Turns out, coordinating schedules with a farmer isn’t that easy. Especially if he’s the head honcho of the whole operation. Apparently, not only does he run the business side of things, with help from his office manager, he also does a good chunk of the physical labor as well. I’m not sure why that surprises me. You can tell by his physique and tan he works hard. But it’s not as easy as deciding to go on a date. He has to make sure all his duties are covered.
The animals won’t feed themselves. Actually, they will. But not if no one gives them the food.
The nice part about constantly trading our schedules back and forth is it leads to other conversations. Ace and I now text or talk on a near daily basis. I’ve learned all about how close he and Pedro are. He’s learned all about my parents’ unfortunate car accident that took them together. I’ve learned more about how a farm runs than I ever realized there was to know. He’s learned that the only thing I hate worse than a scary movie is an X-Men movie. That lady in blue freaks me out.
I feel like we’ve gotten to know each other a lot the last couple of weeks, which makes me more excited when the stars finally align the right way.
And my babysitter is available. There’s only one person I trust with Oli. My brother, Jack.
“You’re late,” I complain as I open the door and let him in the house, still in my fluffy white robe with my hair wrapped in a towel.
“Got stuck in a meeting with Hank,” Jack grumbles. “Got any leftovers?”
I follow him into my new kitchen where he starts raiding my fridge. “There should be some pot roast in here.” He grunts his approval and grabs the right Tupperware, placing it on the counter while he gathers everything he needs. “Why’d your meeting run late? Did you get in trouble with teacher again?”
He snorts. “Hardly. Hank was being… Hank.”
“Meaning…?”
“We went over our normal stuff—line up, plays, all the stuff. And then he got sidetracked. Went on a rant for twenty minutes about why curling shouldn’t be an Olympic sport.”
I blink a couple of times at the randomness. “Um, it’s October. And not an Olympic year.”
“Yep.” He licks a drop of gravy off his thumb. “That’s Hank for you.”
“How did he get on that subject?”
“Who the hell knows? Probably because Renee wanted him to take her ice skating or something at the new rink that just opened on Park Place. I guess he tricked her into going curling instead.”
“That is very odd.” I cock my head as I’m suddenly trying to figure out why curling was added as an Olympic sport when wrestling was removed. Same thing with archery. Would the original participants consider these sports? Or are they considered skills? And why am I spending precious time thinking about sports instead of getting ready for my date?
Shaking my head like I’m clearing my brain, I glance up at the clock. I’m running out of time. I better get a move on.
“Okay, enjoy your pot roast.” The microwave door slams shut right on cue and beeps as he sets the time. “I need to finish getting ready.”
Jack turns and leans against the counter, crossing his arms and legs. “Where are the kids, anyway?”
“Julie is in her room reading”—he gestures like he’s not surprised—“and Oli is in his room playing on his tablet.”
Jack crinkles his brow. “What happened to limiting his electronics?”
I shrug. “You were late, and I had to shower.”
Groaning, he runs a hand down his face. “I’m gonna have to find a way to get him off it, aren’t I?”
“No. It’s set for the Internet to go off at eight anyway, so you don’t have to do anything except listen to him complain when he’s knocked off his game.”
Jack sighs but forgets what he was worried about when the timer dings. That man and his love of food. I shake my head in amusement on my way to my room. Before I get very far, I turn around and glare at him. “I should be ready before Ace gets here but if I’m not, I need you to let him in.”
Jack freezes and my hackles raise. I know that look.
“Jack,” I warn.
“Greer,” he counters.
“Don’t you dare give him the third degree.” We’re a little more than five years apart so Jack wasn’t around a lot when I started dating. But when he was home, well, let’s just say I didn’t get many second dates after Jack was through with the inquisition.
Jack raises his hands defensively. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Nope, not good enough.” I cross my arms. “You better be on my best behavior.”
He scoffs. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference is I can show Joie the pictures of your 80s rock star hair.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Those pictures were destroyed.”
I narrow my eyes back. “You think I didn’t make copies first? I don’t care what your prom date said. You looked nothing like Jon Bon Jovi.”
He purses his lips while he thinks, but finally nods once. Good enough for me. I don’t believe for a second he’ll be good, but at least it won’t be as bad as normal.
Before I can get to my closet to decide on an outfit, I notice the flashing light on my phone.
Picking it up, the text is from Adeline Snow.
Adeline: Quit freaking out. You’re going to have fun. You deserve this.
I chuckle lightly. I wasn’t going to tell her I had a date tonight, but when she called to give me an update on her writing progress, it sort of came up.
I really should be getting ready, but I stop to shoot off a quick response.
Me: Shouldn’t you be writing?
Adeline: Pffftt. I’m waiting for you to come home with a fantastic story I can swipe for my book.
Me: So you’re saying you don’t ever plan on publishing?
Adeline: Don’t ruin this for me! Go! Have fun! Have drinks! Have sex! You only live once. Do it for the both of us!
Me: Lol. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. You better have some words written!
Adeline: **runs to hide**
Dropping my phone on my bed, I realize I spent more time conversing than I should have. Now it’s a mad scramble to get ready on time.
I go through all the motions as quickly as I can, still taking care to present my best self.
Makeup.
Hair.
Lotion from head to toe.
The only thing that takes more time than normal is clothes. Normally, I’m in yoga pants and a T-shirt. Going out is a treat I don’t usually have, so I want to spruce myself up a bit.
I groan when the doorbell rings. I thought I had more time. Oh well. I guess I have to trust Jack believes me about those pictures. I know I have one somewhere, but I really don’t want to have to dig it up to make good on my threat.
Grabbing my blue jeans, I finally decide on a flowy white top with a matching camisole. It makes me feel sexy and alluring. Or at least, not frumpy.
A few minutes and I can’t primp any longer. If nothing else, I may need to save my date from my brother’s harassment.