Chapter 8
Eric
“Coolio, buddy, you got to move,” I say with a sigh as I try to get my Shetland pony to move.
Mooman, my mini Highland cow trots over and shoves his giant head against my thigh.
“Mooman!” I growl.
He turns and starts running and I see he’s heading straight for Ariana.
“Ariana!” I yell in a warning.
She steps behind a trough and Mooman stops in confusion. Her eyes are wide. I haven’t really shown her all the ropes yet on how to handle the animals.
“Get away from that trough or you’ll have all the animals coming over there,” Buck yells. Ariana jumps out of the way.
Earl grumbles under his breath. “Someone needs to teach her about the animals. She’s just getting in the way out here if she doesn’t understand.”
I glare at him. Ariana has been here for almost two weeks now. She’s still learning about the farm, but she’s redone the website and expanded our social media presence. We even had a few new customers come to the farmstand after finding us online.
She rode in the tractor a few days ago with Earl. She said she wants to spend some time with Kingsley and learn about our farmstand. And she wants to talk business plans with me. She seemingly has begun fitting right into our awkward little farm family. Earl even praised her for remembering stuff he was teaching her on the tractor. And Earl does not hand out praise easily. Of course, he’s still a big, old grump and sometimes that drives me crazy.
“Enough. She’s come a long way. Give her some slack,” I warn as I pull off my gloves and head over to see what she needs.
“What’s up?” I ask as I open the fence gate and step in front of her.
“I heard we had a lamb born last night and I wanted to get some photos for the socials,” she says as she holds up her phone.
“Socials?” I ask as I scratch my jaw.
“Social media?” she clarifies.
“Oh, right. Uh, yes. But we have to be quiet. I have the lamb and mom resting in the barn,” I explain as I lead her over to the stall.
I lean on the door of the stall and Ariana comes to stand beside me.
“Oh! It’s so tiny,” she whispers. I look over to find her staring in awe at the newest member of our farm’s animal family. She snaps a few photos.
“What do you think we should name her?” I ask.
“Her?” she confirms.
I nod.
She grins. “How about we come up with a few names and have folks visit our website and vote?”
“I like that,” I answer. I motion to the stall. “You want to pet her?”
“I don’t want to bother them,” she whispers as we watch the lamb feed from its mom.
I open the stall a little. “It’s OK, Ruby,” I say quietly to the mother sheep.
I motion for Ariana to come over to me. She slowly joins me. We crouch down and pet the lamb who has just finished nursing.
“Like this,” I instruct as I pet the lamb.
She starts to reach out but hesitates, so I gently take her hand in mine and place it on the lamb. We stroke the soft coat of the lamb together.
“It’s so soft,” she says in a barely audible voice.
“It is,” I reply.
Her hand stills, and for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t move mine for a long moment. I leave it resting over her much smaller one on top of the lamb. I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I’m in some weird trance and I can’t move, I don’t want to move because I don’t want to break whatever spell has been cast over us.
“Are you coming back out here to help?” Earl grumbles.
I finally move my hand and Ariana yanks hers away.
“I should go back,” she says and quickly scurries away. I watch as she leaves, her curvy body silhouetted by the sunlight outside.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I run a hand over my face.
I get back to work, trying to concentrate on anything that isn’t my social media marketing manager. Nothing good can possibly come from that.
* * *
The day went by quicker than I wanted it to. Buck found some rotting wood in the barn, and we spent the afternoon fixing it. By the time I made it back to the office, Ariana and Joy were packing up for the day.
“Name That Lamb is live and people are starting to vote!” Ariana says happily. Joy smiles over at her.
“I think that’s a great idea,” she says as she grabs her purse to leave. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
“’Night, Joy,” I say.
“Bye,” Ariana practically sings. I grin to myself as I look over at her. She’s admiring our social media page. I can tell she’s proud of herself. Hell, she should be proud. In two weeks, I can already see an increase in our profit margins. Whatever she’s doing, is working, slowly, but it’s working, and I haven’t even talked business with her yet.
“Ariana?” I start. She turns to me.
“Yes?”
“How about we have a business meeting dinner? I’ve been meaning to go over my business plan with you and things have just been so busy since you started. Anyhow, I was going to get cleaned up and start making some gnocchi,” I suggest.
“Sure. Do you need help? I…can…well, do whatever, just show me what to do,” she stammers.
I raise an eyebrow. “OK,” I say slowly. “Come with me. Barkley, dinner,” I add. Barkley, who’s been sleeping under Joy’s desk, where he’s pretty much a permanent fixture now, lifts his head and looks at me.
“Come on,” I urge him as I pat my leg. I swear if that dog could roll its eyes, it would.
I walk into my kitchen with Ariana in tow. She’s become familiar with it over the past couple of weeks, joining the rest of us for my weekly homemade lunches and using my microwave here and there.
I wash my hands and grab a towel to dry them, turning back toward her. “Do you cook a lot?” I ask.
She shakes her head and her cheeks flush. “No. I didn’t cook at school,” she explains.
“Oh, right, like a meal plan or something. Well, how about I get you to rinse off some vegetables and chop them?” I ask as I drop some food into Barkley’s bowl, trying to distract myself from thinking about our age difference. The mantra she’s just an employee keeps playing in my head as I inhale her perfume. Barkley hobbles over and begins eating while I start pulling things out of the refrigerator and set them on my kitchen island. I grab a knife and a cutting board.
“Here,” I add as I show her the onion, mushrooms, and spinach.
“Uh, sure, right,” she says, and I glance at her face. Her lips are twisted, a sign I have recently learned means she is deep in thought.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
She quickly smiles, but it’s more like she’s pulled a mask over her face, like she’s practiced this before, smiling when she isn’t happy. And something about that makes me angry. Surely, this angelic creature, this innocent, kind, young woman would never have a reason to need to hide her true feelings.
I watch as she carries the vegetables to the sink. Clearly, she doesn’t want to discuss anything because she’s made herself busy with a task.
Reading her mood, or trying to, I decide to head up to my bathroom. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say as I go to the stairs.
“OK,” she says quietly.
I rush up to my shower and turn it on, opting for cold water. I hurry through motions that I’d normally take longer with, but I don’t want to leave her for too long.
I finish cleaning myself and turn off the showerhead as I grab a warm, dry towel from the drying rod on the wall. Joy had told me to put one in when I redid the house, and every time I get out of the shower, I want to call and thank her for the suggestion. I walk into my closet and grab a pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt. I leave my feet bare and don’t bother drying my hair. I walk back downstairs and see Ariana carefully cutting the mushroom while watching something on her phone.
“Hey,” I say, and she startles and gasps.
“Shit!” she squeaks and holds her finger.
I rush over to her. She’s cut herself, but not too badly. I grab a paper towel and take her arm, putting her finger under the tap where I run warm water over it. She winces.
“Sorry, we need to get it cleaned out,” I say, lowering my voice like she’s a wounded animal.
I guide her to a chair and pull one in front of her. I wrap her wound with a towel and press it until the bleeding stops. I reach for a drawer and pull out a small first aid kit. I use an antiseptic wipe to clean it and then place a bandage around her slender ring finger.
“There. With any luck, we won’t have to amputate it,” I tease. I realize I’m still holding her hand in mine as we both stare at the bandage.
“A-amputate it?” she stammers as she looks up at me.
I chuckle. “I’m kidding, Ariana. It’s just a small cut. Doesn’t even need stitches. You’ll be right as rain in a few days,” I assure her. Her worried face has me wondering if she doesn’t often get injured, which would be surprising based on all the little accidents she has around here.
“Not one to use bandages often, huh?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. My da—I mean my family is kind of strict, so I guess I didn’t really do things that caused injury when I was growing up, and well, the last few years, I’ve mostly just been in a classroom studying…” She trails off as she looks back down at her finger.
I slowly pull my hand away and she drops hers into her lap. Standing, I happen to see her phone and I chuckle. It’s playing a cooking video that shows how to chop mushrooms.
“Oh, shit,” she grumbles as she grabs her phone and clears the screen.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you don’t cook a lot,” I state as I try to keep my lips from twitching into the smile that I know will offend her.
“No. Not really,” she replies with a sheepish look.
“Well, I love teaching people how to cook. My mom is a great cook and so was my grandmother. Come here. I’ll show you how,” I offer.
“Really?” she asks as she steps toward me.
“Really,” I reply.
I take out a clean knife and begin cutting the mushrooms. “Like this,” I explain.
“Oh. That makes more sense,” she says.
I show her how to cut the onion and do a quick chop on the spinach. Then we make gnocchi from scratch. She beams with delight every time a small potato pasta floats to the surface of the boiling water.
“That’s so cool,” she gasps the first time it happens, and I explain that it’s done cooking.
I make us a pesto sauce and plate our food. Once we’re seated at the kitchen table with some wine and our prepared meal, I decide it’s high time to learn about my new employee.
“Tell me more about Ariana Harlow,” I say as I lean back with my wineglass in my hand.
“There’s not much to tell,” she replies and looks nervously down at her plate. What’s she hiding? Most people her age are so forthcoming with information about themselves.
I wait and she finally starts talking.
“My parents are divorced. I have two half brothers who live with my mom and her husband in France. My dad works a lot. He’s pretty strict. I guess that’s why I’m so sheltered, or at least, I’m beginning to think I was really sheltered. This is my first time being away from my family and friends. I roomed with my best friend in college. But she’s abroad right now. Anyhow, I didn’t want to work for my dad or anyone we knew, and I was thinking about working at some of the marketing firms where I interned, but I don’t know…I wanted to try something different. I…this is gonna sound silly…” She trails off and looks over at me.
“Try me,” I say with an encouraging smile.
“I want to prove I can make it on my own. So, that’s how I ended up applying to work here. I just really want to prove to myself, I guess, that I can do this. I can figure things out on my own,” she says.
“I know you can,” I offer.
“You think?” she asks, her gaze lifting to meet mine.
“Yes. Ariana, you’ve fixed our website and increased our profits with great social media content in a matter of days. Your workspace puts the rest of ours to shame and I’ve seen how you’ve started decorating the guesthouse. You even learned how to drive a manual. I mean, you won’t be winning a race or anything, but you can drive.” I pause, and she giggles at that. “Give yourself more credit and time. You’re young. You’re just starting out. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”
She shifts in her seat. “I know. I…well, it feels like I do.” She looks around my house. “Have you always lived out here alone? It’s a pretty big house for one person.”
I take a sip of wine to give myself a moment to decide how much I want to tell her. I decide to keep it light.
“Well, my parents bought this farm a long time ago, and when they decided to retire and move somewhere warmer, I decided I wanted to try running the place, so I moved back in here. I’ve been here ever since,” I explain, hoping she won’t ask more questions because I’m not feeling in the mood to discuss my past.
“That makes sense. Do you have siblings?” she asks.
“One sister. She lives in England with her husband and my niece and nephew,” I state.
“That’s funny that we both have siblings in Europe,” she muses.
“I suppose it is,” I reply as I look at our nearly empty plates. She takes a last bite of her food that she’s been slowly eating while we talk.
“Dessert?” I ask.
She grins. “I love dessert. Anything sweet always tastes the best!” she says so innocently that I nearly choke on my wine. I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. I want to crack a “that’s what he said” joke but decide against it.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I manage, deciding that going to the ice cream parlor is a safer option than staying here alone with her. Why am I doing this to myself and what is she not telling me? If I’m going to figure that latter out, I’ll need to forget about the former. Tori would want me to help this woman, I don’t know how I know that, but I just do. Now, to figure out how to help her. She clearly needs a friend. Maybe I can at least start there.
“Let’s go get ice cream,” I announce.
“Well, that’s definitely a way to a girl’s heart,” she giggles. “Come on.” She gets up and walks straight out the side door toward the truck. I jump up and follow her. Hell, I think I might follow her to the ends of the earth.