Butter You Up: A Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

12. Molly

On Monday,I have breakfast with Ethel again. She’s a hoot and alone in the mornings, and she told me she’s happy to feed me breakfast. If I didn’t have to go to the farm shop, I’d love to hang out with her all day. It makes me feel terrible for asking where Alex was last night.

Ethel got sad, Ethan and Lia exchanged glances, and Colleen stared at her plate. I was worried that I’d made some huge faux pas and ruined the evening. “We invited him,” Ethan said gruffly. “He’s got work and Kit visiting.”

Thankfully, the dinner table conversation recovered, and after dinner, Ethel showed me her sourdough starter and her basement garden.

In fact, that’s what I am missing out on today by going to work: Ethel’s agenda is gardening and baking bread.

“I make two, and I’ll save you one,” she says while I sip my tea.

“Two slices,” I say.

“Half a loaf,” she negotiates.

“Between you and Alex, I’m well-fed every day. What am I going to do with a half a loaf? Just give me two slices for my evening sandwich.”

“Fine, two slices,” Ethel allows, and then changes the subject. “Have you heard from your electrician?”

Ugh. “No,” I say sullenly. He was so responsive via email, and we had an entire strategy laid out for changing the batteries, and now he’s ghosting me.

“You should talk to Alex about it,” Ethel suggests. “He’s got all those solar panels, and someone must have done that work.”

I brighten up. “That’s a good idea.” I had noticed the solar panels on the roof of the barn and surely there are batteries somewhere. I haven’t explored the farm enough to find them. Plus, Alex had said he was going to show me his digester, too.

I really need to get started on the battery upgrade. Ordering components and making a plan takes time, and I’m giving up hope of this electrician ever getting back to me. The clock is ticking.

“While you’re at it, maybe you could ask him to Sunday night dinner.”

Ethel holds my gaze, tilting her head slightly to gauge my reaction. Oof. I really don’t know the protocol here. It feels like sticking my nose in the family drama, and I do not know how to do that. And I’m working for both farms, so that’s putting me between a rock and a hard place.

“I’ll think about it.”

I bike to the farm. The weather is getting warmer, and I break a sweat this time. I am not sure what I’m going to do as summer progresses. The bathroom in the farm shop is only a half bath. I have baby wipes somewhere for emergencies since I don’t always have access to a shower while on the road, so maybe that’s a good start.

There are a few familiar faces throughout the morning, but I’m unfamiliar with most people who stop by. At one, I flip the sign over to closed and intercept Kit coming halfway down the driveway with our lunch on two foil-wrapped plates.

“I have to talk to Alex,” I tell him. “Let’s eat lunch up there?”

Kit does an about-face. “Sure.”

For the first time, I step inside the house. Kit and I immediately toe off our shoes in the mudroom, adding to the pile of dirty work boots. It’s a log-cabin style home, and the kitchen is right off the entrance to the right. It’s a galley kitchen, and Kit leads me through it, following voices into the dining room. The table is long with benches on either side, and the men around the table have paused their eating to watch us come in. Kit introduces me to Perry, the lean, older white man, and Jesús, a shorter, stockier Latino man.

“Please, no sperm talk,” I joke.

Alex chokes on his food. He raises his fist to his mouth, and his cheeks bulge out, trying to contain whatever they’re eating—there’s an enormous platter of it in the center of the table, and it smells divine.

Perry puts a hand on his shoulder, concern etching his face. “Boss?”

Alex waves away the help, finally swallowing and turning away to cough properly. The side of his neck and his ears are red.

Finally, he gets control of himself and gulps some water. He wipes his face on a cloth napkin from his lap and looks up at us. “Why on earth would we talk about sperm?”

Kit raises a long leg and climbs over the bench, settling in at an empty seat next to Alex. “You talk about sperm all the time.”

Alex sputters, eyes glancing to me and back to Kit. “Do not.”

Jesús moves slightly on the bench and gestures for me to sit next to him, across from Alex.

Over the noise of the aluminum foil coming off our plates, Kit rebuts, “Just this morning, you and Jesús were talking about how many straws you wanted to order next.”

“Straws?” I ask.

“Tube of sperm,” Kit explains. “You should see these catalogs, Molly. They tout the teat size for the heifers, the scrotal circumference for bullies?—”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about sperm?” Alex interrupts.

“Right. So, what were you talking about?”

Perry snorts.

Alex mumbles something.

Holding a hand up to his ear, Kit says, “What was that now?”

“The next AI round for the Nigerians.”

Kit grins and then translates for me. “The next round of artificial insemination for the Nigerian Dwarf goats.”

I chuckle and then take a bite of my lunch—an enchilada-looking thing smothered in a thick, dark sauce. I close my eyes and moan. Fuck, Anna’s meals are so good.

When I open them, Alex is staring at me. No—staring at my lips.

The heat in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine.

Kit, Jesús, and Perry are discussing something, but I’m not paying attention. I’m too busy savoring this delicious meal and stealing glances at Alex.

He’s watching me right back, our eyes occasionally meeting and darting away again. Alex is such a big man, hunched over his plate while he eats, one forearm resting on the table with his sleeves rolled up.

I like his gaze on me. I like it a lot.

“Could you help me?” I ask quietly, just to Alex.

He lowers his fork and tilts his head slightly.

“I had this guy lined up to replace my batteries. We’d emailed and agreed on a plan and a budget, but he never sent me any type of contract. He’s stopped answering my emails, though.”

“What was his name?”

I tell Alex, and his mouth twists. “Consider yourself having dodged a bullet. His work is shit.”

My shoulders slump. “Fuuuuucccckkk. Is there anyone else who could do it?” Finding an electrician in a big city is easier, but I’d have to find a safe place to park and live in my van, and right now, my free parking at Bedd Fellows is a really good deal.

Plus, if I don’t stay, I’ll be putting both farms in a bind.

Alex grimaces. “You’re only here, what? Two more months? Short notice’ll be hard.”

“I know.” I frown down at my food and twirl my fork through my sauce.

Alex’s gaze moves over me, and his eyebrows drop. “Let me make some calls.”

I give him half a smile. “Thanks. Also…” I glance over at the other men, but they’re deep in conversation about—baseball, I think? “You don’t have to tell me any details, but like…you didn’t come to Sunday dinner. Is your family…bad?”

“Bad?”

“You know, like narcissists who you’re better off being no contact with? Emotionally abu?—”

Those brows drawn down even farther. “No. No.” He says the second one so emphatically that Kit glances over. We eat for a few moments and Alex says in a low voice, almost under his breath. “I just don’t fit in there.”