Chapter 9
Oak
My mind won’t seem to quiet, even when I find myself walking around the farm, checking all the gates are closed and locked and the nightly duties are done.
Everywhere I look, images of Jules flash before my eyes.
I’d expected some snobby, hoity toity influencer kind when Cash first brought up the collaboration.
We’ve ran into plenty of that kind in the year we’ve been doing The Velvet Rodeo.
But Jules doesn’t strike me as that at all.
She’s a businesswoman, and I can appreciate her no-nonsense approach to this.
Even if I’d like to negotiate some of the stipulations.
The contract can also be amended or renegotiated should things change.
Man, do I want to amend it when the time comes.
But for now, we’ll start slow, test the waters, and see if we even mesh very well together.
The first cam test will be tomorrow after the contracts are signed, and I’m looking forward to seeing Jules in all her glory despite my original hesitation with this.
It was like that in the beginning, too. When Cash came to me with this wild idea to do cam work, I never thought it would take off.
We’d needed money badly, and it felt like a last-ditch effort to bring in some cash flow and keep this place afloat.
We’d bought it together five years ago with nothing but a dream and a sizeable bank loan.
The original owner died and he didn’t have any heirs, so the bank had stepped in.
We’d nearly lost the bid for the place to some tattooed, city asshole, but luckily, the lady at the bank had liked us.
A little too much actually. She’d been one of the first women we’d had on The Velvet Rodeo, fresh off divorce and eager.
We’d hit record views at the time. Those numbers look like nothing compared to what we’re doing now.
The thing about loans, though, you gotta pay them back.
And as much as we’re all passionate about the dairy farm and artisan cheese, it doesn’t always bring in the kind of money you’d hope, not enough to pay off a million-dollar loan with interest. We’ve made headway on that now thanks to the cam work.
Cash is a wild card, but he has a good idea every now and then.
The Velvet Rodeo was one of those times.
I’m hoping Vanta Vyxxxen is another one.
As I finish locking up the barn and head back to the big house, the sound of soft singing reaches my ears.
It’s melodic, the sound something sweet and gentle that I’ve never heard before.
It takes me a minute to realize that it’s not even in English.
Curiosity bites at me and I follow the sound out to Cash’s cabin.
There, on the old wooden porch in a rocking chair, sits Jules, her daughter held in her arm.
The sun is low in the sky, washing everything in warm tones.
It’s the beginning of fall right now, but the warmth in the air from the summer still lingers.
Even still, the air has a slight bite to it, just a little reminder that winter will come soon.
It’ll be time to lock the farm down for winter soon, but for now, I can think about nothing but the woman sitting before me with her child in her arms.
“Farfallina bella e biance
Vola vola e mai si stanca
Vola qua, vola lá
Poi su un for si poserá.
Ecco, ecco l’ha Trovato
Tutto rosso e profumato
Vola qua, vola lá
Ul alta for lei troverá.
Si posó su un girasole
Poi di colpo esce il sole
Lo guardó, lo ammiró
Poi pian pian si addormentó.”
It sounds like a lullaby, and as she rocks her daughter to sleep, it strikes me deep in the chest. I reach up to touch it in case it’s somehow been ripped wide open and I hadn’t noticed, but it’s as whole as it was before, unmarred.
Instead, my fingers find the single strand pearl necklace I never go without and latch in, holding it until Jules’ sweet voice fades away.
As if she can sense me watching, her eyes flick over to me and she smiles.
She lifts her finger to her lips in a shushing motion and points to where Genie is passed out in her arms.
I nod and smile, give a little wave, and turn to walk away so I don’t look like a creeper, but her lullaby filters into my head, morphs, until I hear my own voice singing something similar, one in English.
I walk a little faster, desperate to get away. My hand goes up to my chest again, as if convinced it’ll find that gaping hole in my chest this time.
It never does . . .