Finn’s watching me now, reading every micro-expression I’m failing to hide. “He’s been keeping up with farming practices, you know. Following all the latest developments. He’s not coming back blind. Besides, the farm doesn’t need saving. It needs managing.”
A laugh escapes me. “Right. Between world tours and Grammy parties, I’m sure he found plenty of time to study herd health and breeding lines.”
“You know,” he starts, and I already want to stop him, “Bastian’s been doing more than just keeping up. He’s practically managing the farm part-time.”
I can’t help the derisive snort that escapes me. “Part-time management? Is that what we’re calling flying in for two weeks between stadium shows?”
“He’s been more involved than you think.” Finn’s voice takes on that diplomatic tone I’ve heard more than once at town meetings. “Did you know he’s been working with agricultural scientists to develop new sustainable farming methods? I don’t know much about it because farming isn’t my thing, but thegrass quality has improved. Apparently, good grass means happy cows and happy cows mean happy milk.”
“Now that’s a new concept right there.” I snort and gesture to the bar around us. “You see these people? They’re not theories or test cases or PR opportunities. They’re our neighbors. Our community. They’re not a project or something you can abandon when the next opportunity arises.”
Finn gives me one of his knowing looks, the kind that makes me want to throw something at him. “Are we still talking about farming?”
“Don’t.” The warning in my voice is clear, but Finn’s never been good at backing down.
“I’m just saying, maybe if you gave him a chance?—”
“To what? Show me how much better he can do my job?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve spent fifteen years building something here, Finn. Something real. Something that works. I don’t need Bastian or his ‘interesting ideas’ to tell me how to do it better.”
“No one’s saying you do.” Finn’s voice softens, and somehow that’s worse than his arguments. “But collaboration isn’t the same as competition.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’ll have to watch him waltz back in like he never left, like he didn’t—” I stop myself, the words sticking in my throat.
The silence that follows is heavy with everything I’m not saying. Finn watches me with too much understanding, and I have to look away from the sympathy in his eyes. On the wall behind him, there’s a faded photograph of two teenage boys sitting on a tractor, guitars in their laps, matching grins on their faces. I force my gaze back to my beer before the memories can take root.
“He’s going to need help,” Finn says finally, his voice gentle in a way that makes my teeth ache. “Whether he admits it or not.”
“Then he should hire help. That’s what normal farmers do when they need extra hands.”
“Tay—”
“I mean it, Finn.” I meet his eyes again, letting him see the steel beneath my surface. “Whatever grand plans Bastian has for revolutionizing farming in our little corner of Vermont, he can implement them without my input. I’ve got my own land to worry about.”
Finn’s phone lights up again, and this time when he glances at it, his expression shifts. It appears our time together is coming to an end.
“Just…try to keep an open mind?” he asks, though it’s more a plea than a question. “For the community’s sake, if nothing else.”
I don’t answer, but my silence says enough. Finn sighs and picks up his phone again. I sip my drink while he pays attention to the world outside these walls.
I swear he’s hooking up with someone, but no matter how hard I’ve tried to figure out who, the man is like a closed vault.
He pockets his phone and turns to me, his expression apologetic.
“Go do your thing,” I say. “I should head home anyway. Got an early morning tomorrow.”
He pauses halfway through standing, his expression softening into something I don’t want to examine too closely. “One day you’re going to tell me about this beef you have with my brother.”
“Today is not that day.”
My best friend lets out a resigned sigh before leaving me for a better offer. I’d probably do the same if sex with anyone was on the table.
I put my hand in my pocket to pull out my wallet when my fingers brush against the old guitar pick I still carry out of habit, smooth from years of worry.
“Last call.” Joe’s voice breaks through my reverie.
I tuck the pick back into my pocket and put enough money on the bar to cover the tab. “Thanks, Joe.”
He nods. I walk away, steadier than I probably should be after… How many beers? I’ve lost count, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got work tomorrow, fields to tend, and the return of the man I’ve been in love with since forever to not think about.
