In fact, other folks are also driving by. Wait. Not driving—crawlingin a conga-sized line of vehicles.
Oh, crap. Even though Cristina deleted her post about Pane, apparently the news about my guest has circulated, and the townies are now vying to get a glimpse of the billionaire.
“What is it?” he asks, turning toward the window.
I slap my hand over his and his head snaps back, his green eyes turning dark with irritation.
“Oh! Thought I saw a mosquito on your hand. Die, mosquito! You don’t want West Nile, do you? I just did you a favor.”
Pane slides his hand away and eyes me uneasily. “Um. Thanks.”
As discreetly as possible, I fire off a quick text to Cristina, begging her to get her butt out here and break up the welcome caravan.
Me:SOS! Pane’s fan club has arrived! Get them gone before he sees.
Cristina:I’m on it!
Me:Also, he’s never eaten biscuits before.
Cristina:What? Was he raised in a barn?
Me:No. In a gilded cage.
Cristina:Oh, right. Of course. I’m such a peasant.
Me:That’s what I thought, too!
He waits for me to finish texting before returning to our conversation, pelting me with questions. “So, no festivals? Not even nearby?”
I tell him what I can, completely distracted and barely listening to myself as I give long, elaborate answers so that I can buy any and all time possible. Cristina doesn’t live too far away, but it will take her a few minutes to get out here and break up the brigade.
While talking, I keep one eye on the traffic, which is now rush-hour heavy. People hold signs out their windows that readWelcome Pane Maddox! Welcome to Mystic Meadows! We Love You, Pane!There’s even aMarry Mesign.
That one has a bunch of hearts under it. Oh, wow. If these people knew what he was like, they’d change their tune lickety-split. They’d be locking him up intheirshampers just to get a break from his sour attitude.
Pane rises and stretches, dragging me back to our conversation. “Well, that’s all I need here.”
I rise, too. Must keep him away from the window at all costs. “Great. What’s the first step in saving Wadley Farms?”
His eyes narrow as if he’s smelled a rat. “You excited to get started? Quite the reversal from yesterday.”
“Well, I had time to sleep on it,” I lie. After Cristina went home I tossed and turned, burning up about the fact that Pane Maddox had arrived to save me. I don’t need saving, as I’ve mentioned.
But the fact is, even ifIdon’t need anyone, the farm does. The farm needs a big heaping dose of assistance if it’s to remain in our family.
He crooks a brow. “Is that all? You just slept on it?”
He’s fishing for some kind of epiphany—a deep truth sitting at the bottom of the ocean, just waiting to surface. “I slept on it and realized that I could have been”—it takes great effort for the words to come out—“nicer ... to you.”
I exhale. There. I said it. And being nice to Pane didn’t kill me.
Yet.There could be a delayed effect.
He smirks. “Great. Now that we’re on the same page, let’s head into town. We need supplies.”
Outside the window, there’s now a 4Runner rumbling by with a sign that readsLifetime Member of the Pane Maddox Fan Club!
Wow. Just wow.
