He felt a bit like an idiot, still standing there grinning down at her with his heart pounding away in his chest. Something in him needed to know if that’s what they were becoming.
“Then I accept,” she said, sticking out her hand like it was a business deal.
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and shook her hand. “I should warn you, friendship means something different here in Brim’s Hollow.”
“I come prepared,” she replied, eyes gleaming.
And, much to his surprise, he believed her.
Chapter 15
Ethan
Ethan had been pretending to prune a very already-pruned apple tree for the better part of an hour. He wasn’t proud of it. But the far end of the orchard gave him the perfect view of the old wishing well, and of Honey, who currently sat cross-legged beside it with Pickles curled in her lap.
He told himself he was just keeping an eye on things and making sure the animals weren’t bothering her too much. But then he sent her a text. Something dumb about the goats and chickens revolting that made her laugh, and he hadn’t been able to walk away after hearing it. The conversation they’d had yesterday shifted something between them. Now, he found himself doing things like trying to make her laugh.
And watching her when he should’ve been working.
And humming.
Jesus. He was humming.
He leaned on the tree trunk and watched her move instinctively through the scattered sea of gold and silver coins. She brushed them into piles, moving carefully to not disturb her tiny companion.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said down to the baby goat cradled in her lap. “I’m just trying to work here. Don’t mean to disturb your nap.”
The goat flicked an ear and let out a sigh so content, Ethan felt it in his chest.
She laughed softly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the afternoon sun casting a glow over her and the wishing well. Her boots were dusty, her jeans had smudges, and there was hay stuck to the back of her head.
And damn it if something about the whole picture didn’t knock the breath out of him.
Then a shape shifted at the edge of his vision—a blur of white and fury—and before he could call out a warning, it was too late.
“Shoot.” Ethan dropped the shears and took a step forward, but by then Dolores had already made contact, nudging Honey with all the subtlety of a freight train.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh no.”
Honey swallowed and tried to sit very, very still.
Dolores was a sheep with a bit of a temper. Ethan knew she was harmless, but Honey was a city girl, and he figured a full-grown sheep looming behind might be…a lot.
“Morning, Ms. Baxter,” he called out. “There you are, you big beautiful oaf.”
Honey very cautiously turned her head in his direction. “Excuse me?”
He crossed the grass and crouched beside them. He scratched behind Dolores’s ears the way she liked as if he wasn’t seconds from hauling her back to the pen.
Dolores let out a satisfied snort, confirming what Ethan already knew. She was jealous.
“She’s adopted the kid,” Ethan said, glancing at the dozing ball of fluff in her lap. “Thinks you stole herbaby.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” she said, gesturing to Pickles, who yawned and blinked up at her with innocent eyes.
“Oh, my mistake,” Ethan said, biting back a grin. “Don’t worry. The pen’s all fixed. You’ll have no more visits from Pickles.”
She narrowed her eyes, and he already knew her well enough to realize she’d refuse to admit that she’d grown fond of the little kid.
