If that morning at Twin Tulip was proof of anything, it was that.
“Listen, guys,” I said. “It was a high school crush. It’s over. Nothing is going to happen. I have Gennie to worry about now. I don’t have time for anything else. Leave it alone, okay?”
“You need to take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice,” Bones said, ignoring the fuck out of me.
“No,” I replied. Even if I wanted to do that, I was awkward as hell. My blurted-out proposal was fine proof of that. My general inability to form words around her was even more proof. I could not—would not—put any energy into wooing Shay. Not when I knew exactly how that would turn out for me.
“Yeah, one of those fancy places that buys our asparagus and turns it into broth or foam or something weird like that,” Bones continued. “You’ll need to eat in advance but she’ll like it.”
“No,” I repeated. What would we even talk about without Gennie providing interference? Given ten minutes alone with Shay, I’d either offer my hand in marriage again or sit in complete silence while my ears flamed red and my heart beat loud enough for her to hear it across the table.
“You should thank her,” Wheatie said. “For helping Miss Gennie. Thank her with a proper evening out.”
“No,” I said once again. It was a terrible plan.
“You said she was the one who got away,” Wheatie continued. “You said she’d always be the one.”
“Yeah, and now I have a kid who is depending on me to be stable and not hung up on some girl who will leave behind a world of hurt when she goes—which she will.” I shook my head. I already knew it would hurt to see her leave again but it would kill Gennie, and I couldn’t allow that. “And if we’re talking about the things we said that night, you said you wanted to explore the possibilities of goat milk, and look where that’s landed us. I have a herd of hooligan goats and barely enough milk to justify pursuing organic certification.”
“But the price per ounce is decent,” Wheatie said. “The wholesale cheese alone covers their costs.”
“And the yoga is very popular,” Bones said. “I’m a big supporter of that program.”
“You’re a supporter of the ladies in those tight pants,” Wheatie said to him.
“Also that, yes,” Bones replied.
“Housewives are not for you,” Wheatie said.
“That’s an outdated term, old man,” Bones replied. “Just because they’re here for yoga in the middle of the day doesn’t mean they’re not bossing it up.”
“Remind me to never get drunk with you fools again,” I muttered.
“It’s part of the grieving process,” Wheatie said.
At the same time, Bones asked, “What did I do?”
“Pretty sure you supplied the liquor,” Wheatie said to him.
Bones shrugged, saying, “Your father only dies once if he does it right. Homemade hooch is required.”
I stared at the ceiling. My father’s death had been sudden and shocking, and it had come with the awareness that decisions had to be made about the farm, much sooner than I’d ever anticipated having to make them. In truth, I’d long hoped I wouldn’t have to be the one making them at all.
There’d been a million things on my mind the night Wheatie and Bones had hauled me down to the edge of the cove with a bottle and wood for a bonfire, and somehow, the thing that forced its way to the surface was Shay Zucconi and the chunk of my heart she’d stolen.
We’d never spoken of that night. Not until now.
“It means nothing,” I said. “Nothing has changed. Just because she’s living at the Thomas place—well, it doesn’t matter. Nothing is going on with us.”
“Something should go on with you,” Bones said. “Go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I could ask her to marry me.
“Dinner is the way to go,” Bones added. “You’ll look friendly. Thoughtful.”
“Let’s not be ridiculous,” Wheatie said. “Friendly isn’t one of his settings.”
“Probably true.” Bones stroked the barely-there whiskers of his beard as he peered at me across the desk. “Look. It’s either ask her to dinner or carry this bullshit around with you for the rest of time, which seems terrible. I’m just saying. Your choices are take a chance or carry bullshit. I’d take the chance.”
