Chapter 4
Wren
My day from hell is coming to an end. I swear I hate waking up late; that shit really throws my whole day off.
After leaving The Phoxes Den with my money and only nine empty jars instead of fifty, I shook Mr. Sexy but Clumsy out of my head, went back to my ranch, and resumed my normal morning routine.
After removing the old sheets I keep in the goat pen, I rake the floor and use my leaf blower to clear the debris.
I add more sheets, towels, and straw and replace the stall deodorizer.
Goat urine has a strong ass smell. I wash their feed and water buckets next, then refill them.
I milk my girls and freeze the milk. For soap making, I’ve discovered frozen milk works much better and the soap is creamier.
When I take the milk to the freezer in the barn, I double check to make sure it’s still cold. The wiring in here is off and my freezer trips sometimes. I have to get an electrician here soon before it stops for good. I can’t afford to lose my milk; my soaps are a vital part of my income.
While in the barn, I check the soaps in the molds and flip them.
They are forming good and will definitely be ready on Thursday so I can deliver them to Yelena.
I grab one of the peppermint and take it into the house after I collect my eggs from the coop.
Amara and I will test the soap. It’s not fully formed but still usable.
I love our little ranchette and land. Being able to work and take care of something my dad loved and left us is everything. And although I’m tired as hell by the end of the day, it’s a tiredness I appreciate and will endure every day of my life.
Before picking Amara up from school, I take a much-needed long shower then head to the grocery store.
I grab the veggies needed for my dad’s stew and a rotisserie chicken from the deli.
The already cooked chicken is a cheat but I don’t have time or the energy to roast a whole chicken, not today.
I also grab another case of canning jars.
As soon as Amara is in my ride, she starts to talk my head off and I just smile. She is so full of life and words. When she talks, it’s nonstop. I know everything about every student and teacher.
“And it’s something different for the rest of the week.
Tomorrow is pajamas and even though it’s not twin day—that’s Wednesday—Kimmie and I are going to wear reindeer pjs.
She has the same onesie I have but in green.
Wednesday, we are going to wear red sweaters, jeans, our Santa hats, and boots.
I don’t know if she has red boots but I hope she does,” she blurts out.
“Can you wear a onesie to school?” I ask.
“Yes, as long as it’s not too tight. They went over all the rules in homeroom. I’m good but I do need an ugly sweater for Thursday. I can’t wear the one I wore last year, that shit’s ass.”
“What! I know you didn’t just curse at me,” I say, amused as hell.
“I mean ass is in the bible,” she says.
“But shit isn’t, lil girl. I swear you try it sometimes,” I say, still amused but hiding it.
“You act like you’re so old sometimes,” she says, then rolls her eyes.
“Hell, I am. So, stop cursing. Shit,” I tease and we both laugh. “But we can try to make one of your hundred Christmas sweaters ugly or go to the store tomorrow after school. You have chopping to do tonight, remember?” I ask, then glance back to the backseat. She turns around and sees the bag.
“Oh, I remember. I’ve been dreaming about the stew all day. And I want grilled cheese with it too.”
“I’m glad I grabbed a loaf of bread then,” I say with a smirk. Of course, she wants grilled cheese. I do too; that’s exactly how my dad prepared it.
As soon as we make it back to the house, we grab the bags and go inside.
She showers and changes while I get things ready for us to cook.
Once we chopped all the veggies and I debone the chicken, everything will be put in my Instant Pot with chicken bone broth, a splash of heavy cream, and my dad’s secret ingredient, brown sugar barbecue sauce made locally, Uncle Pete’s.
While the stew’s in the Instant Pot, Amara works on her Algebra homework and I prepare the grilled cheeses and call Reece on FaceTime.
When her face appears on the screen, I see she’s in the kitchen.
“Are you cooking for two, bitch?” I ask.
“Aren’t you?” she fires back.
“Yes, for me and Amara. But I see two big ass steaks back there. I know you are not about to eat steak for days. Let me find out it’s a man.”
She leans in close to the screen then whispers dramatically, “It is.”
“Bitch who?” I whisper back and she laughs.
“Let me head back to my room to do something to this mess on my head before I cook and I’ll tell you, but why the hell are you whispering too?”
“Hell, I don’t know. You are so I did. Who is he? And why does he deserve steak?”
“It’s him.”
“Mr. Sexy, Melvina sent to the house?” I ask.
Miss Mel is a sweetheart. She knows everybody and everything in Miller’s Pointe and she’s a self-proclaimed matchmaker. Like me, Reece needs a few things done on her ranch. It’s much bigger than mine so she needs a ranch hand. This morning, Miss Mel sent Reece a fine ass man to help.
“Yes,” Reece sighs dramatically. “He worked hard out there today and deserves a home cooked meal, and me, hell.”
“I swear,” I say with a smile. “Your day sounds so much better than mine.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Some clumsy man practically knocked me over at The Phoxes Den and I broke all of my damn jars.”
“What! On purpose?”
“No but still. My shit broke and I was pissed.”
“Oh no. Did you hurt the man with your mean ass?”
“No. I didn’t but I cursed his ass out. And he had the nerve to be smiling and shit, trying to be charming,” I say and roll my eyes.
“Bitch,” she utters.
“What?”
“Don’t what me. Smiling and charming? Was he fine?”
And although I hate to admit it out loud, I answer her truthfully. “Very. Oh God! Very fine and sexy as fuck.”
“I knew it,” she says, then laughs.
“Did you at least smile and give him your number?”
“Why the hell would I give a man that knocked me over my damn number?”
“Because he was fine and you haven’t had a man in a long ass time. So long, I’ve lost count.”
“Bitch, fuck you!” I scoff playfully.
“Not me, him, and soon too. You need to smile and relax before Christmas.”
“I’m just going to ignore you and hang up. I need to cook these sandwiches anyway.”
“Before you hang up, let’s get a drink tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. You’ve had a day. I’ve had a day. We deserve a drink. We can go around seven and be back before it’s too late. One hour, Forty Acres,” she says. “We both can take an iDrive so we can be irresponsible for once, and don’t say no.”
Because I have had a long ass day, I agree. A drink can never hurt. “Okay. I’ll be there. I’ll text you when I leave.”
“Yes. Now let me finish these steaks.”
I end the call with her then place the sandwiches on the grill pan. Amara walks in right when I’m flipping them. She walks over to the Instant Pot.
“Is it done?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Did you release the steam? I hate doing that.”
“Yes. I opened it already. You can lift the top. And these are almost done. Grab the plates and bowls please.”
“The Santa bowls?” she asks with a smile.
“Yes, Mrs. Kringle, the Santa bowls are fine. I already took down the Ho-Ho-Ho mugs.”
“You made more hot cocoa?”
“No but I grabbed cider from the store and it’s warming.”
“This is going to be perfect.”
She grabs the bowls and plates and I remove the grilled cheeses. Together, we prepare our food and drinks then sit in the living room and eat in front of the fireplace.
“I pick up the tree Thursday and I’m going to see if I can get somebody to put the lights up outside.”
“We can do it,” she says excitedly.
“We cannot. Neither of us is going on top of this house. I’ll find somebody.
When I pick up the tree, I’ll see if Beauden or Yelena can lend me a ranch hand.
They can go up in the attic and get the decorations too,” I say, and she’s too excited.
“I’m going out for about an hour later, to meet Reece.
You gonna be cool here?” I ask and she rolls her eyes.
“I’ll be fine, Wren. I’m not a baby anymore. I’ll lock the doors and windows and stay locked in my room under the bed,” she says sarcastically, and this time, I roll my eyes.
“Alright, smart ass.”
We finish dinner, pack the leftovers, then clean the kitchen together. Then I shower, change into a black oversized sweater, leather pants, and my favorite pair of black, thigh-high boots. When I walk into Amara’s room to check on her, she examines me from head to toe.
“Put your braids down and put on hoops,” she says.
“Anything else, fashionista?”
“Nope. That’s it. Do that and you are tea.”
“Okay. I will. I’m leaving. My ride’ll be here in ten. Answer if—”
“If and when you call. I know. Go and have fun.”
“I love you.”
“Love you more.”
Because I trust my little critic, I return to my room, take my braids down and finger style them. Then I remove my studs and put on a pair of silver hoops from Reece. I check on Amara one last time before walking out to my iDrive.
Forty Acres is a local staple and chill spot.
There’s a long bar that covers the left wall, a digital jukebox connected to big ass speakers, tables and chairs throughout with a few small sofas in a lounge area, and a huge dance floor in the middle of everything.
It’s the perfect place for cowboys, strong ass drinks, and dancing.
It recently had a few upgrades, thanks to the new owner, Zahara.
I make it there before Reece so I find us a spot at the bar because I prefer sitting there. A few minutes later, she walks in looking super cute with her natural curls. When she approaches the bar, I slide off my stool and we hug.
“You look cute,” she says, then she touches my earrings. “Real cute.”
“Thanks. You look good too. I love your hair.”
“I couldn’t decide what to do with it, so I said natural it is,” she says before sitting on the stool next to me. “Did you order yet?”
“No. I really just got here.”
“Good, let’s start with shots. I’m trying to get lit tonight,” she says and I wave the bartender over.
Reece orders two double shot tequilas. She is deadass about getting lit and I have not one objection. So as soon as we get our drinks, we clink our glasses together then kill the shots.
“Shit!” I hiss as the liquid glides down my throat.
“Just what I needed.”
“I need a chaser in my next one,” I admit and she smiles.
“Not me.”
We order again and this time, I get a tequila sunrise while she gets another shot.
As we drink, she gives me the full run down of her day with Ro.
They actually did a lot on her ranch. I give her full details on my handsome stranger then tell her about my new peppermint soap.
I used it when I showered and I’m already in love.
I do think in my next batch I’ll adjust the amount of coconut and peppermint oils.
“Did you bring me a bar?” she asks.
“No, because I have to make a small change, but you’ll get some in the next batch.”
“And what about your website?”
“I think I’m going to go ahead and set one up. I’m doing okay with Skroll but the DMing for orders is getting to be too tedious. I need a site to take the orders and payment so all I have to do is ship.”
“I told you that you need one. My life changed once I got mine. We just have to come up with a name that covers the soaps and jams.”
“It won’t be as cute as Reece's Pieces though.”
“We’ll come up with something for you just like we did for me. Remember, tequila was our muse then and it can be our muse now.” She turns to the bartender. “Another shot please.”
“And I think that should be your last. Your eyes are starting to do that thing,” I say and she scoffs.
“Don’t say it, bitch,” she warns but I can’t help it. Every time she drinks, her eyes start glossing over and she looks like Storm from X-Men.
“I won’t, Storm.”
“I hate you,” she says, then sucks her teeth. “Let’s see who’s in here tonight. Maybe your fine ass stranger is,” she says before turning around. Not even two seconds later, she turns right back. “Bitch, he’s here,” she exclaims.
“Who! You don’t even know what he looks like,” I say, then start to turn. She stops me immediately.
“Don’t turn around. It’s Ro. He’s here in the back. How do I look?” she asks.
“Still good.”
“Good. Okay. I’m going over there. You can get yourself home, right?” she asks with pleading eyes.
“Yes, I can,” I say. I know my friend and she’s obviously feeling Ro. The way she talked about him told me everything I needed to know.
“That’s why I love you. Wish me luck. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says before sliding off the stool.
I turn and watch her walk over toward the back of the bar. When she sits down, I turn back around to order another tequila sunrise. “Can I have another one?”
“And add a Bleu Mountain Brew,” a smooth ass tenor says. “I got her tab,” he adds and I turn toward the man sitting on the stool to my left.
What the hell is he doing here!