Chapter 20 #2
He groaned. But only because he knew that she knew he loved her cheeseball puns.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “We have to stop at the feed store after breakfast, before we head out to the farm.”
He skewed an eyebrow upward. “The feed store? How come?”
“To pick up corn for the turkey.”
“The . . . turkey?”
She rolled her eyes in the most endearing way possible. “Come on, the parade float turkey. Once we get the frame finished, he’s getting decorated with dried ears of corn. Ellis’s Feed is donating it, but
they said we have to pick it up today. We’ll need to keep it in the barn until we’re ready to use it.”
Nick glanced through the windshield. The weather had turned, and the sky loomed flat and close, the color of iron. He had
a feeling it would only worsen. “Okay. But if we put all that corn in the truck bed and it gets rained on, it’ll get ruined.”
Paige nodded. “I checked the forecast. It’s supposed to stay dry until noon, which should give us plenty of time. And—oh!
Aubrey will be there. She’ll help us unload. And also, I’m kind of buff, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She popped an underwhelming
biceps—not that he would ever say so.
“See?” she chirped. “Nothing to worry about.”
Maybe not, but he inched the gas pedal toward the floor, all the same. “Okay. We should make breakfast quick, though.”
At the café, Paige flowed from one subject after another. She talked about her internship, which started in January, then
some genetics assignment she had in biology. Nick sipped his coffee, his smile growing fonder. The ibuprofen had kicked in,
and between that, his greasy breakfast at home, the caffeine, and the unexpected morning with his daughter, he almost felt . . .
content. At the very least, the hangover had faded.
His phone pinged just as Paige hit her stride. He pulled it out, intending to make the notification go away, but the screen
pulled up a message from MontanaBirder81.
His teeth clenched. He resented the intrusion into his morning, but moreover, he resented the way this whole letter-writing
business was turning out. When he’d cooked up this idea, he’d wanted to help nurture a relationship that would’ve blossomed
anyway. And, sure—he could admit it—exorcise his demons in the process.
But John Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was in Billings increasingly wanted to be spoon-fed. The guy didn’t have any ideas of his
own, and had little to say about Jane apart from the fact that she dressed well and was apparently a total smoke show. Which
made Nick wonder if his heart was even in the right place. Maybe? Maybe not? Either way, the whole situation had grown uncomfortable,
as if Nick were conducting the relationship himself instead of merely refining John’s feelings into words.
“Dad? Can you do it?”
He glanced up. Shit, he’d totally checked out. Talk about a dick move. He pocketed his phone, vowing not to touch it for the rest of the day. “Sorry, Peanut, what were you saying?”
“Your tongue. Can you roll it up? Like this?” Paige curled her tongue into a tube.
He laughed. “What kind of weird-ass question is that?”
“It’s for my biology assignment. Mr. Gallegos gave us this whole list of Mendelian traits. Tongue-rolling is autosomal dominant,
so since I can do it, that means you or Mom can, too. We’re supposed to find out our parents’ phenotypes, then compare to
ours to figure out our genotypes.”
“That sounds . . . scientific.”
She giggled. “Yeah, that’s the point. Try it.”
He stuck out his tongue. Trying to replicate what she’d done felt like chewing on a pretzel.
“Oh, come on.” She did another adorable eye roll. “You can do better than that.”
He tried again, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. “Nope. Sorry. You must’ve gotten that one from Mom.” He polished off his
coffee and scoped out the café window. The sky looked even more threatening than it had earlier. “Hey, kiddo, I hate to cut
this short, but we should probably get going. I don’t think the rain’s going to hold off until twelve.”
A faint divot formed between Paige’s brows. She’d only finished half her eggs, but rose and gathered her jacket.
“You don’t want to finish?” he said.
“No. This is more than one person can handle.”
He helped her into her coat and scooted her out the door.
Outside, the temperature had dropped, and Nick’s fingers tingled as they sped toward Ellis’s Feed.
On arrival, Chip Ellis ushered them into the back room, where eighty-eight mesh bags of dried corn awaited.
Thankfully, Chip’s two sons were on shift, so between the four men and Paige, everything got loaded within minutes.
Unloading would take significantly longer, and Nick tried to shave as many minutes off the drive to Hinkley Farm as possible.
The whole time, Paige stared out the window, contemplating the weather. Clearly, the possibility of losing the corn worried
her.
“Hey. You okay?”
She mustered a watery smile. “Yeah. Sorry. My stomach just feels weird. That food isn’t sitting right.”
He studied her. “Are you going to puke?”
“Maybe. I honestly can’t tell.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“No,” she said. “If we turn around now, the corn’ll get ruined.”
“So? Who cares?”
She gave him a level look. “Daddy.”
“What?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Come on. I care a lot more about you than I do about corn.”
That seemed to bring some color back into her cheeks. She smiled. “Just drive faster. I’ll get a ride back from Megan, if
that’s okay. You and Aubrey can unload together.”
He quelled a sigh. Him and Aubrey. Of course. “Sure, Peanut. You’re the boss.”
When they pulled up, Aubrey stood in the barn doorway already, eyeing the sky.
The sight of her hit Nick like a wrecking ball to the chest. She looked different today.
No earrings, no makeup. She wore a cozy-looking red flannel over jeans, and had traded her impractical heeled boots for a pair of white sneakers she’d clearly just bought, since they didn’t have a single scuff.
The front half of her hair was pulled into a bun, the fringed ends radiating outward like a flaming halo.
Her survey of the sky complete, she lowered her eyes and met his through the windshield.
His gut bottomed out. Fuck. She’d never looked as compelling as in that moment. Never looked so real. Like a woman he wanted to burn down worlds for. Maybe he even wanted to burn down himself.
The slam of Paige’s door brought him back to reality. He shook off his daze and emerged just in time for a fat, icy raindrop
to splat against his forehead.
“Hey,” Aubrey said as they approached. “It’s great to see you, Paige. Did you talk to your teacher yet? About math club? I’ve
been thinking about what to discuss, and—”
“Sorry, I’m not staying today, actually.” Paige smiled apologetically. “But I’m excited about math club, and I promise I’ll
text you soon. Have you seen Megan?”
“Oh.” Aubrey frowned. “Um, I think she’s around back.”
“Great.” Paige wandered off. “I’ll see you later, Dad.”
Aubrey’s green eyes turned questioning as Nick jogged to the doorway and scanned the barn’s interior. The corn could go over
in the corner, next to the rebar.
“Is she okay?”
Warmth flooded his throat. Aubrey had only met his daughter once, but had clearly paid enough attention to realize something
was amiss. And she cared enough to ask.
“She’s not feeling well,” he said. “But Megan’s going to have to take her home, because right now, we’ve got eighty-eight
twenty-five-pound bags of corn to unload, and about ten minutes before it starts pouring.”
Aubrey blanched. “Twenty-two hundred pounds of corn? In ten minutes? Is that all?”
He paused, startled. “Did you just . . . multiply eighty-eight by twenty-five in your head?”
“I’m a mathematician. So . . . yeah. That one’s easy, anyway.”
“Easy? How’s that easy?”
The corner of her mouth kicked up. “Because. Multiplying by twenty-five is the same as dividing by four and adding two zeros.
Anyone can do that.”
Another raindrop slapped his temple, but he ignored it. He’d never have thought to do it that way. Yet he saw why Aubrey’s
method worked, and even he could appreciate its elegance.
“You’re incredible,” he blurted.
She flushed and looked away.
“Sorry.” He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m just . . . yeah. Gonna go get that corn.”
“Okay.” She sounded relieved. “I’ll help.”
They worked quickly, but the sky opened within minutes. Most of the volunteers ran for cover, and those who didn’t scrambled
to get their own projects to safety.
Frigid rain slapped at Nick’s scalp, quickly turning to stinging sleet. He upped his pace while Aubrey climbed into the truck
bed. She tossed bags down into his arms, piling them five or six at a time before he shuttled them into the barn. His lungs
burned and his muscles quaked, but he relished the feeling. It was almost like a fight. A pain he could disappear into.
When they finished, slushy rain saturated their clothes. They took cover in the barn. Sleet lashed against the roof, so loud
Nick could barely hear himself think.
“Should we open the bags that got wet?” Aubrey shouted over the din. “Spread the corn to dry, so it doesn’t mold?”
He nodded. By the time they’d scrounged blankets from the loft and arranged the damp corn, the roar of the storm had lessened.
Nick tucked away the pocketknife he’d used to slice the mesh and turned toward Aubrey.
And went silent inside.
Shit. She hadn’t complained once, but her lips had turned a painful shade of blue. Her teeth chattered. Wet red tendrils stuck
to her forehead.
“You’re freezing.” Quickly, he wrenched off his sodden jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?
And where’s your coat?”
She shivered in his grip. Jesus, those eyes. They burned a hole right through him.
“I forgot it in Gallant’s car,” she said. “I didn’t realize until after he left, and I don’t have any service out here, so
I couldn’t ask him to come back.”
Nick’s heart burst into a million microscopic pieces. He struggled to swallow them all down. Fucking Gallant fucking Nobel.
That asshole must have seen her jacket on the seat and made a conscious decision not to turn around.
The realization made him want to punch something. Preferably Gallant himself. Preferably hard enough to break the guy’s nose.
“When’s he coming back for you?”
“Four o’clock.”
“That’s hours from now.” He clenched his jaw. “There’s no way I’m leaving you here until then. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Aubrey wavered. Her hesitation knifed into him—clearly, she had no desire to be taken care of, at least not by him.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’re friends now, remember?”
“Yeah.” But her tone told him she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d confessed his deepest regrets the other day.
He tried again. “Look, you’re soaked. You’ll freeze out here with nothing but my wet-ass jacket and a four-hour wait. Which
makes no sense when you have a perfectly good fireplace at home.”
She lifted her chin as if to argue, then surprised him by nodding. “Well . . . okay.”
The fist around his lungs loosened. “Okay.”
They darted back out into the storm. He helped her into the truck’s passenger side, not caring that his wet eyelashes froze
in moments or that gooseflesh pebbled his arms beneath his sodden Henley shirt.
As long as he got her warm.