Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
“It’s a bike.”
“With a . . . with a baby seat on the back.”
I wish I was wearing a hat so I had something to fuss with right now. My hands have no idea what to do with themselves. “I’m hoping you’ll use it to come see me at the farm, Evie.”
She doesn’t respond.
I’d give all one hundred acres of my land to know what she’s thinking right now.
“Thank you,” she says finally, a slight tremble in her voice. “Thank you.” She turns, cradling the baby’s head against her chest. “That was really thoughtful, Luke.”
I grunt. What else can I do?
I’ve made my intentions clear. The next step is hers to take.
“I’ve caught you in the middle of making dinner,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck on the way to the door, pausing with my other hand on the knob. “I know tomorrow is Christmas Day, but would it be all right if I called on you anyway—”
“Stay now,” she blurts out, turning a pretty shade of pink. “I mean, why don’t you stay for dinner? Since you’re already here.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could. You will.” The way she takes charge once she’s made a decision is very Evie, and I like knowing this. I like having knowledge—any knowledge—of her, no matter how big or small. Right now, she’s crossing the room toward me, taking hold of my elbow and ushering me toward the blue upholstered couch, which faces the muted television. Home Alone is playing. She has great taste. “Here. Sit and relax. I’ll just . . .” She trails off, glancing toward the kitchen. “I was just making grilled cheese and tomato soup. Is that okay?”
“Better than okay.”
“Good. Okay.” She turns in a circle. Have I flustered her?
“Evie.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t mind leaving.”
“I don’t want you to leave, Luke. I’m just overwhelmed by the bike. It never occurred to me to get one. And the baby seat.” She rolls her lips inward, wetting them. “I’m not sure I should accept. Like I told you, I’m not—”
“Looking for anything serious. I know. It’s repayment for the jeans.” I raise an eyebrow. “If you’d just taken my money, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
She battles a grudging smile. “Lesson learned.”
We stare at each other for nearly a full ten seconds, and I’d happily stay like this forever, being the center of this woman’s attention. “If you want me to watch Sonny while you’re cooking, I can do that. I’m the oldest of five. There’s a thirteen-year gap between me and the youngest, so I’m battle tested.”
Evie hums, rocks her son side to side. “I don’t think anyone has ever held him besides me and the nurses at the hospital.”
I nod.
And wait.
“He’ll fuss if you hold him while you’re sitting down. He likes to make you work.”
“My sister was the same way.”
“Where is she now?”
“Living in Canada. Calgary. She met a man at school, and they’re getting married in the fall.” I give her a look. “I might need a custom suit, if you know a good tailor.”
Another one of those pretty lip twitches. “I might.”
She takes one step forward. Another. Shifts the baby in a way that indicates she’s ready to hand him over. Trying not to let my relief show, I stand up and take Sonny in my arms, maneuvering the tiny infant until he’s against my shoulder, beginning a slow, bouncing walk under Evie’s watchful eye.
She has no idea I feel as though I’ve just won the lottery.
That exchange of trust wasn’t easy for her, but she did it. She trusts me.
I want more.
“What about your other siblings?” she asks, walking barefoot back to the stove, stirring the soup and putting together a second grilled cheese. “Where are they?”
“Spread out. Besides the one in Calgary, one still lives with my parents not far from here. One is still in school, and the other travels with a theater group. She’s the dramatic one.”
I pace closer to the kitchen, smiling inwardly when the baby blows a raspberry, his hand twisting in the collar of my shirt. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, but I always wished for a sister.”
“You can borrow one of mine—the dramatic one, preferably.”
I’m only able to see the side view of her smile. “Was it just natural for you to take over the farm because you’re the oldest?”
“Sort of, yes. But I don’t think the rest were born for it. Either way, I think . . .” I find my throat getting crowded. “I think I might have come on too strong, trying to make them love the farm as much as I did. Maybe I even drove them in other directions—before I realized what I was doing, you know?” She meets my eyes. There’s no judgment or sympathy in hers, only quiet understanding. “I love farming. It’s in my blood. Something else is in theirs, and that’s okay.”