“Why didn’t you?” I ask him.
“A lot of reasons,” he says. “My family needs me here. The farm is too big for Dad to run on his own and Buck doesn’t really want to be farming forever. Me leaving would mean realistically that the whole thing needs to be sold.”
“Wow,” I say, nodding. That’s not a small consequence.
“And I know I don’t make a big thing out of it,” he says, looking a little worried. “But yeah, I do love it here. And no, I don’t get used to it. Especially when it comes to my daughter. You don’t really see it, since she’s so into the books, but Meg is a quiet kid. It helps her to be in a familiar place with people who look out for her and don’t try to make her into something she’s not.”
It’s kind of a narrow view of his daughter, but I appreciate that he wants to protect her. I guess that’s a parent’s job after all.
“I think Meg would be fine just about any place in the world,” I tell him. “But I also can’t really think of a nicer place than this one.”
He doesn’t look at me, but when I glance up, he looks more relaxed now. His shoulders are down a bit and the hard angles of his jaw aren’t rippling like they do from time to time.
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s hard to have perspective sometimes. I just want the very best for her. But it can be tough to see the forest for the trees.”
He gives this funny little smirk.
“Roan Connelly,” I say. “Did you just make a tree joke?”
“Maybe,” he says, smiling. “I guess you bring out my silly side.”
We head back toward the bookshop, and I’m feeling hopeful for reasons I can’t fully explain.
8
ROAN
Maybe it says bad things about my social life, but eating pizza on a picnic blanket on the floor of the bookshop with Taylor is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
I love watching her pull a slice out of the box, her eyes lighting up as the cheese stretches. She plucks a fallen piece of pepperoni off the cardboard and pops it in her mouth too, moaning in approval, utterly unembarrassed to absolutely revel in her meal.
“What?” she asks, hand covering her full mouth.
“I just like seeing a woman who doesn’t mind a good piece of pizza,” I hear myself admit out loud.
“So, you normally go out withI’ll-have-a-side-saladtypes?” she teases.
“There’s nothing wrong with a good side salad,” I protest and she groans at me, rolling her eyes. “As long as it’s beside a steak and a loaded baked potato.”
That earns me a laugh and a high five, and I feel like a smitten teen all over again.
“I like this side of you,” she tells me, taking a big sip of her Coke. “Why isn’t he around more?”
“He’s around,” I joke. “I just keep him locked up.”
“Let him out more,” she suggests and then takes another enormous bite of pizza.
I can’t help smiling as I watch her. Everything is a celebration with this girl, whether it’s ripping up carpet, hanging up lights, or simply eating a slice of pizza. It’s like she’s from a different planet than I am, like she doesn’t belong in my life at all.
“What are you doing here?” I wonder out loud.
“Destroying a pizza with my landlord,” she says, and winks.
But she doesn’t keep eye contact, and I’m left wondering all over again what brought her here. There’s not much for her to runtoin Angel Mountain, just this shabby bookshop. Which means she was probably runningfromsomething.
But from what I can tell so far, she just doesn’t seem like the type of person to back down from a challenge. I can’t picture her shuffling away from anything with her tail between her legs.
Proof is in the pudding though, because she’s here. Maybe we’re two peas in a pod after all.
