“Uh-huh.” I drain the last of my ale, letting the silence stretch between us. “And would these hypothetical farmers happen to have any musical experience? Perhaps a tendency toward dramatic entrances and leaving when things get tough?”
Finn winces. “Tay?—”
“Save it.” I wave to Joe for another round. “Let’s talk about something that actually matters. Like how you’re planning to prevent the annual gingerbread house competition from turning into a contact sport this year.”
He allows the deflection and our conversation meanders through safer territory, such as the upcoming farmers’ market schedule, and the latest gossip about which of the Morgantwins will get her hands first on the hot new veterinarian. Finn’s phone continues its steady stream of interruptions, but he manages to keep at least seventy percent of his attention on our conversation.
“You know,” I say, watching him respond to what must be his hundredth message of the night, “they do make this amazing thing called aDo Not Disturbsetting these days. Revolutionary technology.”
“Hilarious.” Finn’s fingers fly across the screen. “Some of us can’t just turn off the world when the sun goes down.”
Sadly, I can’t see the screen of Finn’s phone as I watch him type, pause, and type again.
I tap my empty glass against the table. “I’m starting to think you’re seeing someone. The phone, the constant texting, the distracted smile. Should I be planning a shotgun wedding?”
Finn’s head snaps up, his cheeks flushing slightly. “What? No. It’s just…work stuff.”
“Uh-huh.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the scarred wooden table. “Because the Christmas parade route really requires that many heart-eye emoji?”
“I don’t use—” He stops, narrowing his eyes at my smirk. “You can’t even see my screen from there.”
“No, but I can see your face.” I gesture to Joe for another round. “You’ve got that look.”
“I so don’t have a look.” His phone buzzes again, and his eyes flick down automatically before he forces them back to me. “Besides, if we’re talking about my love life, let’s talk about yours too. How’s that going?”
“Nonexistent, as you well know.” I accept the fresh beer from Joe with a nod of thanks. “Unless you count my thriving relationship with the east field’s soil composition.”
“That’s sad, Tay. Even for you.” Finn sets his phone face-down on the table. A gesture that would be more meaningfulif it didn’t immediately light up again, illuminating the wood beneath it like a distress signal. “What about that guy from the farmers’ market committee?”
“Nah.”
Finn leans back, studying me with that too-knowing look that makes me want to slide under the table. “When was the last time you actually went on a date?”
The question hits a nerve I’d rather leave unpoked. “When was the last time you minded your own business?”
“Never. It’s literally my job to know everyone’s business.” He picks up his phone again, but this time, his expression shifts from distracted to determined. “Actually, I might know someone?—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended, drawing glances from nearby tables. I lower my voice. “No setups. No blind dates. No well-meaning interventions in my romantic life.”
“But—”
“The last time you tried to set me up, I spent three hours listening to someone explain their theory about how crop circles are actually alien square dance patterns.”
Finn winces. “Okay, that was a miscalculation. But this is different. He’s?—”
“If you say ‘perfect for me,’ I’m going to dump this beer over your phone.”
He holds up his hands in surrender, but something in his expression sets off warning bells in my head. That little twist at the corner of his mouth that means he’s working up to something. I’ve known him long enough to recognize the signs.
“Fine, no setups.” He picks up his phone again, scrolling with exaggerated casualness. “Though speaking of people coming back to town…”
My fingers tighten around my glass. “Since when were we speaking of people coming back to town?” I chance, hoping he’s not about to say what I think he’s about to say.
“I just thought you should hear it from me first.” He’s still not looking at me, his voice carefully neutral. “My brother’s coming back. For good this time, apparently.”
The words hit like a sudden frost. I force my hand to relax before I shatter the glass, but I can feel the tension spreading through my body like ice across a pond. The last person I wanted to think about today was Sebastian Hall, but here we are.
“Inevitable, I suppose.” My voice comes out steady, practiced. I’ve had years to perfect this particular lie. “The prodigal son returns to save the family farm. How very Lifetime movie of the week.”
