Chapter 2
Josh
Most farmers wax poetic about sunrises, but for me, it’s the sunsets. Dusk, when most of the work is done and the sun dips below the horizon, treating me to what has become my favorite show, as well as my favorite time of day.
The expanse above was filled with purple and orange and bursts of light, like the sky had been dipped in maple syrup.
Details I never noticed as a kid and couldn’t have even seen when I lived in the city.
But now I relished it. Sunset signaled that the day was done.
That I could put my feet up and just exist for a few hours.
I’d come home to Maplewood to be busy. So busy I could escape my thoughts.
Turns out trauma is a great motivator, and farmwork is cheaper than therapy.
Almost four years in, and I was still firing on all cylinders 365 days a year. The back pain I’d developed sitting at a desk? Gone.
The constant anxiety headaches caused by artificial deadlines? Gone.
The need to push myself beyond my limits to prove my worth? Sadly not gone.
But I was a work in progress.
Tipping to one side, I scratched Wayne’s ears. He’d disappeared for a while this afternoon, probably to chase bunnies, but he was back for sunset, just like always.
I usually fed him at about this time, so that may have had something to do with it, but I liked to think it was because he enjoyed spending this moment with me.
The days were getting shorter, and the tug of autumn was getting more noticeable. But for right now, I soaked up as many moments of this Vermont summer as I could.
When a rude buzzing sound cut through my reverie, I yanked my phone out of my back pocket and checked the screen.
A notification from my security system.
My body tensed and panic flooded me, making me break into a cold sweat.
Smoke alarm. The cottage.
Aw, fuck. The new tenants.
I took off at a sprint, thankful I’d upgraded the system after Will’s death so that it would call the fire department if the alarm wasn’t disarmed in a certain amount of time.
The quick call was necessary this far outside town.
In the meantime, I’d stashed fire extinguishers in several spots.
Halfway there, Wayne passed me, darting straight for the cottage. He was a hundred and five pounds of heart, loyalty and questionable decision-making in a furry, cuddly package.
I bounded up the porch steps, where Wayne was circling, impatient, and threw the front door open, then followed the smell of smoke.
The alarm was no longer going off. Still, I expected flames. Maybe a small explosion. Or even wildlife. Given this farm’s recent track record of bad luck, I was expecting all three at once.
Instead, I found my tenant, all five foot nothing of her, wielding a fire extinguisher with the kind of intensity usually reserved for hostage situations.
And she was spraying retardant at the brand-new Wolf oven I’d installed.
I stopped just over the threshold, and Wayne slammed into the back of my legs, almost knocking me over.
In the middle of the living area, three kids stared at me like startled deer—one hostile, one curious, and one ready to take off into the woods.
“You done?”
Celine turned, still aiming the fire extinguisher.
I put my hands up in surrender.
She eyed me, her chest heaving, then assessed her kids.
“Nothing’s on fire anymore,” the middle one said.
She had glasses and a ponytail and seemed the friendliest. Which, I supposed, didn’t say much since the older girl was looking at me with contempt and the little boy’s eyes were still wide with panic.
“Mom took care of it.”
“Just the oven?” I scanned the rest of the open area. The oven was covered with flame retardant, but everything else looked untouched.
She nodded.
Focus drifting back to her, I confirmed. “Nothing anywhere else?”
“No.”
I dug my phone from my pocket and dialed the fire department, who may have already been on their way.
“Marty it’s Josh Lawrence. Yes. I’m at the house. Just the oven. No need to send a truck out. Yes, I’ll make sure to turn off the gas. Thank you.”
Head down, I hit the End button, then stashed my phone again. When I looked up, I was met by four curious faces.
“Could you hear the alarm all the way from your house?” Celine asked.
“Got an alert on my phone,” I explained. “Security system.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re spying on us?”
I’d been prepared to stumble in on chaos. I’d braced for screaming, crying, or even smoke inhalation. Being accused of espionage came as a surprise.
“No. Not spying,” I said gently. “I have systems and cameras installed all over the property. I’m happy to set up an account for you. That way you can have your own passwords and adjust settings so you’re the one with access to the house.”
Her expression remained stony, her mouth turned down in a frown.
Damn. What the hell had I done wrong?
“The system is set up for fires and break-ins,” I added, my voice flattening with frustration.
“Not… whatever it is you think I’m doing.
Smoke alarm went off. I was worried.” A sigh slipped out.
How is it that I’d found myself having to justify my presence in a house I built and owned, on my fucking land?
And that was before the annoyance that had begun to seep into me when I realized there was no danger. I kept that to myself.
“We’re fine,” the tallest child said, though her tone belied that sentiment. It sounded more like she was on the verge of calling the police on me.
“Are you?” I responded, genuinely curious, if not inconvenienced.
Celine placed the fire extinguisher on the table and shuffled to her kids.
“Guys,” she said, “Mr. Lawrence is our landlord. Let’s use our manners. Okay?”
The little boy skirted around her, hiding behind her legs.
“You’ve met Julian,” she said as he wrapped his arms around her hips. “This is my daughter Ellie.” She draped an arm over her the older girl’s shoulders. “Only twelve and already taller than me.”
The girl inspected me with the kind of scrutiny that gave me the sense she’d have a future in law enforcement. She was tall and lanky with short, choppy strawberry blond hair.
“And this is Maggie,” she said, dipping her chin at the other girl.
“Nice to meet you.” Maggie, the younger girl with blond hair, stuck out a hand.
Taken aback by her formality, I took it and returned her firm handshake.
She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled. “Do you have horses? Can I meet them? Can I ride them?”
“Um—”
“Or goats? Mini goats? Do goats have jobs? Could I train one and take it to school with me?”
“Maggie.” Celine sighed. “This isn’t the time.” She dropped her arm from her oldest daughter’s shoulders and stepped toward the kitchen, the little boy moving with her. “Sorry. I turned the oven on to preheat, and when I opened it, black smoke filled the kitchen.”
“Julian tried to cook his Legos,” Maggie announced, as if it were a completely normal culinary experiment.
That’s when the smell clicked. Melted plastic. Huh.
Julian reached out from behind his mother and shoved his sister, sending her staggering.
“It was an accident,” Celine explained, wearing a compassionate expression. “I should have checked first. I didn’t realize he’d made a cake for my birthday.”
She leaned down and kissed his head.
He immediately swiped his hand over the spot, wiping it off.
Ellie was still staring at me, as if daring me to make some kind of comment.
Knowing better, I walked over to the oven. As I got close and assessed the mess, that irritation was back and growing.
“It’s fine,” I said a little too sharply. “I’ll deal with it.”
“We don’t need help,” Ellie snapped.
Teeth gritted, I surveyed the girl. She was so young, but she had an attitude that only came from carrying trauma around.
Her mother elbowed her. “Thanks, but we’re okay.”
“So about those horses,” Maggie added.
“Dat’s a horse.” Julian pointed behind me to Wayne, who sat patiently, puffing his doggie chest out like he appreciated the sentiment.
I choked out a laugh. “That isn’t a horse, bud. It’s my dog.”
His little eyes widened and he shrunk a little farther behind his mom.
“It’s okay,” I added. “He’s very gentle.”
“He looks like a horse.”
I snapped, and Wayne immediately padded over and sat in front of Julian, his eyes bright and his tail wagging.
“If you hold your hand out like this, he can smell you.” I showed him. “That’s how he gets to know people.”
The boy did as I said, letting Wayne sniff him, only pulling back once before gaining confidence and sticking his hand out farther.
“You can pet him.”
He looked up at his mom, his teeth sunken into his lip, searching for reassurance.
When she nodded and gave him an encouraging smile, he tentatively patted the top of Wayne’s head.
Wayne, good boy that he was, stayed still, as if he could sense Julian’s apprehension.
The little boy patted his head a few more times, then turned and smiled at his mother.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, she let out a breath of relief.
“So do you have horses?” Maggie asked. The girl was persistent. “What about goats?”
“He only has tractors,” Julian told her. “Giant ones.”
“Gross,” Maggie said.
“I saw apple trees,” Celine said encouragingly.
Ellie grumbled. “What kind of farm doesn’t have horses?”
“Guys,” Celine said, her voice thin and accompanied by a fraying edge I recognized. It was the tone of a person who’d held it together all day and was two seconds from breaking.
It was familiar because I lived there most days. That tenuous spot right before my sanity and patience and hope in the damn world cracked.
Her small frame was coiled up like a snake about to strike.
Despite having other things to get done tonight, the urge to help overtook me. It was fully dark now, and judging by the boxes everywhere, she was still trying to move in.
“I was just about to order a pizza,” I said casually. “You guys want some? Saves me from having to listen to the smoke detectors again.”
“You have pizza out here in the sticks?” Ellie asked.
“Really good pizza.” Nodding, I rocked back on my heels. “Tony uses local mozzarella.”
Celine’s eyes lit up.
Bingo.
I pretended not to notice. Getting attached was a bad habit. The need to witness that kind of relief was one I thought I’d quelled. It made me want to help more often. And this was a one-time offer of landlord assistance.
“I only like plain cheese,” Maggie explained. “And Julian only eats crust.”
“Crust is delicious.” I eyed the boy. “I respect that.”
Julian looked up from where he was gently stroking Wayne’s fur. “Do they have fries?”
Nodding, I slid my phone out again.
“Fries are a safe food for him,” Maggie explained.
I didn’t know what a safe food was, but who didn’t love a good french fry?
“Can we?” Julian asked, looking up at his mom, his eyes wide.
Celine nodded, though her focus was still fixed on me, her expression full of what I could only deduce was a mixture of relief and suspicion. Not that I blamed her.
“Do you always show up unannounced?” she asked.
“Only when my property is actively on fire,” I replied.
Her mouth twitched. She didn’t smile.
Tony did not let me down, and the minute the food hit the table, the kids descended like a pack of hungry foxes. Ellie tore into a slice like she had something to prove, Maggie narrated every bite, and Julian happily ate an order of french fries the size of his head.
While they were occupied, I headed for the kitchen to take care of tonight’s real issue.
The oven.
The melted Lego structure had thankfully cooled into a rainbow-color geological formation, layers of the plastic fused to the bottom rack. I worked silently. There was no point in embarrassing the kid or his mom. Or opening the door to gratitude I didn’t want or even know how to handle.
I’d seen a lot worse. This didn’t even crack the top fifty of the shit I’d witnessed. Still, this appliance had cost a lot, and now it smelled like burnt childhood.
I snagged my work gloves from my back pocket, then removed the oven racks and the bottom tray and carried them to one of the equipment barns.
Wayne trotted after me, eyeing the art installation in my hands.
With a few good scrapes, I removed most of the mess. Then I hosed off the components, removing the last remnants of the fire retardant with dish soap.
They were scratched but not destroyed. I could live with that. Once I got it all reset, I’d turn the gas back on.
By the time I came back in, the kids had finished eating, and Celine was wiping down the table. Julian immediately zeroed in on Wayne, his attention flickering to me after a moment. I gave him a nod, making sure to relax my expression. I wasn’t mad. He was a kid, after all.
While I reinstalled the bottom tray and racks, cleaned the exterior, and swept up the ash and debris from the floor, Celine watched me. Not judgmental, but not grateful either. Like she was bracing for the moment when help turned into leverage. Or like she wasn’t sure how to stop me.
I washed my hands, dried them on my pants, and gave them a wave. “Good to go.”
“Thank you.” She shifted, not quite hiding a grimace. “I didn’t expect you to do all that.”
“I know.” I shrugged. “But it’s done.”
“We still haven’t discussed the animals,” Maggie said, her head tipped back and her eyes expectant.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Celine said. “You’ve got to go to bed.”
“How about a tour?” I asked before I thought better of it. Why was I still here and not halfway back to my house by now? I should have left. I usually left. I’d already done way more peopling than I was used to.
It was late and I was tired. I needed to be alone to reset myself after this weird-ass night.
Julian homed in on me. “Can we see the tractors?”
“And the fruit trees?” Maggie’s blond hair was wild around her inquisitive face.
I looked at Celine before answering, just to be sure, and when she gave a tiny nod, I agreed. “I’ll give you all a tour tomorrow afternoon. Show you around your new home.”
Home. That word reverberated through me, landing heavier than it should have.
Julian sat up a little taller and Maggie beamed at me.
An unfamiliar warmth gathered in my chest.
“Thanks again,” Celine said, following Wayne and me to the front door.
“Don’t mention it.” I stepped outside, then turned around to face her. “Is it really your birthday?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before a hint of pain flashed in them. “Tomorrow.”
“Happy birthday,” I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
She scoffed. “Thirty-five and starting over with three kids in Bumfuck, Vermont.” Peering over her shoulder, she lowered her voice. “And I almost burned down the nicest house we’ve ever lived in on day one. Happy fucking birthday to me.”
Anger seeped out of her, and there was no hiding the weariness she was carrying, or her general air of defiance.
“Yeah, that tracks,” I said.
“You’re kind of an ass,” she said.
Taking a step back, I tipped my baseball cap at her. “I’ve been called worse.”