21. Alex
I’m not avoiding Molly,per se. Kissing her was probably not the right move, but hearing Molly call me that friend means she’d told her book club about me. Plus, her talking about sex and pining felt like a hint that I took advantage of.
It was a hint, right?
Either way, it was dumb for me to kiss her. Our first kiss was something sweet that could have been brushed off. But this one cannot be ignored. It was too smoking hot and too inappropriate.
I’m up at the hilltop, and she’s down in the farm shop.
I’m her boss, she’s my employee.
But instead of being decisive and firm, I avoid the topic entirely by working late, which is nothing new. At least I have a good excuse; I have to spend some time figuring out how to add strawberry milk to our online store so that the CSA customers can place their orders. It’s been a while since I’ve added a new product.
Then it’s the same story with our newsletter, which I draft and meticulously check for typos and then send a preview to Colleen, who, even though she teaches children who can’t write yet, is a better writer than I am.
I should probably turn this over to Molly or Kit, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse to hide in my office, would I?
I run out of excuses on Thursday, though. After breakfast, Kit said he had something to do, so I’m doing chores all on my own this morning. It sure is quieter without Kit, and despite years of doing my chores in silence, I miss his chatter.
After walking through the calf hutches, I head toward the gentle lowing of the cows in the milking robot. Trixie follows at my heel but nudges me before I take the first step into the building.
I look down at her. She stares back up at me.
Hmm.
I glance around, back to the barn, then run my eyes along as much of the pastures as I can see. Nothing seems amiss until my eyes land on the farm shop.
Molly shouldn’t even be here yet, so it makes no sense that I see movement. It makes even less sense that I see Ethan’s truck parked out front. I stride down the driveway, and when I get close enough, I recognize that Molly, Ethan, and Kit are all down there, moving a bunch of white objects from Ethan’s truck into the farm shop.
The first to spot me is Kit, who gives me a big grin, totally unrepentant about whatever he’s up to. Then Ethan comes out and ignores my flummoxed expression with a head nod. Lastly, Molly comes out, and when she sees me, her cheeks, already pink from exertion, flush a deeper shade of red, and she smiles.
I have to force my mouth down into a frown so I don’t smile like a goober in front of my brother. “What’s this?”
Molly puts her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing at my frown. “The farm shop redesign. You told me I could have Kit.” Her chin tilts up a little in defiance.
I did. I suppose she’s suckered Ethan into free labor, too. The white things they are moving are freshly painted wooden shelves and the large structures that are going to contain the coolers. They’ve even got decorative vent covers in the front. It looks fancy.
“You already built and painted everything?”
I tell myself it’s fine that she didn’t need my help. I was too busy anyway.
“We did it at Bedd Fellows in the pole barn since there’s space.”
“Fair enough.”
Ethan and Kit exchange glances, grinning at each other, and I do not want to know what that’s about.
At my feet, Trixie whines.
The four of us look down at her. Usually, when we come down to the farm stand and the flat lower fields, I let her get some exercise, so I suppose she’s Pavlov-dogging it to stretch her legs. Hell, maybe she’s been training me.
Or, I realize, maybe her nudge to get me to go down just a few minutes ago was self-serving.
Either way, I suppose I should let her go. “Alright, girl, go long.”
Trixie rockets off so fast that she leaves her brains behind. Molly gasps when Trixie leaps through the fence at top speed, but fortunately, this time, she doesn’t whack her noggin’—it’s happened a handful of times before. Instead, she runs like a bat out of hell. When she does this, her ass tucks down, and her hind legs fly out like she’s in position to scoot her butt across the carpet with a case of the worms, but it’s just the zoomies.
We line up at the fence to watch her go, Molly next to me, then Kit, then Ethan. Trixie loops around chicken coops in the flat field a few times, tongue lolling and happy as all get out.
“That’s the smartest dumb dog I’ve ever met,” Ethan states.
“That’s the dumbest smart dog I’ve ever met,” Kit agrees.
The cows, as usual, ignore the dog.
“Easy there,” Ethan mutters as Trixie starts up the hill and then thinks the better of it. On the way back down, as expected, momentum gets the best of her, and she tumbles. It doesn’t slow her down too much though; she’s back up like a flash and shaking it off.
From the side of my eye, I take in Molly. She’s dressed for work, jean shorts, sneakers, and a cotton tank top with a sports bra underneath. Her hair’s up in a bun, wisps sticking to her face. She’s beautiful, as always, but her skin is a little pale, her smile a little tired.
A few more loops around the grass, and Trixie starts to flag. She aims for us again and leaps back out, skidding on the grass and looping back around to flop at my feet, belly up, tongue thick and hanging out of her mouth and acquiring grass flair.
I bend down, placing my hand on the center of her chest. “Good girl,” I say. Her heart beats wild under my palm, and the soft hair on her belly is silky and smooth.
On Trixie’s other side, Molly bends down, too. Just when I thought Trixie couldn’t get any happier, Molly’s smaller hand rests on Trixie’s chest, just above mine where Trixie’s fur does one of those undignified swirls. Molly’s thumb strokes softly, and she coos. “What a good girl you are.”
Our eyes meet over the supine, panting canine, and Molly smiles at me. This close, I can see that fleck of green again, the tiny mole she has just above her left temple—little details that I tuck away to think about later.
Gently, Molly’s finger brushes against one of mine, and heat shoots straight to my crotch.
I straighten up before I get a boner. “Well, I’ve got more to do back up at the barn.” Trixie ungracefully jerks onto her haunches and leans against my calf again.
“Let me walk with you a minute,” Ethan says, and together we start up the hill.
“Something you want to talk about?” I ask when we’ve gotten halfway up the driveway.
“I know Molly’s a grown woman who can take care of herself,” my brother starts, and I tense. Is he going to tell me to leave her alone? Is he worried about me taking advantage of her? “She’s working herself to the bone, though. Gran’s worried. Molly works at your place during the week and mine on the weekends. Plus, she comes up to the house on Wednesdays and works alongside Colleen at the kitchen table, and now she’s putting in extra work renovating your farm shop.”
I grunt. Molly shouldn’t have had to work outside the shop hours, but I guess I didn’t think that part through. I could have told her to shut the shop down for a day or two, but I was too busy avoiding her like an idiot. And now my brother’s noticed the same thing I did—that Molly looks tired—but he’s actually doing something about it.
“I’ll make sure she gets paid for her extra time,” I say.
“If I had more people, I’d offer her a day off, but I don’t really have anyone to spare.”
That’s easier to solve. Imara, my weekend employee who”s still in high school, is off for the summer, so I’ll ask her if she can come to work. “I’ll give her some time off here. If she wants it.”
It’ll be a start to taking care of Molly.