“I’m ready,” I said.
When I came around the corner and made eye contact with Brooks, his mouth hung open, and he dropped the granola bar he was eating. It went down with a thud, and crumbs flew across the tile floor.
What the hell was that?
“S-sorry,” he stuttered. He reached around for the broom and swept it all up, tossing it into the garbage. “Let’s go.”
I followed him out the door and back into his truck. He took us to a field that looked to be filled with corn. It wasn’t very high yet, but the green stalks had started to sprout.
It was beautiful out here. Flat land for miles and the mountain reaching to the sky above in the backdrop.
Brooks followed me around as I took pictures and samples. At some point, he left to grab Chicken from the coop, and I stayed back to finish up. By the time he got back, the sun was setting, and it cast a beautiful evening glow over everything.
Chicken walked around the field a bit, and Brooks followed him. I took out my camera and took some photos of the setting sun and a few of them both. The orange of the sun sat nicely against his hair, and his smile was brighter than those golden beams could ever be.
After we got home that night, he made me dinner, and we both tidied up the kitchen. It was very… domestic, and our silences were never awkward.
Later, when I was curled up in bed with my laptop, I looked at the photos a bit closer, and one thing became abundantly clear.
I had a serious crush on Brooks Hoffman.
Chapter eleven
Brooks
I tapped my handson the steering wheel to the beat of yet another new artist as we made our way down the road toward the beehouses. Bailey told me today would be good for her, and I was also excited to bring Sydney here.
As we pulled up, her gasp told me I was right to be excited. Across the field was a meadow of spring flowers that had just started their main blossom. Peonies, Jacob’s ladders, and bell sprouts filled the area, making it pop with color.
“This is gorgeous,” Sydney commented. “I’ve never seen so many flowers in one place.”
“It’s one of my favorite spots,” I agreed. When I turned the truck off, we could hear the slight buzzing of the bees flying around.
We walked toward my sister’s workshop. It was a shed that looked like a classic barn. I’d helped her build it when she decided she wanted not only to make honey but also to produce soaps, lotions, and other honey-based things.
Part of what I loved about the family farm was that it reallywasa family farm. There was a place for everyone to do something they wanted to do. Even Bridget, who had left, helped with the website occasionally. I prided myself on keeping this a thriving place for everyone, and that included keeping everyone afloat.
Which started with the certification.
I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. My sister’s space was kept clean, with worktables on each side and hanging shelves and pegboards around holding various tools and products. She currently had her blonde curls in a ponytail and her glasses on her face. She was holding a piping bag and was filling a bunch of glass jars quickly and efficiently. Her phone was set up to record. I didn’t understand the social media side of the business, but that was one of the things Bailey was best at.
“Hey, we’re here,” I called, not wanting to scare her. She was slightly rocking back and forth, and I could tell she didn’t hear me.
“Bay,” I tried to call, waving my arms, but nothing.
Finally, I stepped up next to her and set my hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped and squeezed the bag, overfilling the glass she was working on.
“Brooks!” she yelped, pulling one of her headphones out. The music was so loud I could easily hear it. “You scared me.”
“I know,” I said. “You told us to be here at nine, so we’re here. And I tried to get your attention, but you didn’t look up.”
“Oh,” she said, looking sheepish. “Still, don’t scare me in my own workshop.” She smacked my shoulder as she walked past to wash her hands.
“It’s not my fault you lost track of time.”
“What’s this?” Sydney asked as she examined the jars.
“They’re my best-selling body butter,” Bailey responded as she washed her hands. “I usually sell out early, so I’m trying to prepare a lot.”
