“We’ll probably have to replace all of the fencing,” Brandon announces when we’re done.
I use a corner of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead, then let my gaze travel along the fence. I can’t even see where it ends.
“Now?” I ask, trying to keep the note of intimidation out of my voice.
“No.” Brandon snorts, amused by my relieved sigh. “But next year—you know, if you’d like to come around again then.”
He says it with such perfect nonchalance that I almost miss the invitation in his words. My stupid heart gives a happy flutter in my chest—I stomp it down quickly.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to the cherry harvest next year. Training camp and all that stuff. But maybe after graduation!” I add that last part hastily, then bite my tongue when I realize that’s also a lie. By then, Linden will probably want to introduce linen-pants Colin to his parents. And who knows, since Linden insists he’s completely different from how I picture him, he might fit right in.
“Ah, right, Linden mentioned you've got plans to go pro. Football, right?”
I nod quietly, busying myself with putting all the tools back into the battered box.
“I played, too. Just in high school, of course. Could’ve gone to Burlington, but my daddy didn’t want me wasting my time getting a degree when I could learn right here, you know?” He gestures around to indicate the fields surrounding us. I wonder how much of this belongs to the Woodrows, and how many of them have worked on this land before Brandon and Linden.
“Almost made the same mistake with Lind. But I’m glad we sent him off to Bonham. Times change, and farming’s getting more complex every day. I think it’ll help him do right by all this.”
Nausea spreads in my stomach at the hopeful smile spreading on Brandon’s face. I think back to the textbooks in Linden’sroom, how his eyes light up when he talks about his classes, the gentle way he held the rescue kittens while patiently feeding them from the bottle.
Don’t make him, I want to say,please don’t make him. He doesn’t want this.
Instead, I swallow hard, forcing the words back from my tongue and down my throat.
“My dad didn’t like the idea of me going to college, either,” I say as I stuff my hands into my pockets. They’re trembling, and I’m afraid he’ll notice.
“Really? What made him change his mind?” Brandon’s eyes are on Owen chasing Oak through the field as he speaks. I follow his gaze, chuckling at the sight. I suspect Owen doesn’t understand that the German Shepherd isn’t having as much fun as he is.
Money, I think, but rather allow silence to spread between us.
Linden, July 15th
Now that all the trees are standing empty, it feels like we all have time to breathe again. While there’s always work waiting to be done, it doesn’t carry the same urgency as the cherry harvest did. At the end of the last week, my sisters packed up their families to head to their homes and enjoy some normalcy. As a result, the farmhouse feels a lot emptier, but quieter too. I use whatever time I can sneak to study.
However, Dad keeps seeking me out, asking me to go over pages and pages of accounting and comparisons between this year’s harvest and the last with him.
In the evenings, when Micah and I fall into bed together, I always feel a twinge of worry that he’ll bring up wanting to return to Bonham now that the harvest is finished. But then we find something new to try out and we both forget about driving back to the Nook while straddling each other. It’s incredibly selfish, but for the first time I wish summer would never end.
Which is why I take my time sweeping out the barn while Micah tells me about his part of the week. Seeing his eyes shine as he talks about helping my dad fix the fence and learningmore about the equipment, as well as our animals, takes some worry off my shoulders.I'm even forgetting about the ache in my thighs and ass from taking two of Micah’s fingers the other night; our newest experiment.
Thinking about it lights a soft warmth in my chest that threatens to spill into my cheeks. Hoping to hide it, I pick up the thermos from the side table amidst single working gloves, almost empty rolls of wire, and other knickknacks. It's still heavy, promising some leftover coffee, so I shake out two tin mugs to evict any straw or stray spiders before I pour coffee into them. Thankfully, it's still hot enough to steam. I pass the first cup to Micah, then empty the rest into mine, raising it to toast.
“To still not being sick of farm work, I guess.”
“Aw, you know I’m happy to help.” Micah inclines his head with a smile and clinks our cups together gently before also taking a sip.
“Honestly, though, thanks. Mom and Dad are so lucky you had time.”
“Anyone would be lucky to have a big, strong man there to help them, clearly.” Micah grins over the rim of his cup as he inhales the rich aroma. His eyes slide closed at the first sip, the sight stirring up butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Damn him for looking this good while being insufferably smug.
“Anyone?”
“Anyone!” he insists, putting his cup down so he can cross his arms in front of his chest. His muscles bulge as he shows off, his lips still curled with that cheeky smirk that only grows when he sees me drag my eyes up.
It’s not my fault that his chest is much closer to my eye level!
Letting out a huff, I set the thermos and my cup back down, turning from the work table fully toward Micah. The closer I get to him, the more I have to tilt my head back to make eye contact.
