I take a breath and step off the bus.
Mae spots me and waves me over, her smile widening as she welcomes me.
I return the smile, trying to project wonderful-daughter-in-law grace instead of internal chaos. “Thank you so much for hosting the party.”
“Oh, we’re happy to do it. Ryder’s been restless since breakfast, running around making sure everything was perfect for today. He wasn’t this nervous the day of his wedding.”
My heart does that stupid flip again.
“He’s great with the kids,” I deflect.
Mae looks at me, amused, like my vague answer confirmed a theory.
Before she can add anything, Bettany converges with her phone held out like a weapon.
“Miss Rose, hello!” She greets me in her room-parent voice—bright, authoritative, and slightly condescending. “I separated the adults’ table so we don’t have to sit with the kids for snack time. Checked that the juice is sugar-free. And the Evans family has already set up labeled trash bags for recycling.”
I blink at the onslaught of information. “That’s… very thorough. Thank you for being here.”
And for once, I’m actually glad. Bettany just saved me from whatever knowing comment Mae was gearing up to make.
Small mercies.
“Who wants to feed a baby goat?” Ryder’s voice carries across the open space, deep and commanding.
The entire group shifts toward him like he’s magnetic, everyone drawn by his pull. And I’m just as powerless to resist.
But I hang back, staying on the outside of the fence that surrounds the petting zoo to maintain some distance. Trying not to stare.
It’s not working.
“I’m about to bring out the babies,” Ryder explains. “They’re tiny. And they get nervous when twenty-two people shout at them.”
A few children giggle.
“I need you to be quiet and wait your turn in line. Nice and calm. No pushing and no yelling. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, Mr. Evans” echoes back.
“Good. I’ll show you how it’s done first.”
He picks up a bottle filled with milk, then reaches into the pen and lifts out a tiny goat, white with brown patches and so small it fits over one arm. The animal bleats—a soft, scared sound—and Ryder tucks it against his hip.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“See? Just like this. Hold them close so they feel safe.”
He brings the bottle to the goat’s mouth. It latches on, sucking with desperate enthusiasm. Ryder steadies the bottle with one hand and runs the other down the goat’s back in slow, soothing strokes.
“That’s it,” he murmurs to the goat, his voice dropping lower. “You’re okay. Just hungry today, aren’t you? You’re getting stronger every day.”
It’s too much.
A class visit should not be this hot. A farm outing is meant to be wholesome, educational, an innocent demonstration.
Except Ryder is doing it. And the way he handles that tiny goat, with steady hands and a warm voice, leaves my so-called boundaries in a pile on the floor.
He’s so careful, his movements calm and steadfast. He’d never let anything in his care come to harm.
