Except now, pulling down the dirt lane at six-thirty in the morning, I could see a figure in the vegetable garden.
Rosie. Awake.Outside.
Watering lettuce beds in cutoff denim shorts, a faded t-shirt, and oversized sunglasses despite the sun barely cresting the mountains.
Well. There goes the plan.
I parked by the barn and killed the engine, staring at my steering wheel. So much for the note. Now I'd have to apologize in person. I knew deep down it was better this way. But it also meant I could mess this up again. Say the wrong thing.
I'd have to be careful.
I grabbed my toolbox and the hinges from the truck bed, heading toward the coop. Maybe if I just got started, headed over there quietly?—
“What are you doing here?”
Rosie had abandoned the lettuce beds, one hand shading her eyes despite the sunglasses. Her voice carried across the yard, sharp enough to make the goats look up from their morning grazing.
I held up my toolbox. “Fixing your chicken coop door.”
She crossed the yard, arms folded. “Why?”
“Because it's broken.”
“I know it's broken.” She stopped a few feet away, squinting at me behind her sunglasses. “I asked whyyou'rehere fixing it.”
“Because I noticed it during Buddy's checkup.”
“And you thought you'd just show up at dawn and fix it without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She repeated, pushing the sunglasses up into her hair. I caught her wincing in the sunlight. “Why are you really here?”
I set the toolbox down, studying her. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine.”
“You're squinting.”
“The sun's bright.”
“It's barely up.”
She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Fine. I had a bit too much fun last night. Something you clearly don't know how to have.”
I picked up the toolbox again. “Then I'll let you get back to your hangover.”
“That's not—” She huffed, following me toward the chicken coop. “You still haven't answered my question.”
“I was condescending yesterday.” I set the toolbox beside the crooked door, examining the broken hinge. “I'm fixing your chicken coop as an apology.”
“That's not an apology, that's just?—”
“I'm sorry.” I turned back to look at her, meeting her eyes. When she didn't respond, I pulled out my socket wrench and focused on the broken hinge.
“That's it?” Rosalie finally said. “You show up unannounced, fix my stuff without asking, and throw out a half-hearted apology?”
“It wasn't half-hearted.”
