“Leave her alone, Chey,” Doug scolds as the rest of the family filters in, everyone taking their usual seat. “She had a date just last night, which I’m sure she’s dying to tell us all about. Aren’t you, Hudson?”

I squirm uncomfortably in my chair, hoping no one is paying much attention, since they’re all busy piling their plates full of Italian deliciousness. Several minutes pass without another mention of it, but as soon as everyone has served themselves and settled with their food in front of them, the topic is approached again.

“Now, we’re all ears, Hudson. Tell us about last night. When are you seeing him again?” Mel asks eagerly.

All eyes are locked on me, everyone waiting for me to divulge into some sensational story of heated passion. Setting my fork down on the edge of my plate, I take a drink of water and clear my throat. “I’m not sure I’ll be going out with Beckham again,” I mumble apprehensively, twisting a napkin in my lap. “The date was pretty bland, and I think we’re just better off as friends.”

“Oh, honey, what happened? Were you embarrassed to see him afterwards at school today?” Mel’s expression quickly morphs into one of disappointment and pity. “If so, that’s totally normal. Don’t think he’s gonna go around telling his friends what you were like in bed, ‘cause that’s just a myth. Guys really aren’t like that.”

“Yes, we are,” Doug interjects, “but it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Be proud you were good enough that he wanted to gloat. I tell all my friends how incredible Mel is in the sack.”

What in the hell?

“There’s nothing for him to talk about! We didn’t have sex! He took me to a movie, then brought me home and kissed me goodnight. That was it,” I insist, trying not to make eye contact with anyone while ignoring the snickers from my sisters.

“Why not? Did you tell him you weren’t interested?” Mel inquires.

Tossing my napkin down on the table, I shout, “No! He didn’t ask if I was interested or not, but if he would’ve, my answer would’ve been no!” I pause to take a deep breath then lower my voice to a calmer octave. “After hanging out together, I just wasn’t feeling it. It was like going out with Denver…there was no spark between us.”

No one says a word for what seems like an eternity until Grams chimes in. “Did you feel a spark when you were making out with that cute boy in front of cabin eight this afternoon?”

Somebody, please shoot me now.

All hell breaks loose at the table as everyone’s shouting different things at me...everyone but Grams, who’s curiously silent again, sitting directly across the table from me, wearing a smug smile like she just won the damn lottery.

“Enough! That’s enough!” Doug stands up and bangs his spoon on the table like a judge with a gavel, demanding the courtroom’s attention. Once it’s quiet, he falls back into his chair and slides his eyes over to me. “Hudson, please enlighten us on what Grams is talking about. Is it true?”

Fidgeting like a guilty defendant on a witness stand, I shake my head no, but murmur, “Maybe.”

More pandemonium ensues, mostly coming from Cheyenne and Brighton, who are arguing they already claimed him and that life isn’t fair. Annoyed that my sisters are trying to make this about them, this time it’s me who jumps out of my seat to get everyone’s attention.

“Stop it! All of you! Just stop being so weird!” I scream, my control teetering. They all shut up and stare at me in amazement. I never lose my cool, like never ever, and this is the second time I’ve yelled in less than ten minutes.

Shaking my head, I drop my chin to my chest and take several deep breaths. “Look, Beckham is a nice guy, but we’re just gonna be friends, because that’s all I want from him.” I stop and peer up at everyone, ensuring they’re paying attention before continuing, “I don’t know anything about Crew Elliott other than I met him last night, then saw him again this morning, and I felt something different. Call it a spark, an attraction, whatever you want, but it was definitely more than I’ve ever felt around another guy.”

“But, sweetie,” my dad interrupts, “they’re only visiting. He’ll be gone next weekend.”

“No, they’re actually moving here. Mary, the mom, had a job interview today, and they went looking for a place to live this afternoon,” I clarify as I sit back down. “The younger son, Caleb, has epilepsy, and they haven’t had any luck with the traditional drugs and treatments, so they’re moving here in hopes that medical marijuana can help with his seizures and migraines.”

Both of my parents’ eyes fill with compassion as I go into detail about the family’s situation, and I know instantly that no matter what happens between me and Crew—even if it’s nothing at all—they’ll want to assist in any way possible. I explain how I researched the strains and took some samples of our stuff over to the cabin this evening, in order for Caleb to hopefully get some relief while they’re getting settled here.

“You know we’ll do whatever we can, Hudson,” Mel says sincerely, glancing around the table. “All of us…anything they need. I can’t even imagine what that poor woman’s going through. We’ve been so blessed to have healthy kids.”

Nodding appreciatively at my mom and dad, I relax momentarily, thinking the craziness has passed, but the second I pick my fork up, ready to finally dig into the now-cool meal in front of me, Cheyenne opens her big mouth.

“What does any of this have to do with you kissing Crew today?” she snaps, obviously still bothered by the thought.

However, rather than blowing up again or telling her to mind her own business, I simply flash a sugary-sweet smile in her direction and say, “Girls who smell like dirt must do it for him.”

Seven minutes. Seven damn minutes.

Waking up before my alarm buzzes pisses me off. I either want to wake up far enough in advance that I can go back to sleep for a good amount of time, or not get up until I absolutely have to. Studies show that most dreams only last a couple of minutes in real time, and damn it, I could’ve had one of the best dreams ever in those missed seven minutes. Maybe one about Crew kissing me again.

Instead, I spend the time staring at the textured ceiling of my bedroom, figuring out how I’m supposed to act around him today. Do I pretend nothing happened yesterday? Do I act silly-girly-flirty like my sisters do around boys? Should I wear perfume? Makeup? God…I really suck at this stuff. Frustrated, I push the covers off me and spring out of bed, giving in to the inevitable. Three minutes earlier than I should have.

Twisting my hair up into two Princess Leia buns, I step into my favorite jeans, which have been washed a few hundred too many times, and pull on an even older Deadhead sweatshirt over a red thermal. I know it’s a bit cliché to wear this, considering my parents named the resort after the famous Grateful Dead song, but at the age of fourteen, they met at one of their concerts in Anchorage, Alaska, and they’ve been together ever since that day. Both of them claim they knew the first time they saw each other they’d found their soul mate. That was thirty-five years ago.

So, yeah, the sweatshirt gives me the warm fuzzies, inside and out, and I need every little bit of help I can today, to keep my cool.

I opt to skip the makeup other than my favorite strawberry chapstick, and apply an extra layer of deodorant and a spritz of whatever body splash is under the cabinet, just in case there was truth behind Cheyenne’s comment. While I love the smell of my greenhouses, I don’t want to walk around smelling like soil and fertilizer.

After throwing on my boots and coat, I venture out into the dark early morning, darting through the chilled mist and into the warmth of the greenhouse. During the hour and a half I spend with my herbal babies, my anxiety over Crew melts away as I immerse myself in the work.