“Oh, right. Can I behisassistant?”
Wesley chuckles. “Your enthusiasm is misplaced.”
I grumble, partly to myself, “Yours would be too if it’d been a while since—”
“Rose, come on, boundaries.”
I laugh. “All right, all right. I’ll start packing. But be warned, if I hate it or if it’s ‘toxic,’ I’m booking myself a one-way ticket back home.”
I glance around the space.Orascloseto‘home’asIcanaffordrightnow.
I hear him typing away. “It’s a deal. I’m sending you flight information for Monday.”
“It better not be before noon.”
“Oh, that’s another thing. This is an early-morning job. Not one that starts at four in the afternoon. You need to readjust your sleep schedule.”
My chest tightens.
Icantry.
But even I know that unless I intend on being a zombie at my new job, I won’t be making it on time. Maybe Wilder will let me come up with a newcustomarrangement.
Yeah,that’llwork.I’ve had one conversation with the man ages ago, and I can only imagine how much his ability to rationalize with a woman has grown.
“Six weeks,” I agree with a newfound worry.
“A reset,” he reminds me.
Hours after hanging up and throwing some clothes on my bed to consider before packing, I catch Willow up on my new summer plans. She’s my best friend—if notonlyfriend. We met in college when I mistakenly walked into the music room where she—seemingly alone—was sitting in front of a piano, rockingout to a solo concert in her head.
We’ve been inseparable since.
Rose:I can’t believe I said yes to this.
Willow:I can. You need to get out of the city. Sheesh, I wouldn’t mind the fresh air myself if I could afford a plane ticket.
Rose:I’ll miss working with you.
Willow plays piano at the downtown bar where I bartend; it’s how I got the job. The owner there worships the ground she walks on, so when she recommended me, I pretty much started the next day.
Willow:Have you worked out your hours for this gig yet?
Rose:Early.Realearly.
Willow:You’re kidding.
Rose:I’ll be fine.
3
Wilder
First of July and I already feel like I’ve dropped ten pounds of sweat this season. The heat doesn’t usually bother me. The workload I’m stuck with now does. Thestressdoes. The weight I’m bearing to keep this place running smoothly.
And make it look like we can afford to be one man down.
I ride across the pasture slowly, back toward the house, scanning the fields for routine inspection. It’s not dusk yet, but I’m shot as hell since I was up at four this morning, rearranging the week’s schedules to accommodate last-minute tours. OK, so maybe they weren’tlast-minute, per se. Maybe I’m working themintothe schedule last-minute.
