Damn it.
He looked at her for a beat, then said softly, “You want me to go get the chicken so you can write it a citation?”
Her lips parted, a confused huff of air escaping before she realized he was teasing.
“I really was going to leave,” she said after a moment. The words spilled out. “I have spreadsheets, Mr. Hale. I make lists. I’m an auditor, not a…” She searched for the word. “Farm person. And this is—this is just—too much.”
He could see she was trying hard not to cry.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “So, you’ve hit your limit. Fair enough. No shame in it.”
He let that sit there for a moment. Let her breathe.
“Hell,” he added, “I’ve been there. I nearly lost it when Melly learned to open the goat gate last year. You ever try catching three goats and a toddler at the same time?”
She shook her head, and to his surprise, a small smile snuck past her defenses.
“There you go,” he said gently. “That’s better.”
Without thinking too hard about it, he reached out andwiped a smear of mud from her cheek with the edge of his sleeve. It was a stupid move, but she didn’t flinch. She just blinked at him, still looking stunned.
He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“I said thank you. For the extension on the shaker.”
“Your daughter was very distraught over it,” she replied, watching his expression shift.
“I know.” He dragged a hand down his face, suddenly bone-tired. “She’s gotten really invested in the orchard lately.”
He didn’t explain why. He didn’t mention how hard Emma had been trying to help lately, how quiet she got when he sat down to pay bills, or how she’d started doing things like reading old books about grafting apple trees when she thought no one was watching.
Honey hesitated, and he braced himself for a lecture about boundaries or responsibility or whatever else bureau people liked to say when they weren’t the ones raising kids alone.
But she didn’t.
“She mentioned it’s vital to your operation here,” Honey said.
“It is.”
“And you sell wholesale to grocery stores, I surmise?”
“Correct.”
“And is that profitable?” she asked.
He stiffened. “I thought you were here only for the well. Why the interest in my orchard?”
“Just curiosity,” she said, hands raised. “I have no official interest in your orchard. I am solely an auditor with the Bureau of Magical Compliance.”
“So this really is just about the well then?”
She frowned. “What else would it be about?”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked as he stared toward the house, toward the window where he half-expected to see the girls’ noses pressed to the glass.
“She’s been asking questions,” he said finally, voice low. “About her mother. I thought maybe she’d…thought to ask you.”
