Butter You Up: A Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

15. Molly

In between customers,I spend the afternoon thinking about Alex holding that damn goat. What is it about a big, burly guy, beard and flannel and work boots, holding a baby goat that makes my heart go pitter-patter?

It must be all those mountain men romance books I’ve read. They’re thick with beards and flannel, but not so much baby goats—a major oversight, in my humble opinion.

I leave work and bike home, waving hello to Ethel out on the porch. After dinner, I call my dad.

“Hey, Molly-girl, how was your week on the farm?”

I fill him in on all the shop news—the delicious food, the people I talked to, the baby animals I met. I’ve sent Dad pictures every day. Just because I’m not actively on the move doesn’t mean I’m not having an adventure that I can share with him. He’s probably never petted a baby goat before, so I tell him everything I learned.

This was the deal we made. Dad came home from deployment missing a leg, then received divorce papers and a two-year-old girl to take care of while my mother ran off with another man and never looked back.

The Boxcar Children and the stories my dad made up were some of my earliest memories, and according to him, all I talked about as a kid was wanting a boxcar of my own.

After the last business I worked for closed, Dad said life was short, and I had to take my savings and go now. All those conversations we had, dreaming about what Molly-girl and Satoot were doing, became real.

“I didn’t take any pictures,” I say regretfully. “Didn’t take my phone with me. Next time, I’ll get some photos.”

“I bet you’d look real stinking cute petting a goat.”

Not as cute as Alex did,I think. Seriously, seeing his big arms, with the sleeves rolled up and the light hair and tanned skin on display, was sexy enough, but goddamn, that baby goat took me down. I’ll never look at the man the same. And holding a bottle? Nursing a baby of any species? My ovaries exploded, and I was pretty sure they had been in a deep slumber. I’ve never thought dad-qualities would be sexy, but here we are. Not that I want kids all of a sudden, but thinking of Alex as a dad is pretty sexy.

Though, look, I’m not a huge baby fan. Alex holding a baby goat, even if it poops yellow, is way more attractive to me than a wailing, fussy baby. This goat was three days old and when I left, it was romping around, bouncing off the walls of its little pen.

My understanding (limited as it is) is that baby humans don’t do that until they’re about two years old? Three? I don’t know. I occasionally hang out with vanlifers my age who have young kids, but I’m out of my depth.

“Molly-girl? You still there?”

Whoops.

“Yeah, Dad, sorry. Anyway, enough about the farm. Are you going to the rec center tonight?” Dad usually goes to the veterans’ rec center on Friday nights to meet up with his buddies and play games.

“Nah, not tonight. I’ve got other stuff to do.”

“Oh? Whatcha doing?”

Dad lists a few chores and an episode of something on TV he wants to watch, but he says it all in that hemming-and-hawing way that lets me know he’s lying. Well, maybe not lying to me, but lying to himself. He does have all those things to do, but he’s using them as an excuse not to get out of the trailer.

“Those things can all wait. You should go play pickleball. You need to get out more.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Dad makes an excuse to go, and worry gnaws at me. His meds have been effective lately, but when his mental health declines, Dad doesn’t leave the trailer much.

That’s the worst part about being on my trip. I have to remind myself that my dad is a grown man with resources, medication, and friends. I just hope all that’s enough.

I hang up with Dad and get ready for bed. All the while my thoughts keep drifting back to Alex.

I haven’t been with a guy in almost a year. That must be why I find myself reaching for my vibrator once I’m under the cover. This whole van trip has been a bit of a sexual awakening for me–not because I’ve been bringing home men, but because, for the first time, I’m not living under the same roof with my dad.

I still have to be quiet because Vaniel’s walls are not soundproof. In other places, I don’t need my fellow vanlifers listening in. Here, I don’t want Ethan and Lia or whoever else might be wandering around overhearing me when they walk between their cabin and the big house.

It’s not until after I turn out the lights and get myself off thinking about mountain men in flannel that I realize I didn’t ask Alex to Sunday dinner. Ethel hasn’t asked about it, but I get the feeling that she’s lonely during the day. She’s always so glad to see me when I bike up the driveway.

Saturday morning, when Alex drops off the milk, I walk him back out to his truck. “Hey, you should come to dinner on Sunday night.”

Alex looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Sunday night dinner again?”

“Yeah. It was so good last week. Ethel’s going to make fresh bread tomorrow and says she got a batch of asparagus from one of the neighbors. Did you know it takes two or three years to harvest the first crop of asparagus? And they grow right out of the ground like this?” I demonstrate with my hand and a finger.

Alex doesn’t respond to my asparagus rambling, but I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Just before he gets to his truck, he whistles for Trixie, who comes sprinting out of the sheep palace. “I’ve still got Kit with me, and I work late sometimes on Sunday.”

“Bring Kit,” I say, hoping Ethel won’t mind.

Alex opens the door to his truck, shaking his head. “Some other time.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “See ya Monday.”

But I see Alex a few hours later. Usually, he sends someone else over to Bedd Fellows to pick up the ice chest for the milk to be refilled. The first time he sent Kit, who lingered for an hour talking to people until Ethan kicked him out for eating too many strawberries. From then on, Alex sent Perry or Jesús, but today he comes himself.

We’re alone out here. We all helped the vendors pack up, and then Colleen took the money inside. Ethan and Lia are out in the field cleaning up. I’ve been stacking buckets at my table.

I sold the last milk bottle in the early afternoon, and I’d just been thinking that Alex should bring more in the morning, and that gives me an idea. I’m not sure this is a good idea—getting involved more with the Bedd family—but I go with it anyway. I’m leaving at the end of the summer, how bad could it get? It wouldn’t be like Oscar and I and our teenaged angst.

“Hey, Alex.”

He raises a brow at me.

“Do you have another ice chest?”

He lifts it up by one handle now that he’s emptied it of ice. “This big?”

“Yeah.”

He nods.

“Fill it and bring it tomorrow. I bet I can sell it all.”

The second eyebrow joins the first. “Which kind?”

I roll my eyes. “The strawberry, duh.” It always sells out first, and I know he didn’t want to make it at all.

“What’s the bet?”

“If I win, you come to Sunday dinner. If I lose…I’ll…” I cast about for something Alex might want from me.

To my shock, Alex’s eyes dip to my lips. My stomach flips. Is that what he wants? A kiss? When his eyes meet mine again, he’s blushing, and his gaze darts away quickly.

I put my palms on the tabletop and lean in. “If I win, you come to dinner tomorrow. If I lose, I’ll kiss you.”

Alex goes absolutely stone still. I realize what I’ve done. I just propositioned my boss. What was I thinking?

I wasn’t, obviously. I need the money to pay for the batteries. I need to get my paycheck every week so I can pay Quinn as much as I can. My mouth has run away from me, but for a moment, I forgot Alex signs my paycheck and that he could fire me for inappropriate behavior.

Why do I always do this? From milking virtual cows to baby goat cuteness overload, I just can’t seem to keep my mouth shut around Alex.

Just when I’m about to blurt out a backtrack, Alex swallows. “Okay.”

Before I can say anything else, he bends down, grabs the ice chest, and stalks off.

Watching him leave, I realize that I’ve put myself in a really dumb position.

Because now I kind of want to lose.

* * *

I don’t lose. Strawberry production is high this week and we stay open longer than last week. I offer samples of the strawberry milk and really work it with the parents. Strawberries grown right here on the farm, never frozen. The dairy cows are raised in a pasture right down the road. Ethel and I talked about the recipe recently, so I’m educated enough to say things like, the syrup is made right over there by the farm’s owner, while I point to the big house. Ethel told me to make everything above board, she has a home processor exemption so she can legally sell the syrup and her jams. When the strawberries dwindle, I’ve got strawberry milk to sell, and I sell the whole damn lot.

For the first time, I text Alex.

Molly

Guess who’s coming for dinner tonight??

Alex

Okay.

I grin, hearing Alex’s gruff voice in my head. Texting gives me no context clues as to how he feels about losing, but I think I’ve figured out a happy compromise.

I run off to tell Ethel.

“Really?” she asks, hand to her chest.

“Oh, Kit too, maybe.”

Ethel waves it away. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“Okay, I’m gonna finish clean-up. Smells great in here, by the way.”

I rush back to clean the pole barn bathroom and then check on Vaniel. Quinn’s been here, and while she’s tidied up, it’s a small space and thus contains barely controlled mayhem. The old batteries are still online; she’s getting the entire system set up first, and then when she’s ready, we’ll shut everything down and swap to the new batteries.

It sounds so simple when I think of it like that, but I have a healthy fear of being electrocuted, so I am very glad that I found Quinn.

I’m back in the house carrying a bean salad to the table when the door opens, and I hear an enthusiastic Kit. I hang back while Ethan and Colleen greet their brother. He has to bend down to hug Ethel.

We finally sit down to eat, passing big platters of food around.

Ethel catches my gaze, and her eyes twinkle. “What do you think, dear?”

I tap my chin, surveying the food. “Bread, obviously. Green beans, tomatoes, umm…what’s the leafy green?”

“Arugula.”

Alex, sitting next to me, leans over. “What are you doing?”

“I’m guessing which parts of the meal Ethel grew or made. I’m sure you didn’t make the chicken.” There’s a platter of grilled chicken being passed around. I notice Alex doesn’t take any. “What about the beans?”

“Fava, from out in the garden.”

“And what’s that?” I point at the pile of sauteed greens in a bowl.

“Chard.”

“Also from the garden.” I decide.

Alex hands me the bread. “The garden looks much better than it did this winter, Gran.”

“Thank you, dear. Anything else, Molly?”

I squint at her. “No?”

She shakes her head with a grin. “Made the butter again.”

“Dang it. I always forget about the butter. Making it just seems so old-school to me. Well, so does the bread, but I think it’s more believable for some reason. Maybe all those Covid bakers got me used to the idea. I didn’t hear about anyone making butter.” I tap my chin. “You can’t even make it in Stardew Valley, even though the cheese machines look like butter churners.”

Alex coughs. “Cheese machines?”

“Yup. Just goat cheese and cow cheese. Wait, have you made cheese, Ethel?”

“Not in a long time,” she says. “It’s a lot more complicated than butter.”

Man, Ethel is a wealth of knowledge. It’s the kind of experience that’s probably dying out. I wonder if they still teach that kind of stuff in home economics. Probably not, considering the state of the school system. Maybe they teach it in ag school.

I turn to Alex. “Have you ever made cheese?”

“Of course.”

“But you don’t sell it.”

He shakes his head.

We all fall quiet for a minute, eating our delicious farm-grown meal, until Alex interrupts. “How’s school, Collie?”

“I’m not a dog!” She makes a face at her brother but then updates the table on her volunteer work at the library, which leads to Kit telling ridiculous stories of himself as a boy. There’s a lull in the conversation at the first mention of Alex’s mom, who Ethel told me passed away about eighteen years ago, but then Ethan brings up a story about their brother, Samuel, getting picked on in school and how the older brothers played bodyguard until Samuel put a homemade stink bomb in the bully’s lockers.

Ethel serves strawberry crumble, pointing out to Lia that it’s gluten-free.

A sudden pang hits me. I wish my dad was here. Instead, he’s thousands of miles away, all alone.