Love in Bloom

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

M y entire body was still sore, and the scratches on my arms felt tight and itchy. In the middle of the night, I’d woken up, charged my watch—after scrubbing it first—and taken another long shower. I deposited the bag containing the clothes I’d worn yesterday—including the soiled pair of Givenchy tennis shoes that Max scored for me from one of her connections—in the dumpster outside. Yet I still couldn’t escape the smell.

It was indescribable.

The stench might go away eventually, but the thing I couldn’t wash off was the realization that everyone in my life was right. There was no way I could survive on this farm. For the first time in my life, I was going to fail at something. My eyes stung as last night’s tears returned. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I recognized my best friend’s ringtone. The soreness in my arms made me wince as I reached for it.

Becks was the only person I would risk this kind of pain for, especially since I didn’t feel like talking to anyone else.

“Hey!” Her high-pitched trill succeeded in waking me all the way up. “I figured you’d be awake since you have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to run a farm.” She wasn’t wrong. Once again, the unmistakable cry of my feathered archnemesis woke me up way before the alarm on my phone would have.

“Actually, the farm is running me.” I tried to keep my voice calm and even, so my college roommate wouldn’t know that I’d been crying.

“Talk to me, mija.” She sighed.

“Nothing.” I cleared my throat and continued. “I guess I didn’t…” I trailed off and my eyes stung again. My phone began beeping. Becks was trying to FaceTime me.

Shit. Busted.

“You might as well answer because if you make me bring my ass to a farm, you’re gonna regret it.”

I sighed and tapped the green camera icon. Rebecca’s eyes widened as her face filled the screen.

“God… damn, mami,” she said, astonished. “You look like who did it and ran.”

“I know,” I muttered, and I couldn’t repress a smile.

“No, I mean, you really look bad. Did you get attacked by a bobcat?” The corners of her lips were curling into a smile.

“Shut up.” I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.

“For real, though. Did you get the license plate of the bus that hit you? Should I call Cellino and Barnes?”

“What?” I finally snorted, not able to hold in my laughter anymore. “Who the hell is that?”

“It’s a New York thing, but I think it’s just Cellino now—” she mused.

“Hello?” I interrupted.

“Girl, I’m just trying to make you laugh.” Her teasing grin faded into a smirk. “Of course, your first day working on a farm kicked your ass. You, Miss Chess Master and Southern debutante, are not a farmer—”

“Who’s not a farmer?” a deep voice called from over her shoulder as her husband, Ben, walked into frame wearing low-slung pajama pants—in the same pattern as the top Becks was wearing—and no shirt. They’d been together as long as me and Teddy, but unlike me and Teddy, they were still madly in love. By the looks of those abs and the lazy, contented smile on Becks’s face, their love was stronger than ever. My mind flashed to Dan’s broad and exquisitely toned physique the night he mistook me for a burglar while wearing nothing but very tight black boxer briefs, armed with a wooden stick.

“Oh, shit. What’s up, girl?” A brilliant white grin stretched over the smooth dark brown skin of Ben’s unblemished face—what was that man’s skin routine?—before he pressed a kiss onto Becks’s neck and reached for her coffee mug.

“Hey, Ben,” I said weakly, knowing that I must look like death sucking on a Lifesaver. “No surgeries today?”

“Oh, the doctor is in, baby girl.” He leaned down and kissed Rebecca’s neck again, making her dissolve into giggles and slap his chest. “They call me Dr. Feel-Good,” he growled.

“Boy, stop!” Becks squealed. “Emma does not want to see this.”

“She’s right. I don’t.”

“Anyway,” Becks continued when she regained her composure, “I was just telling my brilliant but ignorant-when-it-comes-to-hard-labor friend—”

“Hey, I’m not—”

“I said hard labor, not hard work. This is new, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever done before. I know you’re smart. I know you don’t run away from challenges. We all know that, but this is one thing that you can’t just jump into and be good at. It’s gonna take time. Slow down and give yourself some credit. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“You really think so?”

“You got this, girl!” Ben chimed in before breaking into a hip-hop rendition of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” Becks joined him by beatboxing… terribly.

“I hate you.” I laughed into the phone. My body was a little less sore, and I felt a lot less hopeless.

“I love you,” she said. “Now, go do the damn thing and don’t make me fly down there, Em.”

“Love you, too, B.”

I ended the call knowing it was exactly the boost I needed to get up, dust myself off—apply lots of topical antibiotic to those scratches—and try again. I was also glad that Ben didn’t ask me about Teddy since they were close, and I knew I had my best friend to thank for that little miracle.

First, I needed food and something appropriate to wear on the farm. I’d probably burn the house down if I tried to cook something, and I had thrown away what I’d thought was farm-worthy attire. So I got dressed, scrubbed my smartwatch one last time before refastening it to my wrist, snatched my queen from the clutches of death while simultaneously leaving Dan with one less knight, and headed out the front door.

The only food spot I knew of in town was the diner that the pastor mentioned while he attempted to make small talk with me after the will reading. I’m sure there were other restaurants, but this was the only one that had a recommendation. I also knew it was owned by the woman who mean mugged me. However, my hunger, my inability to feed myself, and my refusal to depend on Dan for sustenance drove me into town and into Greenie’s Diner.

“Hello. Welcome to Greenie’s Diner!” I was greeted by the happy face of the pretty, young girl who’d waved to me at the will reading. She was tall and thin, with deep brown skin and two long pigtails fastened at the base of her head. “Would you like a table, a booth, or to sit at the counter?” She waved a large, laminated menu to point out my seating choices.

“Um, a booth, if that’s okay.” I smiled at my hostess.

“Of course!” She beamed. “Follow me.” She led me to a large booth along the wall. I slid in and she placed the menu in front of me. “My mom will be right over to take your order. I’ll get you a water and some silverware.”

“Thanks.” I pasted on a smile and nodded, suddenly apprehensive. I couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s face at the will reading. She definitely recognized me, and my reputation must not be pleasant. The sudden urge to leave the diner before she saw me was overwhelming. How hard could it be to make myself some scrambled eggs and toast? Then, the memory of taking half an hour to make a terrible cup of coffee and nearly destroying the kitchen in the process kept me rooted in my seat as she approached.

“Hello, may I take your order?” The woman’s voice was dripping with forced politeness.

“Um, yes. How are the waffles?” I tried with a smile.

“The waffles are good, or I wouldn’t be serving them,” she answered in a tone that wasn’t rude or cheerful, just there. I decided to drop all pretenses.

“I’m sorry. You’re Erica, right?” She nodded curtly, not bothering to ask how I knew this. I also noticed her jaw clench slightly. “I don’t know you, but I seem to have done something to offend you.”

“No need to apologize, and you haven’t. Did you have any more questions about the menu? You ready to order, or do you need more time?” she asked in the same flat, nonchalant tone.

“I’m ready,” I said in a cool voice, matching hers.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the waffles with fresh fruit, bacon, and coffee, please.”

“Okay.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

I was left alone at the table, feeling awkward and incredibly out of place. There were a few tables filled with other diners, and I got a sneaking feeling that I was being stared at. However, when I looked up to catch anyone’s eye, they were always looking at something else. Now would have been the perfect time to take out my phone to check emails, texts, or scroll through social media, but I was too afraid of what I might find. I left my phone in my pocket, deciding instead to study the diner’s décor. It had a vintage feel, though I could tell it was very modern. It was as if someone hired a high-end interior designer to make a cross between a farmhouse kitchen and a fifties-style eatery. All that was missing was a jukebox.

“So you’re Emmaline.” The voice belonged to the pint-size hostess, who was carrying a glass of ice water in one hand and a rolled-up linen napkin in the other.

“Well, I prefer Emma”—I gave her a kind smile—“but yes. That’s me. Thank you.” I took a sip of my water. “How did you know that?”

“Everybody in town is talking about you,” she said matter-of-factly. I glanced around the diner to find no one looking toward my table, but conversation had slowed.

“Oh, really?” I smiled at her and leaned forward. “What are they saying?”

“Nothing really.” She shrugged. “Just that you’ll ruin the town if you sell the farm.”

I nearly choked on my water at her calmly delivered declaration.

“Well, I certainly don’t plan on ruining the town,” I said when I regained the power of speech. “But if you don’t mind my asking, why would selling the farm be so bad for the town?”

“Oh, because of the—”

“Melissa Ann Burgess! Stop bothering the customers and come get your morning brownie.”

“Oh, she wasn’t bothering me,” I called across the dining room toward the counter where Melissa’s mother was standing, holding a square brownie wrapped in cellophane.

“Melissa,” her mother called again, ignoring my statement.

Melissa smiled at me and shrugged before joining her mother at the counter for her brownie. It struck me as odd. Her mother made it sound like it was medicine, but it was clearly a baked treat. Melissa looked like she was about nine or ten—well past the age of hiding medicine in foods. My mother was so obsessed with my health as a child that I’d learned to swallow pills at age six. Her mother even sliced the brownie into pieces and fed them to Melissa one at a time between sips of milk. Not wanting to get caught staring, I unrolled my napkin and placed it on my lap while waiting for my waffles.

“That was delicious.” I handed Erica a twenty-dollar bill to pay for my breakfast. She didn’t reply, handing me my change instead. It was when I attempted to hand her a five-dollar bill as a tip that she finally spoke.

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips.

“I’m sorry. I don’t.” One of my strengths was my superior memory for names, faces, and life stories, but I was drawing a complete blank.

“I’m not surprised.” She rolled her eyes and slammed the register shut. “Keep it.” She tilted her chin at the bill I was still holding. I took two stunned steps toward the door of the diner when anger made me stop and turn to face Erica, still standing at the register.

“You know what?” I began. “I don’t know you. I’m sorry. But you obviously know me. To be completely honest, I don’t give a shit whether or not you like me.” The entire diner fell silent, and I could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on me. “But I’m gonna be in this town for a while, and I’m definitely coming back for more of those waffles because they were really freaking good. So if you’re going to insist on being rude every time you see me, I at least want to know why.” I glared at her before slamming the five-dollar bill on the counter. “And if you don’t want this tip, at least give it to the hostess because her customer service skills are impeccable, unlike management’s, which leave a lot to be desired.”

I glared at her with my eyebrow raised, waiting for a response. A few tense seconds passed. Erica tucked her lips between her teeth, her chest jumped in tiny spasms, and she burst out laughing. I stood, stunned, as she slapped the counter, almost doubling over.

“Oh my God!” she said with a wistful sigh as her laughter subsided. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Excuse me,” I said impatiently, trying to bring her back to focus on the matter at hand.

“I’m Erica Lee—well, Burgess now.” She looked at me, still smiling. I stared at her in confusion and she rolled her eyes. “I used to play with you and Annie when you visited your grandparents. Our moms were best friends…” Her voice died away and her smile faded. “Holy shit. You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember much about my childhood before… before Annie died.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m the right one for you to talk to about this, but Annie’s death was really hard on a lot of people in this town, especially your grandparents.” Her face was serious. “And your mother…” Her face hardened as her voice trailed off again. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this. Not now, at least.” She sighed and grabbed a cloth to wipe off the counter. “Maybe I was a little hard on you, but old wounds, you know?”

I nodded, still not completely understanding but glad that at least she was being nice.

“Look, I’m not really sure what I’m doing here—in this town, I mean. But I’m looking for answers about my grandparents, about Annie, about the past. I’m not getting them from my mother, and if there’s anything you can tell me, I would be really grateful.”

She stared at me for a long moment, and she seemed to be working out a complicated problem. Finally, she spoke.

“Fine,” she conceded. “But not now.”

“Okay.” I nodded with a smile. “Thank you. At least you know where to find me.”

She nodded as I backed out of the restaurant, winking at Melissa on the way out.

I kept thinking about my strange conversation with Erica as I walked into the Feed ’n’ Farm. It was a large, almost warehouse-size store that sold practically everything, and I mean everything. There were groceries, animal feed, clothing, farm equipment, and everything in between, including live animals. The pen holding the tiny piglets almost made my heart burst from cuteness, but the smell gave me flashbacks to yesterday’s disastrous events and reminded me that they don’t stay that little.

I asked one of the associates about proper farm attire. Her face dawned with recognition, and I remembered Melissa telling me that everyone in town was talking about me. To my surprise, she retrieved the owner of the store, who insisted on helping me personally, which I thought was odd but nice.

I walked out with five pairs of thick coveralls, three different jackets, two hats, four types of work gloves that actually fit, three pairs of boots, five flannel shirts, three pairs of protective eyewear, ten pairs of socks, a helmet for some reason, and two different types of masks. No more swallowing spiderwebs for this girl.

It felt like overkill, but I didn’t know any better, and Roberta assured me that this was the best farm wear available. I didn’t want to take any chances after yesterday, and what’s the point of having a high credit limit if you can’t use it in emergencies? I cringed as I signed the credit slip and tried to convince myself that I was making an investment in my future. I could justify spending a thousand dollars on a handbag but balk at a twenty-dollar shipping fee. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on a single night of dinner and dancing but complained about spending two hundred dollars on a week’s worth of groceries. It didn’t help that I no longer had a job and had no plan for how to pay the credit card bill other than by dipping into my savings.

“It’s worth it,” I repeated to myself and handed the clerk the signed slip before dragging the overstuffed shopping bags to my car.

Once I got back to the farm, I needed two trips to take all of my new farm clothes into the house.

I carefully decided which outfit would be best suited for today’s farm work. The problem was, I didn’t know what I’d be doing today.

I decided to be overly cautious. I put on a tank top, a long-sleeve T-shirt, a long-sleeve flannel, leggings, a pair of coveralls, two pairs of socks, and the heavy-duty work boots. I pulled my hair back, slathered some moisturizer with SPF on my face, and put on my work goggles. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror, mostly because of all the padding from the layers of clothing. Maybe this was a good thing. Hadn’t I come here to learn about myself? Maybe this was the new Emma. I turned and took a step toward the bathroom and tripped over my feet, landing almost face-first on my bedroom floor.

Oh, if Max could see me now.

“I guess I have to get used to these big-ass boots.” I scrambled to my feet—actually thankful for all the padding from the clothes and wondering if I should also grab the helmet—and walked to the bathroom, ready to take on the farm.

To say the large barn was “behind the house” was a bit of an overstatement. You could see the barn from the kitchen window, but it was a long walk—a very long walk. I developed a new appreciation for Dan’s muscles. Then, I had to stop myself from thinking about Dan’s muscles.

I was greeted by Ernesto when I reached the entrance of the barn. He was holding a shovel and talking to another man when he spotted me and did a double take. He was probably surprised to see that I was willing to come back to work after yesterday’s disastrous start.

“Hi, Ernesto.” I pasted on what I hoped was a confident smile.

“Hola, Miss Emma.” He smiled and put down his shovel. He told the man he was standing with to meet him by the horse stables in Spanish before he turned to me. “How are the scratches on your arms?” he asked, and he seemed genuinely concerned.

“They’re better. Thank you for asking.” I smiled at him. “But I shouldn’t have that problem today.” I held out my well-covered arms.

“Yeah, you definitely look ready for something.” He chuckled, and I wondered if I’d gone overboard while getting dressed. I was sweating buckets, but I didn’t know if it was all the layers, the grueling walk from the house, or both.

“Well, I actually wasn’t sure what you’d need me to do today, so I wanted to be prepared.”

“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“I was actually wondering if you had anything for me to do, like chores or something.”

“Eh…” Ernesto looked around nervously and began to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t think there’s anything you can—”

“Look, I know yesterday was a bit of a disaster, but how am I ever going to learn how this place works if I don’t get experience?” Ernesto was still giving me a skeptical look. “Come on, there has to be something…”

“Well”—he let out a deep sigh with a chuckle—“I was going to repair the chicken fence and—”

“I can do it!”

“Have you ever repaired a chicken fence?”

“I haven’t, but how hard could it be?” I shrugged. “Just show me where the tools are, and I’ll get to work.”

Thirty minutes later, Ernesto and I were headed toward the chicken coop with a roll of chicken wire and a toolbox. I watched carefully as Ernesto repaired the first hole, and it seemed easy enough. I convinced him that I could handle things on my own while he continued to work around the farm, and he promised to come check on me later.

After waving to Ernesto, I pulled out my phone to put on a playlist that heavily featured Beyoncé, and everything quickly went downhill from there. The moment I pulled on my gloves, it seemed like everything Ernesto told me went right out the window. I measured the size of the hole that needed patching. Step one, done. Then, I grabbed the roll of chicken wire and the metal snips to cut the appropriate-size piece. My gloves were too bulky to get a good grip, so I removed them to make the tool easier to maneuver. After making one successful cut, the snips slipped out of my grasp and the newly cut and extremely sharp edge of the chicken wire dug into my exposed palm, making a deep and painful cut.

I screamed and swore. Looking down at my hand was a mistake. There was a large split across the center of my palm that was oozing thick, dark-red liquid. I screamed again. Cue the panicking. Thoroughly convinced I was bleeding to death, I jumped to my feet in an effort to run, though I was sure I’d pass out before I made it to the house. The idea of using my phone to call for help didn’t occur to me. I’d barely turned to go when I got caught in the chicken wire, which had snagged onto my coveralls, and fell onto my ass, holding my injured hand.

“This is it,” I mumbled to no one as I reclined onto the ground in defeat and closed my eyes, feeling the tears of pain and failure sting my eyes before rolling down my cheeks. “This was a mistake. I really don’t belong here, and now I’m gonna die.” I sniffled.

“This definitely looks worse than a stray tea leaf,” the last voice I wanted to hear in this moment called, “but I don’t think you’re going to die.” I felt a shadow block out the midday sun. I opened my eyes to find Dan standing over me, looking amused.

“Ugh, what are you doing here?” I moaned. He crouched down beside me and pulled me up to a sitting position, taking care with the hand I was cradling in my lap. Even in my sorry state, I couldn’t help but notice the delicious smell of Dan’s cologne and the firm but gentle pressure of his hands as he held me.

“Ernesto called me.” His beard and mustache were twitching. “He thought you might need some help.”

I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again. As much as I hated to admit it, I did need his help.

Dan lowered himself to the ground beside me and opened a first aid kit.

“Do you walk around with a giant first aid kit all the time?” I asked.

“No.” His mustache twitched again. “I had a feeling I might need it. Let me see your hand.”

I glared at him, cradled my hand closer to my chest, and tried to stand. It was bad enough that my second day on the farm had somehow gone worse than the first, from which I was still in pain, but to top it off, this asshole was teasing me.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Emma, Emma, stop,” he coaxed, wrapping his hand around my forearm to prevent me from leaving. Even through the many layers of clothing, his touch made my heart race. “I’m sorry. Please let me look at your hand and I’ll tell you about how I almost lost a thumb my third day here.” He showed me the back of the hand that wasn’t holding me in place. About half an inch below the thumb joint was a large, raised, almond-shaped scar.

“How the hell did you get that?” I gasped, momentarily forgetting about the pain in my hand and my anger at Dan.

“Hand first. Story later.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” I sighed and outstretched my arm. “But it better be a good-ass story… ow!” Dan uncurled my fingers and squirted a clear liquid into my palm. “That burns. What is that?”

“It’s sterile saline solution. I need to see how bad this cut is.”

“And?” I asked with a pained scowl, my eyes fixed on a cloud that looked like a pig floating over Dan’s head before I swiveled my head away from my hand, not wanting to see the damage. This was probably a strange time to notice how beautiful the farm was, but there I sat with my injured hand in Dan’s lap, feeling like I’d been dropped into a Pissarro painting. There was an odd swelling in my chest as I took in the rolling fields, interrupted by the brightly colored barn and huge white silo in the distance. In front of me, the chickens strutted and fluffed their vibrant feathers, pecking around the pen, completely oblivious to my medical emergency. The farm made me feel small, but in a good way. It made me feel like a piece of something larger than myself, something important. I’d almost forgotten about the pain when Dan’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“It’s pretty bad.” He wrapped my hand in gauze. “This is going to need stitches and probably a tetanus shot.”

“A tetanus shot?” My stomach roiled. “Is that necessary?”

“Only if you don’t want to get lockjaw.” He pushed himself up to his feet and lifted me into his arms.

“Are you seriously carrying me?” I protested but not enough to force him to put me down. My injured hand was curled against my chest, and my other arm was wrapped around Dan’s neck while I inhaled his delicious scent. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to the truck.”

“Based on your track record, I’m not so sure about that, love.” Once again, he had wielded that word as a weapon. He loaded me into the front seat of his pickup and buckled my seat belt. “I’m not taking any chances. Plus, I didn’t want you to ruin those fancy coveralls.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to look out the window so Dan couldn’t see the smile threatening to overtake my face.