Wander and Roam (Wander #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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