Page 60 of On One Condition

“It took us a full two years to get up and running and back to our prior capacity, but the repercussions of that year are still being felt to this day.”

“Two years.” He whistles. “That’s a lot of time to be without your commodity.”

I nod. “It was. And of course, Pop couldn’t stomach the thought of letting Danny or George go since they’re like family, so he made the sacrifices instead . . .”

“Sounds like the man I knew.” He smiles softly. “Did insurance help?”

“It did some, but not enough to cover the cost of buying new land and waiting out a year to be able to reseed again.”

“I can imagine. I’m sorry that happened.” He looks out the window and then back to me. “And now it’s all yours.”

“It is.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

I hold his gaze and ask myself about how to answer his question. A question I’ve asked myself numerous times over the past few months.

“Is it what I envisioned I’d be doing with my life? No,” I say with a reticent smile, “but you already knew that. At the same time . . . it’s where fate has led me to be. Is it a daily grind? Definitely. Especially when I’m learning on the fly and don’t have enough confidence in myself to be certain I know what I’m doing or how to do it. The Fields was Pop’s area of expertise, and while I helped out in between taking care of Gran and doing its social media, I was never knee-deep into the details.”

“And now it all rests on your shoulders,” he murmurs.

I nod but rise abruptly from my chair and move toward the coffee pot, uncomfortable with the questions that logically should come next. Why are you not sketching anymore? What happened to going to college and conquering the world? Why are you still in Cedar Falls?

They’re all valid in their own right, but ones with answers that will give away too much. That Asher Wells—the Wells family, in general—is even more penniless now than we were back when his father accused us of being just that. The last thing I want him to know is that I’m struggling and that losing the farm and this house is a real possibility if we don’t have a strong harvest this year. That I’m doing everything in my power to get up to speed and figure out how to reinvent the wheel here so we can turn a profit and stay afloat.

But he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t pry, and while I’m grateful that he doesn’t, I wonder what he’s thinking right now. What it is he sees when he looks at me, as he stands here in my kitchen in the early morning hours.

Does he regret coming here last night? Is he simply being polite by having this chat when he really wants to go? Was last night as incredible for him as it was for me? Because last night was incredible, but now there’s a sense of reality setting in, and what the heck do we do now?

My unspoken questions mixed with the weight of his stare on my back has nerves suddenly firing to life.

“Speaking of work falling on shoulders, I’m sure you have plenty yourself that you need to get to. Don’t feel the need to stay on my account,” I ramble as I fiddle with the coffee filter, grab the sponge to wipe down the counter, and then straighten the dish towels on the counter. Anything to keep my hands busy.

“Asher?” His voice is closer than I expected. I never heard him move.

“Hmm?” I ask as I move toward the refrigerator.

He hooks an arm around my waist to stop my progress. “You’re doing it again,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“Being skittish.”

I look up to meet his eyes. He’s right. I’m acting like a stray dog who’s afraid of everything. This is not me.

“I don’t do this morning-after thing very well, is all,” I finally say.

“No?”

“No.” I smile to cover my flushing cheeks. “In fact, I don’t do it at all so . . .”

He angles his head and studies my face. “What do you mean you don’t do it at all?”

I can see the moment he understands what I mean. That I’m not one to have overnight company. I swear he stands a little taller and his chest puffs out a bit more.

“Am I the first guy to ever sleep over here?”

“Until a few months ago, I didn’t exactly live alone.” Pop would have died of embarrassment if he’d walked into the kitchen and found a random man with bedhead drinking coffee. I think I would have too. After the conversation we had with Gran the other day, I venture to say that she wouldn’t have been at all embarrassed.