erie U, I shut down any flirting at the first “hello”. I couldn’t think about flirting back then, with everything I was going through. Everything that Robbie was going through.

  I’m left in this awkward place. A part of me—this mystery woman I don’t know at all—wants to flirt back, but the loyal, rational side knows I couldn’t live with myself if I did.

  “Do you want to go on a walk before we head to the yurt?” Sage stacks up the empty dishes into a neat pile. “It’s still pretty early.”

  “That sounds nice,” I say, while the rational girl I used to know screams a silent ‘No!”

  He takes my hand again. I’m so sensitive that his innocent touch sends fireworks shooting up to my elbows.

  “Where are we going?” I try to keep my mind focused on the mundane.

  He leads me onto a path I haven’t explored yet. “Enjoy the mystery. Life is better with surprises.”

  I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself a surprise. For the last few years, I have clung to things I could control and rejected everything else. But do I have control over anything?

  I couldn’t control when Robbie left, after all. I’m failing at controlling my attraction to Sage. I cannot even control the tidal wave of emotions trying to wipe me out. Maybe it would be better to just go along with life and see where it takes me, instead of fighting it every step of the way.

  Sage leads me into an open field. The turned soil lies empty, with only the occasional weed growing.

  “What grows here?” I ask.

  Sage shrugs. “It probably used to be full of some sort of grain, but Susan hasn’t planted it for a while.”

  “I can see why.” The field is enormous. It would take a whole crew of farm workers to manage something this size. “So why are we here?”

  Sage heads over to a plastic storage bin at the far end of the field. He pulls out a thick, rough blanket, spreads it across the soil, and adds two outdoor cushions. “Star-gazing.”

  “So this is what you do for fun around here?”

  “Look around. What else is there to d
o?” Sage lies back onto the blanket and stares up at the sky. “Have you looked at the Australian sky before?”

  I glance down at the blanket. If only it were three times bigger. When I lie down, I’m going to be so close to Sage. But I can’t just stand here. Slowly, I lower myself to the blanket.

  If I lie on the edge, I have just enough room that my body doesn’t touch his. Sage’s spicy scent wafts over to me. And I want more. I want to press myself so close that his muscular body rests against mine. I want to snuggle up until the only thing I smell is eau du Sage. I want to explore his full, pink lips.

  My body is betraying me after all this time. I need to stay true—in my heart and mind—to Robbie. I can’t do this. It’s too much, too close, too soon.

  But just as every muscle tenses and I’m ready to flee, Sage takes my hand. With his other hand, he points to the sky. “Look,” he whispers.

  The tree line ends where the field begins, leaving a wide-open expanse of sky. The night has darkened enough that dozens of stars shine in the sky. Something’s different, though, and at first, it’s hard to put my finger on what’s wrong.

  I keep watching. As the night darkens and more stars appear, I finally figure it out. “They’re the wrong stars.”

  “They’re the right stars for Australia.” He laughs. “But they’re different stars than you’re used to.”

  Entirely new constellations twinkle before my eyes. The familiar old stars—the bright North Star, the Big Dipper—are absent. In their place sits a new skyful of stars.

  “See those four?” He points to four specific stars that glow more brightly than many of the others. “That constellation’s called the Southern Cross.”

  “I’m surprised you know that.” I try to check out the other differences in the sky, but they’re hard to pay attention to when Sage rests so close to me. “Most guys your age would be more focused on the latest video game cheats.”

  “Wasted time,” he says. “I’m not going to waste another minute of my life.”

  His words hit me hard. For the last six months, I’ve been trying to escape each day through meaningless television shows and novels. Alone and isolated, by choice, I’ve been on the exact opposite path as Sage. Rather than making the most of each day, I’ve been trapped in stasis.