“She’s close,” I explain, gesturing to the visible signs of impending birth. “Started showing real progress about an hour ago. Did you need something?”
He moves closer. “I was looking for you to give you this. One of my regulars makes these cranberry and walnut loaves that taste amazing.” The way he bites his lip as he tries to conceal his smile makes me want to kiss him so bad. “Thought you might enjoy it.”
The simple gesture feels like a tiny break in the wall between us. Because he’s showing that he cares. To anyone else, it’s a loaf, but to me, it means so much more than a food offering.
“Join me?” I ask, nodding toward the hay bale I’ve claimed as my observation post. “She’ll probably be a while yet, but I could use the company.” I wash my hands in the sink before joining Taylen by Martha’s stall.
He settles beside me, handing me the still-warm loaf. The bread’s aroma fills my senses as I unwrap it and then pull out a piece, handing some to Taylen.
The bread melts in my mouth. The balance of cranberries and walnuts is perfect.
“I get at least one of these every holiday season,” he explains as I pull out two more pieces. “But usually I don’t have anyone to share it with.”
Another little crack in the wall.
We eat in comfortable silence broken only by Martha’s occasional movements.
“Tell me about her,” Taylen says finally, gesturing toward our patient.
“Martha’s one of our steadiest producers,” I explain. “Fourth pregnancy, all healthy deliveries. She’s got a sweet temperament, and passes it to her calves too.”
When Martha shifts again, he leans forward automatically, probably as anxious as I am to see the big moment.
“Maybe not Cupcake though. Cupcake has a temper and likes to escape, so she’s definitely not like her mom. Did you know I had to fit her with an AirTag to stop Dad from wandering around the land looking for a cow who loves to play hide and seek?”
Our shoulders brush as he laughs, but he doesn’t pull away.
“I missed this,” he admits quietly, his words barely louder than Martha’s breathing. “Hanging out with you.” His hands twist slightly in his lap. “The last time this happened, I must have been a teenager.” He laughs then. “Totally crushing on the local rock star.”
I resist the urge to reach for him. Instead, I offer a truth that’s been building since my return. “I missed this too. Staying in Vermont isn’t just about the farm or facilitating my dad’s retirement for me. I missed this…when the world outside stops because a new life is on its way.”
“It’s pretty magical, isn’t it?” he asks, and I nod, glancing at Martha.
“I don’t really mind if you have a crush on your local rockstar though,” I tease.
“Who? Stone?”
I poke his side, and his laugh carries a genuine warmth that makes my heart stumble.
Martha’s sudden movement draws our attention back to the main event. Her tail rises as a contraction ripples visibly across her side, a sign that her labor is steadily progressing toward its inevitable conclusion. Taylen’s breath catches slightly.
“How long?” he asks, showing the same mix of excitement and concern I had the first time I witnessed the birth of a calf.
“Could be hours yet,” I admit, shifting slightly on the hay bale that’s growing less comfortable the longer we sit. “The first stage can take a while. But she’s doing everything right so far.”
Silence settles between us again, comfortable now rather than the charged energy we’ve experienced since I came back. The bread disappears slowly as we continue our vigil. Outside, the afternoon turns into evening.
When Martha shifts again, more forcefully this time, Taylen’s hand finds my knee. The touch burns through denim, and I have to force myself to remember I’m here for Martha, not to think about the beautiful tattoos under Taylen’s clothes or the sounds he makes when he comes.
“Thank you,” he says suddenly, fingers still resting against my leg like he’s forgotten they’re there. “For sharing this with me.”
I cover his hand with mine, giving it a squeeze that says all the things he’s not ready to hear yet. Because this moment feels too precious for words that might break the spell.
Martha’s persistent movement keeps us focused even as something shifts between us. The barn lights cast a gentle glow over this ordinary and extraordinary scene—two people waiting for a new life to happen.
As midnight approaches, Martha’s contractions grow stronger, each wave drawing soft sounds from her throat that echo in the barn. Taylen leans forward every time she moves as though he can speed up the process with the power of his mind.
“The contractions are getting closer together,” I explain, watching Martha’s sides heave with increasing frequency.
