The offer hung in the air between us.
My brain scrambled for reasons to say no. Working with her meant more time together. More chances to say something blunt that came out wrong. More opportunities to be the socially awkward disaster I always was around people who smiled that easily.
Better to keep my distance. Keep her as just another client.
I opened my mouth.
“That would be wonderful.” Sharon's voice cut through my thoughts, entirely too cheerful. “We've been trying to get more visibility.”
“Perfect! I'm there every Saturday through September, so we could?—”
“That's generous, but you don't have to do that.”
The words came out stiff, formal. Wrong. I winced internally.
Rosie's eyebrows lifted, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I know I don'thaveto. Iwantto.”
“The farmers' market is probably busy enough without adding dogs to it.” I shifted my weight, hand still resting on Pudding's side. An anchor. Something concrete to focus on.
“Oh, I think the market can handle a few extra cute faces.” Her smile widened. “Besides, people love animals. It'll probably bring in more customers for both of us.”
My jaw tightened. She wasn't wrong—logically, it made sense. More visibility meant better chances of finding homes for the dogs.
But working with her meant planning. Coordinating. Making small talk while setting up tables and answering questions about adoption applications.
So much talking.
“You're already managing the farm alone.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Adding more to your plate when you're still figuring things out doesn't seem practical.”
Her smile faltered. Just slightly, but I caught it.
“I can handle it.”
“I'm sure you can.” The words came out rushed, an attempt at reassurance. Then my brain kept going. “But I select the families carefully. It's not just about visibility.”
The silence stretched between us, taut and uncomfortable.
I should've stopped there. Dropped it. But my mouth kept moving, trying to fix what I knew I'd already broken.
“It's a careful process. I interview potential adopters and schedule home visits.” The words tumbled out, clinical and precise. “Most people don't understand the commitment. They see a cute dog and don't think about training, vet bills, behavioral issues?—”
“I'm aware of what dog ownership entails.”
Rosie's voice had gone flat, the warmth leaching out of it. Her spine straightened, shoulders pulling back in a way that made her seem taller.
“I'm just saying?—”
“That I don't know what I'm doing?” She crossed her arms. “That I'm in over my head with the farm, so adding anything else would be irresponsible?”
“That's not—” I stopped, jaw clenching. “I'm just trying to be realistic.”
“No, you're being condescending.” The words came out sharp, precise. “You don't think I can handle it. You think I'm some city girl playing farmer who can't manage it all.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.” Her hazel eyes blazed. “You've made it pretty clear since you showed up at the farm this morning. The way you looked at me when I couldn't catch Chip. The lecture about stressing Pudding. And now this.”
“That's not—I didn't mean?—”
