He left before she could protest that decision, before he could change his mind and decide he wanted that kiss after all.
He derided himself all the way to the crates. He was undercover, a trained agent here to find Empowereds. He was supposed to be making informed, conscious decisions. Brutal decisions, if necessary. Above all, he needed to stay impartial.
Charity had shown him that with very little thought on her part, she could make him forget his job, his purpose, and the fact that other people existed.
He couldn’t let that happen again. His feelings for her needed to be nipped in the bud. He needed to change his focus to Milo and Zia and limit the time he spent with her.
12
The next morning when Charity woke up, she took extra time doing her hair and makeup. Things had been going so well with Enzo. Talking with him was easy, and he made her laugh. She hadn’t even thought to put a sense of humor on her list of wants in a husband, and so it felt like an extra gift, a bonus life had given her. He was perfect.
And if those few moments under the peach tree showed anything, he had feelings for her too. Before long, they’d be a couple.
At breakfast, Enzo sat with Milo and Zia. If Charity’s efforts on her appearance made any impression on him, he gave no indication of it during the day. She spoke in passing to him a couple of times while they worked in the fields, but he never did anything to prolong the conversation. He didn’t seek her out.
While they were out picking crops, Milo and Zia walked to the water station, holding hands. Charity had seen them do this a hundred times without thought. This time, her eyes found Enzo and she couldn’t shake the ache of longing that overtook her. She wanted that casual intimacy with him. She wanted to take his hand and feel the warmth of his fingers around hers.
At lunch and dinner, Enzo sat by Milo and Zia again, with hardly a glance in Charity’s direction. Had she done something wrong yesterday in the orchard? She replayed the scene in her mind—easy enough to do since she’d relived it several times—but she couldn’t see how she might have given him offense.
Was he just trying to take things slowly, or had he changed his mind about her?
Maybe she’d come off as too eager. She’d read enough romance novels to know that women were supposed to play a little hard to get. She could do that.
For the next two days, she was aloof, happily talking with everyone and hardly speaking to him. The group packed up to go to the next farming compound to pick corn, squash, beans, and apples. Charity insisted on riding with Reverend Russell and his wife so her parents wouldn’t stick her in the Jeep with Enzo again. She refused to look needy, or worse, plotting.
Reverend Russell was the only harvester older than her father. Decades ago, he’d become a laborer to dodge the draft placed on nonessential workers. Harvesters were essential, clergymen weren’t, and the reverend objected to the civil war. He’d stayed with their group because he and Charity’s father were friends, or perhaps he just felt like the harvesters needed more saving than city folks.
Unfortunately, no matter how diligently Charity ignored Enzo, he didn’t seem to notice her playing hard to get. She’d spent so much time wishing her future husband would show up, and now that he had, she was a bundle of frustrations and insecurities.
On the fourth day after the peach orchard near-kiss, Enzo stuck so insistently with Milo and Zia, that, according to Charity’s mother, Reverend Russell had a talk with some of the men about being more hospitable and inclusive toward Enzo and not judging him because he came from the city.
On the fifth day, when Enzo still showed little interest in talking with her—and actually seemed to be avoiding her—Charity grew offended. He’d acted as though he liked her, got familiar with her hair, and then for no reason, snubbed her.
While she picked corn, Zia stopped by to help her finish her row. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. “How are things going with Mr. Soon-to-be Right?”
Charity grunted. “They aren’t going anywhere. He seems more interested in being Milo’s friend than mine.”
Zia pulled an ear from a stalk and dropped it into her basket. “He does seem to want to win Milo over. But that’s probably normal. I guess the lone wolf has to make good with the alpha wolves before he can make moves on the she-wolves. It’s the law of nature. Or at least of harvester men.”
Charity yanked a piece of corn too forcefully and the stalk trembled, affronted. “Doesn’t the lone wolf care what the she-wolf thinks about all of this?” Maybe that wasn’t the problem at all. Maybe she wasn’t interesting. “I must’ve been too boring at the last compound. And okay, I talked about myself a lot, but that’s because he kept asking me questions. I thought he wanted to know about me. Now I think he was probably just being polite, and I’ll be single forever.” Charity glanced around. They were still alone, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Whatever reason we were supposed to be together—perhaps I’ve already ruined it.”
“I doubt that,” Zia said. “Maybe the reason why your father…” She didn’t say the words,had the visionbut the meaning was there.“Maybe that was so you wouldn’t give up so easily. If I’d given up on Milo for being clueless about women, he’d still be acting like a barbarian most of the time.”
It was true that Milo had become less obnoxious after he started dating Zia. Before that, Charity hated being around him any time he butchered or castrated an animal. He either put onchicken head puppet shows or dared her to eat some disgusting body part.
She nodded. “I should remember to thank you more often for coming.”
“I gave up air-conditioning to marry him.” She mock-sighed. “You shouldn’t remind me about that decision.”
Zia’s parents were harvesters but for most of her childhood, she lived in Des Moines with her grandparents so she could get a city education. She’d only spent summers harvesting with her parents to earn money for the family. Her parents hadn’t been all that happy when she’d met Milo and decided to forgo a city job to be with him.
Charity and Zia finished with the area and moved further down the row. The sun felt too hot on Charity’s shoulders, and insects buzzed about, making a nuisance of themselves.
“Are you still flirting and encouraging him?” Zia asked. “Sometimes guys have to be certain you’re interested before they make a move.” She said the words as a reminder, as though she was sure that Charity wasn’t.
“When I run into him, I ask if he needs water, that sort of thing. I’m always nice.”
Zia shook her head, suspicions confirmed. “That’s what a mother would say. You’ve got to have a girlfriend vibe going. Ramp up the seduction. Be more than just nice.”