17. Alex
Ethan picksme up in his truck on Tuesday. I climb in the cab while Ethan peers out the windshield. Trixie’s staying back with Kit today, who waves from the barn.
“Place looks good,” Ethan says.
I look back and try to see it with my brother’s eyes. It is a good-looking farm—Perry, who’s a welder and very handy, keeps the fences in good order, the grass is bright summer green, and the barn’s a nice, butter-yellow color. I don’t think much has changed since Ethan saw it last, but I’ll take the compliment.
“How’s Lia?” I ask.
Ethan tells me about taking her to Climax for her infusion last week, talking about her Crohn’s diagnosis, and using words like “white blood cell count” and “FOD-MAP diet.” I’m lost, but it”s clear that my brother has taken the time to educate himself and help Lia.
We pull into the parking lot at Lick Your Fork.
“Well, if it isn’t the oldest two Bedd boys,” the waitress, Latonya, comments when we walk in. She’s been working here as long as I’ve known her, and one of her grandkids was in Colleen’s class a few years back. Her dark skin has deep laugh lines, and her gray hair is up in a tight bun. “Anyone else joining you?”
“Just us, LT,” Ethan says.
Latonya leads us to a window booth, plops menus down, and immediately asks what we want.
“Veggie omelet, please,” I say.
“Hash browns on the side?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turns to my brother. “And lemme guess; the special?”
“Please.”
Latonya picks up the menus. “You got it, sugar. And tell that lovely young lady of yours that I got new gluten-free buns this week and that we’re putting a new salad on the menu. She can have it with the feta cheese on the side.”
“Thanks, will do.”
I take a minute to scan the diner. It’s the only place to eat lunch in Fork Lick, and the food is way better than Tiddy’s—no offense to Tiddy. I recognize a few faces and exchange a few head nods.
When I look back at Ethan, he’s watching me.
Whatever he’s thinking has to wait while Latonya delivers coffee and cream. But as soon as she disappears, Ethan leans forward.
“I could use some advice.”
“From me?” The words fly out of my mouth.
“Yeah, from you. You know a lot about farming and the market for fresh products. Your dairy farm is amazing, and so’s the milk, by the way. It’s definitely a fan favorite over the weekends.”
“I can tell,” I say wryly, thinking of Molly’s bet. I’ve been trying not to think about Molly too much since that kiss, but twice yesterday, Kit snapped his fingers in front of my face when he didn’t think I was paying attention.
He also told me my eyebrows were giving me away again. I don’t know exactly what they were saying, but he just grinned at me.
“So, what advice do you want from me?”
“Well, it was Lia’s idea to apply for the grant, but switching from soybean to more diversified crops was something you and Samuel campaigned for ages ago.”
“Yeah, well, Grandad didn’t listen.”
“And look where we are now,” Ethan says, his voice growing sharper. “Grandad should have listened to you—I should have listened to you instead of thinking he knew best. I don’t envy Grandad’s life; raising us kids in his sixties and farming is a hard business. But we can’t make the same mistakes going forward. We’ve got…well, we’ve got our futures to think about.”
There’s a crease of worry between my brother’s eyes, but there’s also hope in his words. It smacks me over the head real hard what our futures means. “Kids, you mean? Your kids?”
Ethan shrugs. “Someday. But also, Gran needs to stop working so hard, and we can’t do that until the debt gets paid off. So, I was wondering how we can collaborate, if there’s anything we can do together that would be good for both our farms.”
I stare at Ethan. Sure, I have plans for Udderly Creamy, but never in my wildest dreams did I consider my brother might want to work together.
Therefore, nothing comes immediately to mind for a partnership. Nothing except…
“We need more space,” I say.
“Who does? Where? For what?”
I shake my head to straighten my thoughts. “In general, at Udderly. A lot of farms do community outreach programs and farm tours, but we don’t have a parking lot to accommodate that kind of thing. Plus, you need public bathrooms, literature, and safety equipment. There’s extra liability, too.”
Ethan rubs his chin. “How can we help with that?”
“Well…I’m not sure yet.”
Ethan and I poke and prod at a few ideas, but nothing really solidifies.
“Let me talk to my team,” I say.
He grins. “Right, you have a team. I have family, and you have a team.” Ethan winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. I meant that Bedd Fellows never had farm hands, and I’ve been leaning on the family to help. You’ve got a crew that helps you.”
“I know what you meant,” I mumble. It still stings, though, this proof from the horse’s mouth that I’m on the outside looking in.
Our food comes, interrupting the awkwardness, and Ethan switches the topic. “I guess your crew includes Molly.”
“Yes.” I tuck into the hash browns first while they’re hot and crispy.
“How’s she working out?” He asks before biting into his Reuben sandwich.
“Good.”
“She told us she made a bet with you about your milk sales last weekend.”
I almost miss my mouth with the next forkful of potatoes. “Yeah?”
Ethan looks smug. “She wouldn’t tell us what you wagered, though.”
My face goes beet-red, and my brother laughs.