I frown. “It sounds like you live in a hotel.”
“I do.”
My eyes nearly pop from my head. “Why?”
“So that I can be close to work. Traveling takes time, and I like to start early.” He swipes a napkin over his mouth. “What is it?”
I speak after downing a bite of eggs. “It just doesn’t sound very warm to live in a hotel. Like you’d be surrounded by beauty, but nothing cozy. It would be so sterile.”
Pane shrugs. Who he is, how he presents himself, begins to make sense. I wonder if his lack of warmth is because he grew up in such a cold place. After all, his mother expected him to wear a suit to their meeting, even though his was ruined. Is she cold, too? Just like an antiseptic hotel lobby?
He eats a fourth biscuit, moaning through every bite in a way that snares my attention. It’s impossible to do anything but stare as this beastly man takes pleasure in a biscuit.
A biscuit, y’all.
After voicing his gratification so loudly that a blush rises to my cheeks, Pane wipes his mouth and nods firmly. “Thank you. If you keep feeding me those, I’ll be your servant forever.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
A ghost of a smile graces his full lips. “It’s a joke.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “That’s good, because I was inches away from asking what kind of servant.”
“Not a sex servant, if that’s what you were hoping.”
His knee-quaking green eyes spear me so hard that I can’t breathe. My gaze starts to plummet to my lap from embarrassment, but I stop myself. There’s no way that Pane’s allowed the last word.
“Nope. I wasn’t thinking of that kind of servant at all,” I squeak.
“Good.” He whips his phone from his pocket and opens it. “Now. Let’s talk about the farm. I’ve checked the P and L’s.”
“How were they?” I ask dismally.
He grunts.
“That bad?”
Another grunt. “How many visitors do you get on a daily basis?”
“None. The unicorn farm across the road takes all the business.”
He frowns. “You don’t even get spillover?”
“Sometimes.”
“That seems odd.” He frowns and types something in his phone. “How busy is it this time of year?”
“Since kids are back to school, it’s slowing down except for weekends.”
“But fall is almost here.”
“And tourists will come to see the leaves changing color.”
He considers this. “Fall also brings festivals. Any of those?”
“No, there are none in this area.”
A flash of movement outside the window grabs my attention. I spot a green tractor topped with one Clarice Sinclair. She’s puttering in front of the farm.
