I snort. “Yeah right.”
Eila counters, “What’s that they say about the simplest answer making the most sense?”
I down the rest of my beer in one gulp. The honey and hops do nothing to settle my churning thoughts. “I should have known better than to trust someone like him.”
“Someone like him?” Eden’s voice sharpens. “Someone who brought carrots for your goats and charmed your psychotic donkey?”
“Someone who has the power to ruin me.”
“Jesus, Liza,” Eila says. “What did Mom do to you?”
The question hits like a slap. “This isn’t about Mom.”
“Isn’t it? You’re so terrified of being hurt that you’re sabotaging something good before it even starts.”
“I’m being realistic. Just because you two found perfect men doesn’t mean the rest of them aren’t shitty monsters.”
“You’re scared,” Eden says. “And I get it. But Reed isn’t Mom. Why not give him a chance?”
I collect their glasses, needing something to do with my hands. “A chance to wreck my credit and crush my business? No thanks. I need to rein it in and sever ties.”
“The cookie exchange is tomorrow,” Eden says. “He’s coming, right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should tell him not to.”
“Maybe you should give him a chance,” Eila suggests.
After they leave, I sit in my decorated living room, listening to the record player skip on the last song. The wooden goat Reed gave me stares at me from the coffee table, and I can’t decide if it represents something beginning or something I’m about to ruin.
The truth is, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the moment I realized I cared about him. Rich guys don’t end up with women like me—women who have trust issues and get along better with goats than dinner companions.
But what if I’m wrong? I think about how he acted at the market, the way his friends tease him about being uptight. It reminded me of how my sisters and I act when we’re together. Someone with a tight network can’t be a slimy creep, right?
The question that really terrifies me: am I brave enough to find out?
14
Reed
“I think I’m falling for her,” I admit, staring into my pint of Perfect Storm IPA in search of answers.
Paolo nearly chokes on his beer. “The goat lady?”
“Her name is Eliza,” I say firmly. “And yes.”
Kash raises his glass. “About time you admitted it. You’ve been mooning over her.”
I scoff. “Who even says mooning?”
“You absolutely have been pining,” Vick adds. “You asked me five separate times if I thought she liked the ornament you bought her.”
The three of them exchange knowing looks across our usual table at Three Rivers Brewing. “So, what’s the problem?” Paolo asks. “She obviously likes you, too. Chiron the demon donkey approves.” He takes a swig of beer. “And she’s hot, right? Seems like a win all around.”
I know my friend is just making observations, but I realize I don’t like thinking he’s been looking at Eliza. Which is dumb macho thinking. But there my brain goes, and suddenly I’m thinking about the glimpse I caught of her bra when she was rigging up lights in the greenhouse. Not to mention the pinch of jealousy I felt flood my central nervous system when I saw her with the hoof guy. I tap my fingers on the table. “The problem is, I’m terrified I’m going to screw it up.”
I take a long sip of my drink, appreciating the storm-themed flavor names as I sit and ponder my own storm of a problem. “Tomorrow I’m meeting her entire family, and I have no idea how to act around normal people.”
“What do you mean, normal people?” Kash asks.
