“Rhubarb?”
“Yes! There’s an area in south Leeds called the Rhubarb Triangle.”
“You’re screwing with me.”
“I am not. Look it up.”
He uses his phone with one hand while eating the rest of his breakfast with the other. “Wow. There is.”
“Told you so.”
“The soil and conditions are perfect for growing rhubarb.”
“I bet it’s because it’s moist.”
“You didn’t just say that.”
“I did. Is it true?”
He focuses on his phone again. “The article mentions the damp conditions.”
“See? Moist.”
He rolls his eyes and puts his phone down. “I enjoy dairy farming, but, like all types of farming, it comeswith its ups and downs. It’s hard for independent farms like Tony’s to compete with huge companies.”
“Tony?”
“Angus’ dad.”
“Oh!”
“You didn’t know his name?”
I shrug. “Why would I have done? He’s not my boss.”
Flynn pushes his plate away. It’s empty except for a few streaks of tomato sauce from the baked beans. “Owning a farm would mean living there.”
“Newsflash. You already live on a farm.”
“True.” He folds his arms on the breakfast bar. “But I’d have the choice to live somewhere else if I needed to. Owning a farm is different. You have to be there twenty-four seven. It’s more than a job. It’s a way of life.”
“One you’re cut out for.”
“I hope I am, but, until I got this job, I could only find seasonal work. This is the first chance I’ve had to work full-time in farming.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes.”
“I sense a but.”
He stares at his palms. “Farming can be lonely.”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know many people here.”
“You know me. No matter what you decide about us, we’ll still be friends, right?”
