As usual, the night before the first day of her produce stand season, Deb barely slept. She hadn’t been sleeping all that well lately anyway, even less so since she and Simon had made their decision and she’d been worried about trouble between him and her brother. But on that Friday night, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever fallen all the way down into real sleep.
At least she’d had other things to think about than wondering how badly Max had beaten Simon and how rough things were with the Bulls. Instead, she’d spent the night running checks in her head: Plastic sacks bought? Check. Enough woven sacks to sell? Check. Baskets in good shape? Check. Stand clean and ready? Check. Batteries for the electric cash register and scale? Check. Produce culled? Check. Check. Check. Check. Run it through again.
Her alarm went off at five o’clock, but she’d been staring at her ceiling fan, watching its blades spinning, so she had no trouble sitting up.
Getting up was a slightly different story. As soon as she was on her feet, weariness overwhelmed her, and all she wanted to do was crawl back under her quilt and finally sleep. Typical—once she couldn’t sleep anymore, she could totally have slept.
Then she heard the engine of the small tractor, coming toward the house, and she shook away the fatigue and went to the window. Her father was already up. Dawn hadn’t begun, it wasn’t even all that close, but there was her dad, driving the tractor toward the driveway, towing her produce stand along.
Her little business venture had started on a whim about ten years before, when she’d overplanted her kitchen garden and had run out of friends and neighbors who could use her excess. Most of her friends and neighbors had kitchen gardens of their own. Saddened at the thought of just tossing all that gorgeous organic food out for the animals, she’d painted herself a pretty sign on a piece of scrap wood, filled up some old bushel baskets that had been stacked in a shed, tossed it all in the back of her station wagon, and driven out to the main road, the one that fed off the interstate. She’d parked on the gravel shoulder and sat her butt down on the tailgate with a book.
One chapter. That was all she’d gotten read that day. By noon, she’d had nothing in her baskets but loose pieces and bruised bits left behind by riffling hands. And her pockets had bulged with cash. She hadn’t thought to bring a lockbox or anything.
That summer, she’d gone out several more times. Always on Saturday, whenever she had enough yield to bother. She’d made quite a bit of cash—when taken against what she’d spent in supplies and effort to produce that produce, she’d made an insane profit.
So she’d planned the next garden to harvest enough to sell. The year after that, she’d expanded the garden, and Max had built her a portable rack for her wares, something she could fold up to transport in her car. After that, she’d expanded her little flock of hens and begun adding fresh eggs to her stock. Then Max had built her the beautiful stand she had now, on a flatbed trailer. She’d added Sundays, and then Wednesdays, to her schedule. She’d taken on employees to keep up with the demand and registered her ‘business’ as an LLC. She’d begun to preserve some of her harvest. Requests from local restaurants and shops had begun to appear.
Every year, something grew. This year, she’d meant to hire another employee or two and expand into the farmer’s market scene, but that hadn’t happened—Max had put the kibosh on it about the same time he’d moved Leah to the farm. He didn’t want them in Tulsa, certainly not out in the open.
Deb had been disappointed at first—and then relieved. She’d spent the past ten years growing her little whim into an actual business, and until she’d been pulled up short, she hadn’t realized how much pressure she’d been putting on herself to make it always more, more, more. She didn’t even want that—to be more, to grow and grow until what? She opened a storefront?
No.
If she kept growing, then days like this wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t wake up to find her father up even earlier, so he could tow her stand up to the house and wash the tractor to make it shiny for the day. She wouldn’t have her family and friends coming together to help her get it started, wouldn’t be able to make a huge breakfast for them all, and picnic lunch, then a huge supper tonight. If she kept growing, the stand wouldn’t be part of this life anymore. It would take on a life of its own.
‘Take on a life of its own.’ Standing at the window, watching her father park the tractor near the pump, Deb truly understood that phrase for the first time.
She leaned out the window and called down, “Morning, Dad!”
He looked up and gave her a wave. “Gonna be clear and seventy degrees for a high today. Good day for it!”
Yeah, it was. Leah was with them. Aly was coming out to help, too—though her help tended to be more along the lines of commentary. And Billy and Kay, her paid employees. Max always came out to help on the first day. This year, Simon was coming with him.
Simon would be here.
She smiled and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
~oOo~
He looked terrible.
The guys had arrived, both roaring up on their Harleys, just past eight o’clock. By then, her dad had the tractor washed, Billy and Kay had shown up for work, and Deb and Leah had breakfast ready. Only Aly hadn’t gotten there yet, but she usually showed up later, when the stand was already in place.
Now Simon stood before her, the morning sun at his side drawing all of his wounds into high relief.
“Oh my God.” Deb flung her stunned eyes from Simon to Max. “Max, what did you do?”
“He’s fucking lucky,” her brother mumbled. He had Leah in his arms, her feet off the ground, and his face was buried in her hair. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks.
“I’m okay, hon,” Simon answered.
Deb turned back to him. “You are not!”
He was not. His left eye was covered with gauze, which was covered with a black patch—it was a cheap one, like might come with a pirate costume. A track of stitches sliced across his left cheekbone, and that side of his face was mottled red. Dark bruising lay over his nose and eyes like a bandit’s mask. He was not okay.
“I am.” He took her hand and pulled her close. “It’s all gonna heal. I’m good.”
As Simon leaned down to kiss her, her father said, “Simon.”
Smoothly, Simon slid away from their almost-kiss and stood up straight. He smiled and held out his hand. “Sam. Good to see you.”
Her father shook with him. “And you. You look a little rough, son.”
“Yeah. Rough week.”
Her father’s nod seemed to both agree and understand. “I hear—and see—that you’ve set your eyes on my girl. I need to ask after your intentions?”
Reading her father’s lighthearted mood, Simon’s grin grew, and he chuckled. “They’re good.”
“Alright, then. We got food to eat and work to do.” With that pronouncement served as an instruction to move along, he walked away.
Max stood with Leah, his arm around her shoulders, watching the exchange. His eyes shifted to Deb’s, and she met them straight on, sending him a message that he needed to back the hell off.
He nodded. Just like that. Not a word, just a jerk of his head. Then he turned with Leah and walked toward the house.
They were alone on the driveway now. Simon put his arm around her and held her close. When she raised her arms, he dipped down and set his forehead on her shoulder. She looped her arms around his neck and let him rest there, combing her fingers through his ponytail.
“You’re really okay?”
He sighed. “Yeah. I just needed this.”
It did feel good, this closeness. It wasn’t sex or even arousal—in fact, it was almost the opposite of arousal. A different kind of desire. For peace. Warmth, not heat. Rest, not fire. In all her years of sticking with fuck buddies, she hadn’t felt this. Even with Simon. She hadn’t let herself feel it. Until Simon.
She set her hand on the back of his head and held him to her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” He lifted his head, slowly, skimming his beard over her cheek, bringing his mouth to hers. He took his time. This was a kiss that had no destination beyond itself.
Deb sighed, and opened her mouth for his languid tongue. Standing on her family’s farm, before the house she loved, in the arms of this new love, she took Simon in and claimed him for her own.
When he pulled back, his good eye shone like a pale green sun. “I hear there’s good eats.”
She laughed. Somehow, the moment wasn’t broken. Somehow, that was the perfect thing for him to say. “Absolutely. C’mon—we’re eating in the dining room today.” She took his hand and led him into her home.
~oOo~
“He’s cute.” Aly tugged her big-frame plastic sunglasses to the end of her nose and studied Simon over them. She settled back in her lawn chair as if she meant to really take her time and memorize him. “A little shaggy. I didn’t know you were into shaggy.”
Deb refilled the hook on the end of the trailer with woven bags. That hook held ten bags at a time, and she’d emptied it twice already—at ten bucks each. She watched Simon walk away, carrying a flat box full of an old lady’s purchases. Wow, his ass—that was a view she’d never grow tired of.
“You’re the one who likes your men neat. I like mine on the rocks.”
Aly laughed and pushed her glasses up. “Well, he’s a double on the rocks.”
“And yet you’re ogling his ass.”
“Like I said, he’s cute. That ass is…damn. Boy can fill himself out a pair of jeans.”
Deb rolled her eyes and walked away to do a turn around the stand. Billy and Kay had gone back to the farm to restock—half the bins were empty, and she’d emptied out the restock she’d brought up in the Buick.
This was why she asked friends and family to help. On most days, she, Billy, and Kay could manage just fine. But on the first day of the season, after she’d run ads in the papers from here to Tulsa, they ended up with a crowd. She needed people to help carry purchases, to run the register, to keep the stock up, and to serve as consultant.
That was her favorite part—talking about her babies. Depending on what point in the season they were in, she had several different varieties of many different fruits and vegetables on hand. Here near the end of May, she had six different lettuces, kale, spinach, chard, collards, three different carrots, three kinds of onions, garlic—plus rhubarb and strawberries, and the first picks of peaches and plums from the tiny orchard that had been her mother’s pride and joy. And eggs—ten dozen eggs, a mix of brown and white, all from the past week, sorted into trays of six.
Later in the season, she’d add beets, four types of beans, broccoli, summer squash, okra, and cauliflower. At the very end, there’d be pumpkins and apples as well.
The size of her garden gave her lots of room to play.
She knew all of her plants, all of her harvest—which lettuces were sweet and which bitter, which green beans kept their body when steamed and which were better for soups or stews. She’d cooked with everything she’d ever grown, so she made herself available for questions and encouragement. She’d designed little recipe cards, from her mother’s recipes and her own, to entice buyers to try something new.
Today, that was her job. While Max and Simon toted purchases down the road to customers’ cars, Billy and Kay kept the stock stocked and fluffed, Leah ran the register and scale, and Aly manned the cooler and provided snarky commentary, Deb schmoozed. She greeted regulars she hadn’t seen since last summer, neighbors she’d seen a few days before, and new customers, all of them getting a hug and some conversation.
Sometimes, a Grumpy Gus would show up who only wanted to buy a head of lettuce and get gone, but for the most part, the people who came to shop out here at her roadside stand off the interstate had come for an experience. They wanted to chat. It was the visit that made the stop worthwhile. They could buy lettuce at the supermarket.
Well, yeah, technically, people could buy lettuce at the supermarket. It was a month old, full of pesticides, and shipped in from Mexico, but it was technically lettuce. There was nothing that tasted as good, that felt as crisp and cool in the mouth, as lettuce that had been in the ground within the past twenty-four hours.
Deb made sure her customers understood that.
~oOo~
“Holy hell. I had no idea it was like this.” Simon dropped into the empty lawn chair at Aly’s side. “My back is killing me.”
They’d just about wound down for the day. She’d sent Billy and Kay home; they’d open the stand tomorrow on their own. Deb had advertised open hours until five o’clock, and she still had a few trays of eggs, some greens, and rhubarb, so she wasn’t ready to close up just yet. But the crush was over, and at the moment they had no customers. There hadn’t been many gaps in the traffic.
Aly smirked and pulled her flask from her bag, sitting on the grass at her feet. “Here.” She handed it to Simon. “Good for what ails ya.”
He took the flask, opened it, and gave it a suspicious sniff.
“It’s gin, honey,” Aly sighed. “Deb might cry if I tried to poison you.”
“I hate gin.”
Aly flopped out an imperious hand. “Never mind, then.”
“No, no, gin’ll do.” He took a swig and made a completely adorable face. “Blech.” He took another swig, made another face, handed Aly her flask back.
Max came over, leading Leah by the hand. They’d gone off wandering in the woods about an hour earlier; by the looks of them, they’d found a way to entertain themselves.
He opened the last two lawn chairs. When Leah sat, Max went to the cooler, dug deep under the floating ice, and pulled up a can of Busch.
Simon’s jaw dropped. “There’s beer? There’s been beer?” With one eye and a stitched cheek, he managed to send a betrayed scowl at Deb. “There was beer?”
She laughed. “Sorry. Yeah, there was beer.”
Max stood at the open cooler, his can in his hand, his eyes on Simon. Then he ducked down and pulled out another beer. He tossed it, and Simon made a bobbling catch.
“Thanks, bro.”
“Whatever.” Max grabbed a lemonade for Leah. “You want anything, Deb?”
She shook her Diet Coke at him. “I’m good.”
After a long drink from his newly discovered beer, Simon sighed loudly and sank deep into the flimsy lawn chair. “This is the real deal, Deb.”
“Well, yeah. You thought I was out here with a card table and a sign: Lettuce, Five Cents?”
His attention was focused over her head, considering the trailer behind her. Max had gone all out to make it nice—built of good wood, sanded, stained, sealed, with a tidy low-peaked roof. All the bins and baskets matched and were evenly arrayed. Deb had designed and painted a bright, pretty sign which Max had installed on the roof: Wesson Farm Fresh.
“You did. You thought I was out here at a card table. Or selling out of the back of the Buick.” Like she’d started.
“No,” he finally answered and then lifted a guilty shoulder. “I never really thought about it.”
He’d had no reason to think about it. He knew her, but he didn’t know much about her. She’d seen to that—she’d wanted separation between her real life and her sex life, so she’d never let him in. But he’d let her in. From the first day, he’d welcomed her into his life. They’d gotten together in his world. She knew his house and how he kept it. She’d watched him build his models. She knew the food and drink he liked, what he kept in his house. She knew him through Max, too, and the Bulls. She knew him.
But he’d barely ever stepped into her life. Until today, whenever he’d come to the farm, he’d been there for Max, with Max. Today had been the first time he’d come to her. With the exception of the night of and day after the tornado, he’d never really known her in her world. Because she hadn’t wanted him to.
That had to change. “Well, it’s a real business,” she replied, quietly.
He met her eyes but didn’t speak. They simply gazed at each other, but Deb understood—he felt what she felt. That gap in his knowing, and the desire to fill it.
“Geez, you two. Get a room!” Aly groaned.
“Fuck off, Aly,” Max groused.
Simon smiled.
Deb smiled back.
~oOo~
Deb stood at the sink rinsing dishes. Max came in with a precarious stack of serving bowls and set them on the counter at her side.
It was the first time all day they’d been just the two of them alone in the same space. Before he could turn away, she said, “Hey, Max.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He eyed her for a beat or two before he got around to responding. “You tell me if he hurts you, Deb. Not fuckin’ around with that.”
“I’m a grown woman, Max. I’m older than you. I can handle myself.”
He didn’t answer at all this time.
Deb rolled her eyes. “Okay. If he breaks my heart, you can break his face. But leave it alone now, okay? I like his face.”
All she got for that was a scoffing grunt. Stubborn jerk.
But she tossed that topic back for a likelier catch. “Hey. I have an idea.”
“What.”
“Leah wants you to stay the night, right?” They’d had a good supper, with good moods all around, even a thaw between Max and Simon, but Leah had been sulky since dessert, when Max had told her they couldn’t stay the night because Bulls were in pairs right now wherever they went—the subtext being that he so badly didn’t want Simon to stay over with Deb that he was willing to deny himself and Leah a night together. “You want to stay, right?”
“Deb…”
“So I’m going to ask Simon to stay.”
“Dad’ll stroke out.”
“No, he won’t. Don’t put this on Dad. He’s not a prude, and you’re being an ass.” She’d never actually had a guy in her bed when her father was home, but she didn’t think he would judge. “He’ll be fine. He understands, and as long as we’re not having an orgy on the kitchen floor, he’ll be cool.”
Max stared at the linoleum. “I am never going to get that image out of my head. Thanks.”
“He likes it when the house is full of family.”
“Simon’s not family.”
“He’s your brother, right? That’s what you say—the club is as much family as we are.”
“Don’t turn my words back on me, Deb.”
Leah came in then, carrying more dirty dishes, and paused when she noticed the tension between them. “Everything okay?”
“I’m saying I want Simon to stay over tonight, too. That way Max can stay.”
Max wheeled on her. “Cheap, Deb.”
She shrugged. He was being a shit. She’d use the ammo she had.
“Gun?” Leah’s voice lilted with hope and persuasion. “Please?”
“You know how bad you want to stay,” Deb muttered. “Think about it—a whole night, after a month apart.”
“Skank,” he grumbled back.
“Loser.”
Leah set the dishes on the counter and put her arms around Max. “Stay with me, Gun. I want to sleep with your arms around me tonight.”
The argument was over as soon as he wrapped his arms around his girl.