We work together in silence for a long time. I have no idea how long it’s been, but it’s long enough that my stomach is growling, and the sun is blasting into the barn, making it warm enough to feel sweat beads rolling down my back.
“Break?” Noah asks.
I nod, looking at the pile with a frown. “Yeah, but just a short one. I still have a lot to do.”
“Doesn’t help that I keep adding to the pile. I’ll take a break after lunch to help you get this moved. Good thing is the tow truck is coming tomorrow to get the tractor out of the way. We’ll have more room to work afterward.”
“Wait. You’re getting rid of the tractor?”
“Uh, yeah.” He scratches at his scruff, which, while it could use a trim, is still too good looking for its own good. “What else am I supposed to do with it?”
“Keep it.”
“What the hell for? It’s old, and it doesn’t work.”
“So? You could use it for photos. It gives the farm a nice rustic feel. People love that kind of thing.”
He ponders that for a moment before nodding. “All right. I can see that. So where do I move it?”
“Could you put it next to the barn?”
“Yeah, I suppose that would work.” Another scratch at his scruff, a move that’s always signaled uncertainty for him. “You sure it won’t look tacky out there? Like we’re trying too hard with this whole farm-aspect thing? Because I’m not a farmer. I’m a hockey player. Or at least I was.”
He says that last part quietly, like it’s still something he’s getting used to. I’m sure he is, considering the game was part of his life for so long. If I suddenly lost my business, I’d feel like I was missing a limb because I’ve been working on this for so long. I bet that’s how he feels about the game he gave so much of his life to.
“Playing or not, you’re still a hockey player. You’ll always be the one who not only captained a team but also scored the game-winning goal in double overtime against Detroit to lift the Cup.”
He grins just thinking about that career-defining moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I am. Just like I’m right about keeping the tractor and moving it to the side of the barn won’t look tacky. And it won’t make you look like you’re trying to play Old MacDonald either. You’re paying homage to the original purpose of the land, like you’re paying homage to your love of the game by naming the cidery Stick Taps, giving hockey term names to all your ciders, and your decor—even if it is hideous for weddings.” He narrows his eyes at the dig. “Besides, the kids will love it. You could even put a scarecrow or something behind the wheel. Dress it up to match the holidays. Oh! Like big, cute eyelashes and heart eyes for headlights for Valentine’s Day.”
“Absolutely no to the eyelashes and heart eyes.”
Dammit. I knew I’d pushed it too far.
“But the rest?” I ask.
He grunts, but it’s not a no. In fact, I can tell he actually likes the idea, since he doesn’t argue further.
As he passes, he kicks at the pile of wood and old roof tiles and heads toward the door. “Come on. I’ll make us lunch up at my place.”
“You’re cooking?!” The words come out a squeak, halting him in his tracks. My stomach revolts at the idea, remembering the last time he made food for his family—and me, since the Stevens clan can’t shake me, being they’re like my second family at this point. It was so bad that we ended up throwing it away and ordering pizza. Sometimes he’ll help his dad at the grill, but that’s under careful supervision.
He shoots me a look that sayswatch itloud and clear, and I hold my hands up.
“I’m not saying a thing,” I promise as I follow him out of the barn, all the while thinking about what I have stashed away in my purse. I usually keep an emergency granola bar in there because I’ve been known to get hangry. And when it happens, it happensfast.It’s best to be prepared.
“Shit,” Noah mutters, coming to a sudden stop, and I nearly run right into him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You mind driving? I forgot I told Ezra he could use my truck for ... well, whatever it is he does.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. No problem. I’m over here.”
I lead us to my BMW, which could use a wash, pulling my keys from my pocket and unlocking the car as we go. I cringe when we approach it. There’s a mess of clothes in the back seat, a few purses, and I don’t even know how many pairs of shoes from on-the-go outfit changes when rushing to meet clients and for when I have to get event-ready on a time crunch. Maybe, if I’m lucky, Noah won’t notice them.
“Probably going to be a tight fit for you,” I say as I climb inside, flipping the visor down and checking my hair. It’s a mess after hours of hard labor. And no wonder Kai let me in this morning. I’m pretty sure I still have yesterday’s mascara smeared under my eyes.
