Chapter Three Noah
Chapter Three
Noah
“I don’t understand why you can’t listen to me.”
I stare down at the little lady before me.
“Or why we must go over this again and again. Why you can’t be a good girl and follow directions.”
I set my hands on my hips and shake my head as she says nothing.
“What? Nothing to say to that?”
Finally, Tootsie clucks.
“Because I’m the boss. That’s why.”
Cluck.
“No, you’re not getting extra treats. Those are only for good chickens who follow directions.”
Cluck.
“I don’t care how cute you are, Tootsie. It’s not happening.”
Cluck.
“Stop back talking and get in the damn coop already.”
I pick her up, tucking her under my arm.
She clucks again, but I ignore her, carrying her into the coop full of all the other well-behaved chickens that don’t escape every time I turn my back.
She’s always strutting off somewhere she shouldn’t be.
One of these days she’s going to regret it, and it’ll be all her fault and my guilt to carry.
“There,” I say, setting her on her favorite spot in the back. “Now stay put, dammit. I do not want to chase you back in here again today. Got it?”
Cluck cluck.
I’m 99 percent sure my chicken just told me to fuck off.
I get it. She wants to be a free-range bird, but that’s impossible with all the people we have coming and going here. The last thing I need is her getting sassy and pecking someone. That sounds like a whole lot of paperwork I don’t want to deal with.
“I’ll let you out later when we’re closed, got it?”
Cluck.
I roll my eyes, then check on the other chickens—who are all snug in their enclosure—before locking it back up.
I go through my routine of setting boards and bricks in front of the door and covering any little spot Tootsie could climb through.
When I’m satisfied she won’t get out again, I take the time to check in on the other animals on the property.
When I envisioned owning a cidery, it didn’t include a farm, but when this place came up for sale in my hometown, no less, I knew it was perfect, even if it came with a bunch of animals.
Thank fuck the old guy who sold me the land is just a phone call away.
Without him and the internet, I’d never be able to run this place otherwise.
I don’t know the first thing about farming.
I never pictured myself running a place with a bunch of animals or selling eggs alongside cider, but now I can’t imagine anything else. It’s hard work, but I enjoy it.
I stop by the pens and make sure the goats have what they need, then head to the pond to check on the ducks.
“Hey, Larry,” I say as she comes swimming over. I have no idea why they named her Larry, but she answers to it, so I guess that’s all that matters. “Are you behaving out here?”
She nuzzles against my hand.
“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll bring some lettuce out for you later, okay?”
She nudges me once more before swimming back to the flock of ducks across the water.
I watch her leave, then I take my time heading back to the taproom.
While I love being there, I need a moment to myself before it becomes chaotic and fills with nothing but love, hearts, and whatever other romantic nonsense they can dream up.
The same kind of nonsense I swore I’d never let myself get wrapped up in again after my divorce.
I can’t believe I agreed to this. I can’t believe Ezra agreed to this.
But I did, and he did, so now here we are.
I meander my way to the old barn that hasn’t been properly used in I don’t even know how long.
Right now, it houses an old tractor that doesn’t run, leftover lumber from when I built the taproom coffee table and bar top, and some beat-to-shit stalls that used to house the horses the old owner took with him.
I won’t lie—I was most looking forward to the horses out of all the animals I got in the deal, but now I’m glad he took them. I can hardly keep up with what we have now, never mind adding more to the mix.
The door creaks when I pull it open and step into the barn. Dust kicks up around me, and I fan it away as I look around, taking mental notes on everything I will need to do to get this ready for Izzy’s wedding.
First, there’s the obvious, like getting this damn tractor out of the way so I can really get down to business, like fixing several holes in the roof.
It wouldn’t surprise me if I had to replace the whole thing.
I need to dismantle the stalls to open up the space, reinforce it in several areas, and repaint what I can.
Never mind the general cleaning I need to do, like getting rid of the extra supplies, old boxes, and all the hay left over from the horses.
It’s a lot, and I have no idea how I’m going to complete it and the chicken coop in just ten weeks, all while running Stick Taps.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand over my face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“You might be a few years removed from the rink, but you certainly still sound like you’re on the ice.”
I turn to find Odette leaning against the door I left propped open. One hand on her hip, legs crossed, and looking entirely too damn good with the light backing her. The light curls around her curves in the most delicious of ways.
I try to ignore that as she shoves off the door, her heels clacking against the concrete as she struts farther into the old building.
“Sorry,” I say.
She shrugs. “Please. I’ve heard way worse while attending your games.”
I wince. Shit. That’s probably true. Given how close my family always sat to the benches, I’m sure she did hear a lot of what we were chirping at one another—and it wasn’t family friendly.
“Where’s Izzy?” I ask.
“She went back home to her lover boy. She was missing him or something. I have no idea,” Odette says, sounding a bit like me whenever relationships are mentioned, and I have a feeling it has to do with all the curse rumors. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, just trying to get a game plan together. Figure out what I need to get done. How much I’m going to let Izzy down when I don’t.”
I’m used to disappointing people, though.
That’s what I did when I let my team down in my final NHL game, letting a puck slip by my stick and giving the other team a breakaway, which led to the game-winning goal.
And that’s definitely what I did with my ex.
I could never find a way to make her happy.
“Are you kidding? She worships you. You could never let her down.” She jabs her finger into her chest. “Me, on the other hand, you could easily disappoint. Especially if this wedding turns out to be a disaster like my last one.”
“And the one before that.”
She cuts me a glare. “Did you really have to go and bring that up?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who ordered flowers that the bride is allergic to.”
“I didn’t either! That was the florist!”
I tuck my lips together, saying nothing because she will argue with me no matter what I say. That’s how Odette has always been.
Maybe she ordered the right flowers and was sent the wrong ones.
Or perhaps she screwed up and doesn’t want to admit it.
Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that the bride—who happened to be the mayor’s daughter—had a horrible reaction.
One that puffed up her face so much that she couldn’t open her eyes.
It’s probably why Odette’s business is in such a rough spot.
I overheard Izzy talking about how she had three different couples pull out of their contracts after the mayor’s daughter’s wedding.
I’m sure it doesn’t help that Odette’s next event also went awry or that two couples she planned weddings for got divorced within six months.
I’d be willing to bet she’d blame it all on the curse her family suffers from, and a part of me gets it. I’m a hockey player, so I understand superstitions better than most. Maybe it is a curse. Or perhaps she’s just letting it get inside her head. Either way, she’s in trouble.
“Whatever you say,” I tell her. “I just know this wedding is going to be a lot of work.” I tap the beam next to me, and the old wood creaks beneath the gentle touch like it’s about to give way at any moment. Guess I’d better add that to my list of shit to fix. “Starting with this barn.”
“I can help.”
I look over, brows raised. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Noah Stevens. I said I can help. Hand me a hammer or something. Some nails. A ratchet. Twenty bucks. Whatever. We’ll get this place fixed up in no time.”
I can’t help it—I laugh.
And Odette doesn’t like my reaction one bit, if the pinched expression she has on her face says anything.
“What?” she barks at me. “Quit laughing.”
“I’m sorry.” I cough, beating on my chest. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. “It’s just . . . I’m trying to picture you in overalls wielding a hammer.”
She notches her chin higher. “I’m extremely handy, thank you very much.”
“Yes, you look it with your Jimmy Choos and fresh manicure over there.”
“These are Manolo Blahniks, for your information.” She looks down at her long nails coated in a deep pink. “But you’re right. That is going to mess up my nails.” She shrugs. “Whatever. I can handle it.”
I shake my head. “No, darlin’, you can’t.”
“And why not? Because I’m a girl?”
I shoot her a look. “Please. The strongest woman in the world raised me. You know I don’t think women are inferior to men in the least. If anything, I believe the exact opposite. Women should be running this world, not men. They’re far smarter and stronger than we are, that’s for damn sure.”