Chapter 17
Seventeen
“I told you!” Cretia crowed as she pranced into the barn the next morning, waving her phone over her head.
Bent over a stall door and dumping a bucket of oats in Abner’s dish, Finn mumbled something under his breath for the mini cow. For her, he said, “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
“I know. But I stayed up half the night thinking of potato names.”
He stood, the black bucket hanging by its handle from his fingers as he leaned his hip against the wooden planks of the wall. “Evidence first.” A half grin began to tug at his lips, but his nose twitched as he seemed to fight it.
“You don’t believe me?” She pressed a hand to her chest in feigned distress.
“It’s not you I distrust. It’s the very idea that a hundred thousand people would be interested in a miniature cow.”
“You forget the small-town farmer from the island.”
His smile disappeared into a scowl. “I’m still not a farmer.”
“ I know that,” she said, all innocence, forced to bite back the giggle that bubbled in her chest. “But the ladies of the internet would not be denied. They came up with Farmer Finn all on their own.”
“Uh-huh.” He sucked on a tooth and clicked his tongue. “You’re a terrible liar.” Holding out his hand, he curled his fingers. “Let’s see it.”
Instead of passing over her phone, she walked over to him and spun until her back was almost against his chest. A catch in his breath stirred her hair, and she tried not to smile. He was warm and solid and all the things that had attracted her to him since the day they met.
Kissing was off the table. He’d made that abundantly clear.
It was probably the right choice.
But if she happened to know that her hair smelled especially good after Marie shared a bottle of coconut shampoo with her, shouldn’t Finn get to appreciate it too? And if it made him reconsider his stance on kissing her again...
Some things couldn’t be helped.
Besides, she’d tracked her laptop shipment that morning. It had arrived in New Jersey, headed for Toronto. Estimated arrival to the Red Door, three days.
Her teasing smile took a hard hit at the reminder, and she ducked her head to keep him from noticing. She had only three days left on this sweet island. Three days left with Finn. She already knew that not kissing him wasn’t going to make it any easier to leave. She just didn’t have a choice.
Adjusting the brightness of the screen in her hand to accommodate for the relative dimness inside the barn, she held it up before them. First she played the video of Abner munching on hay and then strolling up to her until all the camera could see were his cute nostrils and infinitely boopable nose. Then the shot cut to Finn kneeling next to the cow, his arm around Abner’s back and his other hand invisible in his thatch of long hair. The cow swung his head in time to the background music she’d added—a popular song by a folk singer—and Finn scratched under his chin before looking right at the camera and giving her a slow grin.
Honestly, she’d slowed that last bit of the video down because she knew the girls would go wild for it. She had too. But just a little bit.
The difference was that she knew the man behind the smile. She knew he was so much more than broad shoulders and a handsome face—though that dimple in his chin still made her stomach swoop when she caught it at the right angle.
And she wasn’t above using his good looks to win her bet.
Finn grunted when the video ended. “Did you write something about it? Something about the business?”
“Of course.” She scrolled beneath the video and read it aloud. “‘Prince Edward Island is more than stunning landscapes and red-rock beaches. It’s home to beautiful farmland and some of the cutest creatures on earth. Meet Abner and Finn—owner of Chaffey’s Newfoundlands, a dog-training business and staple in the community of North Rustico.’” She looked up and behind her to meet his gaze. “Zero mention of you being a farmer. Are you happy?”
His gaze narrowed and he shook his head. “Not yet. How many views?”
“One hundred and thirty-three thousand. Oh!” She looked again at the number that had gone up since that morning. “One hundred and forty-six thousand.”
“That’s ridiculous. It can’t be true.”
“The Instagram insights don’t lie.” When she pointed to the number beneath the play button, his jaw dropped.
“So, I’m thinking Spud, Tater, Sprout, Chip, Fry, Scallop, Tuber, Starch, Russet, Red, and Mash.”
Finn didn’t move, his eyes still focused on her phone.
“Finn?”
Finally, he sighed. “How did you do that?”
“Do what? Make the video? That was easy. There’s all sorts of editing software, but my phone has most of it built in.”
“No, I mean...” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “How did you make that many people watch me and Abner?”
“I didn’t make anyone do anything. I just gave the people what they already wanted.”
“How do you know?”
She gave him a wicked laugh. “Oh, you want me to open the floodgates. My pleasure.” Clearing her throat and putting on her best suburban accent, she began reading some of the three thousand comments.
“Girl, please. You need to warn us about cuteness overload.”
“Starts looking for real estate on PEI.”
“Must get one of those hugs. And cows.”
“Can I visit on my next trip to the island?”
“I’m packing my bags right now.”
“That’s the cutest thing I ’ve ever seen. The cow’s pretty adorable too.”
Finn began to cough, and Cretia turned around to find his face was the color of a beet.
“I told you,” she singsonged. “Just giving the internet what it wants. They already gobble up accounts about hot guys with dogs and hot guys reading books and ... well, generally, hot guys. Add in ridiculously adorable animals, and they don’t know what to do with themselves, except...” As she skimmed through a few more comments, her smile began to dim and her brain churned.
When Finn finally got control of himself, he mumbled, “Except what?”
“They want to come visit. Not just you but your cow. And I would bet your goats too. Can you imagine if you let them bottle-feed the kids?”
“Why would I do that?”
“For the experience. People pay for experiences. They want to see and hold and touch and feel and experience life with real animals. You could show them what it takes to care for animals and how cows—even mini ones—aren’t really inside pets. You could teach them about caring for the animals and raising them well and let them get in the stalls and make furry friends.”
“Who?” He sounded like he thought she’d gone completely off the rails.
Waving her phone in his face, she said, “Them. These people. The ones who come here on vacation and want something fun to do with their families. There are millions of kids just like Jack, who love animals and would love to spend an afternoon on this property.”
Finn began shaking his head before she even finished. “I can’t ... I didn’t take these guys in to show them off. They just needed a home.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t show them off.”
Scrubbing a hand down his face and scraping across his whiskers, he shook his head again. “I have to focus on the dogs. The business is my priority.”
“But this could be an extension of your business. You could keep breeding and training the dogs, and you could make that part of teaching visitors about how Newfoundlands are such a special breed. And you could get local kids to help out—it’d be better than camp for them. I bet kids from all over the island would come to help. Or you could hire someone.”
“No.”
She blinked rapidly at the volume of his voice. She’d never heard him shout before, but the single word silenced even the barn crickets for a moment before the dogs began barking and even Roberta let out a concerned bellow.
“Finn?” She took a hesitant step in his direction and rested her hand on his forearm, the muscles there bunched up and tense.
“I don’t need help,” he said between clenched teeth. “I can make this business grow on my own.”
“I-I know you can. But the point is you don’t have to. Justin doesn’t run his whole dairy by himself. Even your dad had you to help when he ran this business. A little change, an extra hand, could open a big door for you.”
Finn forced his fists to unclench at his sides, flexing his fingers and taking a deep breath through his nose. Still his hands trembled, and his pulse pounded in his ears. A band around his chest had pulled tight, and he didn’t know how to release it. Or how to explain it to the woman with eyes full of questions.
“I’m sorry.” His voice barely carried the mere distance between them.
“It’s okay. But did I say something ... or...?” Cretia cocked her head to the side as she squeezed his arm. Her careful inspection bored into the secret parts of his heart.
He wanted to step away or hide. But his feet refused to budge. “I need to do this on my own.”
“But why? There are so many people here who care about you, who would be happy to help you. And your parents love you. I’m sure they’d be happy to—I don’t know—cosign a loan application for you or something.”
Begging his parents for help would just prove that what his dad had said to Milo McGinniss was right. It was not going to happen.
Letting out a slow breath through tight lips was all he could manage for a moment as he remembered that day, those words. It had been more than a decade ago, but somehow, they still rang through him.
He tried to shut them up and fill in the space with a joke. “That’s rich coming from someone who tried to refuse help when she had a twisted ankle and was dripping from head to toe.”
Cretia didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. “But I did accept your help.”
“You were forced to let me help you that day because you couldn’t manage on your own. I can do this alone.”
“No one doubts that. But—”
“Yes, they do.”
Cretia’s mouth snapped shut, whatever argument she’d been trying to make dying on her pursed lips. Slowly she put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he spat out.
“I beg to differ. I’ve never seen you so upset.”
“Yeah, well.” He swung his head around and turned his back on her as his heart thundered. “You’ve known me for all of two weeks and some change. What do you expect?”
She sucked in a small gasp, and he turned around, expecting her to be halfway across the barn and headed back to the Red Door. Instead, she was right in front of him, two fingers pressed to her mouth, failing to cover a ridiculous smile.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because I like fighting with you.”
“You like it when I’m mad?”
She shook her head as she stepped into his arms, which automatically wrapped around her back. “I don’t like that you’re upset, but I like that I know you’re always going to turn back to me. I like that you don’t walk away. I like that even when you’re mad, you still hold me.” She pressed her forehead against his breastbone. “I like that you still let me hold you.”
He stared up at the open rafters as the backs of his eyes began to burn. He didn’t understand how she could know him so well, but she did. So he held on to her and let her hold on to him. And together, maybe they could make sense of the things that didn’t.
Like the feelings that were supposed to be easing with distance but were only growing.
For several long minutes, only the sounds of the barn filled the space—the munching of hay and the bleating of goats and the yips of eleven baby Newfoundland pups.
Just as his heartbeat returned to its normal pace, she whispered against his shirt, “What happened to make you think you have to do this all alone?”
He’d never told a soul. Not his best friend or his cousins. Especially not his dad. Yet Cretia asked with such sincerity and certainty that she seemed to know there was something to tell. She’d opened up to him about her mom. This was the least he could do.
“Growing up, I always knew that this business had been passed down from father to son. But my dad told me many times that I didn’t have to take it if I didn’t want it, that I could choose any career. He said he’d be proud to pass it along to me, but he’d never force it on me. When I was seventeen, I told him that when he was ready to retire, I’d be ready to take it on. He told me I didn’t have to decide yet. There was still time to change my mind, and he wouldn’t blame me if I wanted to pursue something else. But I told him I would do whatever it took to keep our family’s legacy going strong. He just smiled at me and said he had no doubt that I would.”
Finn swallowed the lump that lodged in his throat at the surprisingly emotional memory. He could still feel the weight of his dad’s hand on his shoulder and see the trust in the older man’s eyes.
“That’s really sweet,” Cretia said. “But I don’t—”
“A few years later Dad started getting stiff, and he couldn’t do some of the physical parts of the job. He was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. It’s not terminal. It just makes it harder for him to get around. Harder to get on the ground with the puppies. Harder to be on the move all the time. I think he’d planned on working the business until he was eighty, but his body just gave out. And Mom told him in no uncertain terms that they were going to retire and move to Summerside, where she’d grown up. I think she missed the convenience of living in a city. And more than that, I think she wanted to be near a hospital in case something happened. It was probably best for Dad, and I knew I was going to miss them, but I was sure that I could handle things. I’d watched my grandpa and my dad run this business since I was a kid. I knew what I was doing.”
Cretia nuzzled her head against his chest. “What changed? Because as far as I can tell, you do know what you’re doing, and the business is doing well.”
“One morning I came outside, and I saw a truck in the driveway. It was a friend of my dad’s—a guy named Milo McGinniss. He used to live on the farm right next to ours. I didn’t see him and my dad around, so I headed toward the barn to do morning chores, and I was in the tack room when they walked in. I know they didn’t see me there, and I know I wasn’t supposed to hear what they said, but it’s seared into my brain now.”
She didn’t speak, but her back became tense even as she pulled him closer. Almost like she thought she could spare him the pain again.
“Milo told my dad that I wasn’t up to running the business. ‘You know your son can’t handle it. Are you ready to see everything your family has worked for go down the drain because you left it to a kid?’” Finn sucked in a stabilizing breath. “I couldn’t see them, so I don’t know what my dad did, but I know he said, ‘You think you’re the first to say that?’”
Finn swallowed hard before forcing out the rest of the memory. “My dad said he didn’t expect much out of me. I was barely twenty at the time, but I felt like I’d shown that I was worthy by working hard all through my childhood. In that moment, I knew I hadn’t.”
“So you’re here—working all by yourself, refusing to ask for help—because you’re trying to prove your dad wrong?”
“Something like that.”
“But...” Cretia pulled back only far enough to stare up into his face. “I know I only met your dad once, but that doesn’t sound like him. He’s so proud of you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just surprised that I haven’t failed yet.”