Butter You Up: A Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

4. Alex

Molly leavesthe shop and briefly speaks to Kit before climbing on her bike and peddling off. I pretend to be busy with paperwork instead of trying to listen to their conversation, but the hum of the surrounding refrigerators is too loud to catch anything. Kit saunters in and grins at me.

“Does she have the job?”

I hold up her resume. “I have to call her references, but probably.”

He fist pumps. “Yes. Put me back in the barn, buddy.”

I give him an eyebrow raise and step out from the counter to let him back in. He settles back in at the computer and minimizes the POS software, revealing a game of Solitaire. Instead of playing, though, he leans forward, his elbows on the counter.

“You should ask her out.”

I choke on air.

“What?”

“She’s cute as hell, and she’s into you.”

Well, I can’t argue the first one. Molly has long, curly red hair that bounces when she moves, which she does frequently. Even just standing and talking to me, she was moving around, rocking on her feet. Molly had to look up at me, which almost everyone does since I’m so tall, but she’s pretty short—maybe a foot shorter than me. Her features were delicate, with high cheekbones and freckles. Very pretty.

“Do you have an HR department? Cause you’re gonna need one for this.”

“I’m the HR department.”

“Conflict of interest,” he claims. “I’m your new HR department.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you gonna call her references?”

“Making phone calls? Ew, no.”

I give him a glare.

“No, wait! Make me her boss. We might have to form a subsidiary corporation and a shell company to move things around so that you’re not her boss’s boss.” Kit moves his hands around like a street performer taking bets on which cup the ball is under.

“You don’t have any idea what those things are, do you?”

“Nope, but I’m just trying to help my best friend ask his soulmate out.”

Sure, when pigs fly. Kit is the sole reason I’ve had relationships with women. He would drag me to trivia night or happy hour. I’m not very good at talking to women, but he is. Once he breaks the ice, it’s easier for me to have a conversation.

It’s been a crutch over the years, I know. And I have gotten better about striking out on my own. I’ve even had a couple of flings with tourists passing through Climax, the bigger town about half an hour away and closer to the highway.

When you visit a town like Climax, making jokes about the name really gets the ball rolling.

Don’t even get me started on soul mates, though. Kit is a hopeless romantic, and by that I mean he falls in love every day and twice on Sundays.

“What makes you think I even like her?” I grumble.

Kit says nothing. He just lifts a finger to my forehead and circles my eyebrows. Kit swears my eyebrows are the most expressive part of me.

He might have a point.

“While she was busy checking out all of this,” His finger now circles my whole body. “I was watching all of this.” It zones in again on my eyebrows.

I decide it’s best to ignore this and pat my jeans pockets, looking for my phone.

Kit rolls his eyes. “It’s up in your office, I’m sure.”

“Anything important enough is happening on the farm,” I grumble, my usual reason for leaving my phone at my desk. That and I work with the bodily fluids of farm animals all day. Besides, most of my notifications are from our social media accounts, and it’s just a reminder of yet another thing I’ve put on the back burner…mostly because I just really fucking hate social media. Any time I try to post something, my captions just sound inane. No one wants to hear about the nitty gritty aspects of dairy farm work, which is what I”m up to my elbows in every day.

“Fine, go do the boring, responsible thing and hire Molly.” He rubs his hands together like a villain. “Time for solitaire.”

I pick up Molly’s resume, folding it in half and tucking it into my back pocket. On the way out, I tap my leg and Trixie jumps back up from her dog bed and follows me out.

When I get to my office, I pick up my phone and dial the first reference.

I chat with a pleasant woman who reminds me of my gran. She owned a stationery store Molly worked at for four months, and when I ask why Molly left, the lady tells me she had to shut down the store. “A Hallmark opened up around the corner, and I couldn’t compete. Plus, my son suggested I move down to California, and I was tired of the winters.”

Next, a guy answers, and I explain who I am and what the job is and ask him about Molly’s employment at his bookstore. “She was an exceptional employee,” he says. “Real passionate about books. Where did you say you were again?”

“Fork Lick, New York.”

There’s a pause. I’m not sure if that’s all he needed to know, so after a beat, I ask him why Molly left.

He hesitates, and that worries me. “She had some personal trouble. Had to turn in her notice. Did she mention her father?”

“No, sir.”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “I guess I better call him and make sure he’s okay.”

“Is there anything that would affect Molly’s ability to work?”

“No, no. She’ll do great with customers. I’d hire her again.”

I ask him a few more questions and then say goodbye.

The last reference is Molly’s current job, which she says she does part-time from the van. A woman answers, and everything I ask her checks out—Molly works about four hours a week creating social media content for her van life blog. She is a reliable employee, creative, yada yada.

After we hang up, I lean back in my chair. I’m going to hire Molly, but Kit got in my head, making me think about liking her.

Probably for the best, anyway. Molly’s living at my family’s farm, working for both of us and out of here in three months. Plus, she’s high energy, babbling on and bouncing while she talks.

Perfect for a customer service job. Not for me.

I email her a job offer and, with a shake of my head, leave my office heading for the calf hutches.

Soul mates.

As if I could be soul mates with someone who milks virtual cows, for fuck’s sake.