“I’m serious. You and your tiny trees would be welcome here.”
The image forms in my mind—my hydroponic setup on her land, surrounded by the chaos of her animals and the warmth of her presence. It’s so far from what I originally envisioned for my business, and yet somehow, perfect anyway.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say, but I’m smiling.
“But if it does…” She shrugs. “You’ve got options.”
“We’d be arguing with each other a lot if that happens.” I run a finger along the seam of her jeans.
Eliza tilts her head and raises a brow. “And some other things, too.” She leans toward me, and I feel my blood surge in my veins.
A soft bleating from outside draws our attention to the window, where Maleficent is pressed against the glass, watching us with unblinking goat eyes.
“She’s judging us,” Eliza says.
“Your animals have very strong opinions.”
“Well, Chiron likes you, which means you pass the test.”
“What about you? Do I pass your test?”
Eliza looks at me for a long moment, taking in my rumpled clothes and anxious expression and the fact that I showed up here despite her rain check.
“You pass,” she says. “A plus.”
From upstairs comes the sound of Emma’s voice, sharp and demanding as she talks to someone on the phone. Eliza’s expression tightens again.
“We’re going to get through this,” I tell her. “Both of our family situations. We’ll support each other.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. You’ll be at my side for the gala; I’ll help you handle your mother. We’re a team.”
“A team,” she repeats, testing the word.
“Partners.”
“I like that better than what my mother’s trying to turn us into.”
Outside, Maleficent has been joined by two other goats, all of them staring through the window watching us like we’re an interesting TV show. One of them actually seems to have mistletoe clinging to its horns.
“Our audience is growing,” I observe.
“They probably want dinner. Or they’re planning something. Not sure how they got out of the barn, to be honest.”
I stand and offer her my hand. “Come on. Let’s herd your goats and pretend your mother isn’t upstairs plotting to turn me into a before photo.”
Eliza takes my hand, letting me pull her to her feet. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not running when you met her. For not taking her bullshit. For reminding me I’m bigger than I feel right now.”
“Thank you for offering me sanctuary if I need it.”
“Always,” she says, and I choose to believe she means it.
24
