Chapter 17
Charlotte
Tip #17: Hand-holding is cute until a goat decides to make you the third wheel.
I nestled deeper into my lawn chair, cradling the caramel-colored goat kid in my lap. It slept in a heap like a puppy, its tiny chest rising and falling in a contented rhythm. The goat stall was warm and earthy, the scent of straw mingling with the faintest hint of livestock.
Isaac, ever the picture of composed handsomeness, sat opposite me. Three goat kids—black, dark brown with black markings, and mouse gray—took turns using his lap as a springboard. He corralled them with gentle, precise movements, ensuring they didn’t hurt themselves in their exuberance.
“I’m tempted to suggest to Ella that she give up on her guppies and get a goat instead,” I said, stroking the kid’s soft ears.
Isaac glanced up from his goat-wrangling. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the date.”
Date. The word hung in the air, much like my nerves.
I was still trying to decide how I felt about today’s outing. Isaac’s all-consuming focus on work didn’t match what I wanted out of life. Still, he was hard to resist—he knew me better than anyone.
“I didn’t know McBride’s had goat kids,” I said, sidestepping the issue.
“They don’t announce it publicly.” Isaac caught the gray kid just before it tumbled off his knee. “They have to be careful with the goat kids—visitors can easily bring in outside contaminates from other farms that would put them at risk.” The black kid bleated at Isaac until Isaac leaned over and picked the goat up, putting him on his lap. “The Warners and McBrides are old friends, though, so Mrs. McBride—the matriarch—emailed us to see if we were interested in stopping by to see them.”
The family friendship was natural, as the Warners hosted a lot of private events and client parties at McBride Farm & Greenhouse—the sprawling farm that had made itself a Fox Creek destination year-round between its animals, events, and produce.
The sleeping kid in my lap stirred, stretching its spindly legs before nuzzling my hand with its velvet muzzle. I looked at Isaac, who was momentarily free of goat duty.
There was something extra charming about him today. Isaac’s usual appeal was in the sharpness of his visuals—his tailored suits, perfect hair, and confident demeanor. Today he was wearing jeans and work boots—one of the most casual looks I’d ever seen him in—and even though he was surrounded by straw and bouncing baby goats, he not only looked as confident as ever, but there was a relaxed air to him I didn’t see that often.
“Charlotte,” Isaac said, his voice raspy. “If you keep looking at me like that I will have to start asking what your thoughts and personal boundaries on kissing are.”
A warmth spread through me, starting in my chest and radiating outward. It was the kind of heat that could melt the last stubborn patches of snow on a spring lawn. If only he wasn’t so sincere—and sneaky.
“I—” I started, but the words tangled with my thoughts.
A small smile—one that was devious and far too warm for the well-being of my brain—spread across Isaac’s lips. “You’re not rejecting the idea?” he teased. “This is a moment to remember. Perhaps goats are the key to your heart, and I should buy you a goat farm.”
My mind finally jolted into action, sounding the alarm at my idiocy.
Whoa there. I’d just thought not two minutes ago that we’d never work out, and here I was practically inviting him to sweep me off my feet. Or lawn chair, in this case.
“My toes are starting to freeze,” I said so fast I didn’t enunciate the words as well as I normally did. “I should probably be done with the snuggle session.”
“Considering it’s April, it is pretty cold outside, especially when you’re sitting still like we are.” Isaac stood, brushing straw off his coat and gesturing toward the stall door. “Let’s get you back into the sunshine.”
We stepped out of the stall—an employee closed the door behind us—and left the goat barn after expressing our thanks, exiting outside into the weak Wisconsin sunshine. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets, trying to hold on to the fleeting warmth of the goat kid—and maybe attempting to forget the moment we’d just had.
Together, we strolled up a gravel path that led us to the main area—the part of McBride that was open to the public.
“Shall we stroll through the greenhouses?” Isaac suggested. “They have a lot of flowers for sale right now.”
“That sounds fun,” I agreed.
He held his hand out—an invitation for me to take it.
I squinted up at him, unsure.
“There’s no pressure,” Isaac said. “You don’t have to hold my hand.”
I nodded, pleased, as holding his hand wasn’t going to do my brain any favors.
Unfortunately, my body didn’t get the memo, and before I knew it, I was reaching for his hand, and his warm fingers intertwined with mine.
“Wow—you weren’t exaggerating. Your fingers are ice cold.” Isaac rubbed his thumb across the top of my hand in a caressing gesture.
“Just wait,” I muttered sourly. “They’re about to get clammy.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing!”
We reached the official farm grounds and strolled past the busy petting zoo, where a throng of parents and children crowded around the pens. Donkeys, llamas, chickens, geese, and more goats milled about, with three teenage employees trying to maintain some semblance of order.
“While we’re here, you might be interested in considering gardening as your new hobby,” Isaac suggested—I’d told him awhile ago about my hobby hunt.
I tried to ignore the way our hands hung. “If I can’t even crochet, what makes you think I could keep a plant alive?”
Isaac chuckled, his laugh blending with the cheerful chaos of the petting zoo. “You’re not alone. Art was my worst subject in school.”
“Really? I thought you’d be the type to excel at everything.”
Isaac shook his head. “I could never get the proportions right, and when I tried to use mathematics to figure it out, my teachers suggested I take the cooking elective instead.”
Just then, a child at the petting zoo fumbled with the gate to the goat pen. It swung open, and the goats seized their opportunity, bolting into the crowd. Parents shouted, children squealed, and the goats reveled in their newfound freedom. The herd weaved through strollers and legs, stopping only whenever they thought they saw a treat—or something that could pass for a treat—or a human they thought they could climb.
One of the teenager employees manning the petting zoo moaned as she grabbed what appeared to be a handful of dog leashes. “Not again!”
She handed the leashes to her fellow employees, who gave chase.
Isaac and I paused, assessing the chaos, trying to see if we could help.
“Vincent Van Goat—don’t you dare!” declared one grim, experienced employee as a goat hopped on top of an empty stroller. When she approached, the goat bleated and vacated its perch by jumping off the other side.
The tall, lanky male employee loped after the largest goat. “Stinky Pete, come ’ere boy!” He grabbed at the dog collar fastened around Stinky Pete’s neck, but the goat ducked and headbutted the poor boy in the gut.
The last employee chose to focus on a pair of small goats who were having a fine time raising chaos in a crowd of toddlers. “Paprika! Pepper!” the employee called.
A parent tried to help this employee and grab the goats’ collars. He actually managed to grab the animals, but together they yanked him clear off his feet and dragged him five feet through the dirt.
All the children nearby laughed in delight, even as one of the goats started eating goldfish crackers doled out to him by a toddler sitting in a stroller.
The toddler’s mother didn’t share her child’s glee, and she shrieked as she busted out a pack of wet wipes while her husband tried to grab the goat and collided with a McBride employee instead.
“I get the feeling if we tried to help we’d just add to the mess,” I said.
“Agreed,” Isaac said. “Let’s head inside.”
We made our way to the nearest greenhouse. It was larger than I expected, and the glass walls sparkled in the spring sunlight. The sound of the petting zoo ruckus faded as we passed through the plastic–flap–covered doorway. The air was a lot warmer—a stark contrast to the briskness outside—and the scents of wet potting soil and blooming flowers filled my lungs.
Rows of plants stretched out before us, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors.
“So.” Isaac thoughtfully studied a plastic pot of violets. “Which one are you going to kill first?”
I laughed. “Maybe I’ll start with a cactus. I hear they’re hard to murder.”
We wandered through the greenhouse, admiring all the greenery. Flowers in every imaginable hue burst from pots and hanging baskets.
I checked the tags to look at the plant names, the muffled sounds of the continued chaos filtering through the greenhouse door. “Sounds like the goats are still loose.”
“Something tells me they are experienced at jailbreaking.” Isaac studied a cluster of sunshine-yellow daffodils.
I chuckled as I leaned over to smell some bright pink tulips.
We shared a moment of silence until Isaac squeezed my hand. “Are you excited for your Switzerland trip?”
“Excited and a little terrified,” I admitted. “I haven’t traveled alone outside the US before.”
“You’ll have an amazing time,” Isaac predicted. “Switzerland is a beautiful country—you will love their chocolate and cheese.”
“Yeah, those factors carried significant weight in figuring out where I should go,” I admitted.
Isaac grinned at me, but the flash of emotion faded as he studied my face. “Will you keep in touch?”
“When I get back?” I asked.
Isaac raised an eyebrow at me. “As if you have a choice then—I know where you live. No, I was referring to your time in Switzerland. Will you keep in touch?”
“Oh.” It was hard to meet his gaze, so I looked down at the flowers again. “Well, it’s only for a couple weeks.”
“Charlotte,” he said my name gently, like a caress.
Oof. Better stay sharp.
“Yeah?” I cautiously looked up.
His gray eyes weren’t just soft or warm. They were magnetic, and I almost took a step closer to him before I caught myself.
“I told you I wanted a relationship with you,” Isaac said, oblivious to the inner battle I’d barely won. “ Any amount of time—much less weeks—is too much time away from you as far as I’m concerned.”
“I see,” I said, unable to think of a better response.
Isaac held my gaze and stepped closer, crossing the small gap between us. He reached for my other hand, the pads of his fingers grazing my palm, leaned in, and… a terrible, raspy scream shattered the tension.
We turned to see a goat—a stout, reddish-brown fellow with a black dorsal stripe and black markings on his face—standing just inside the greenhouse entrance.
He bleated again, a sound like nails on a chalkboard, and trotted toward us.
“How did it…” I started.
The animal made a beeline for Isaac, who tried to sidestep. Unfortunately, the goat latched on to his jacket with its mouth, tugging at the fabric like a stubborn toddler.
Isaac reached for the red collar around his neck, but the goat shied away and bounced away like a pinball.
“Charming,” Isaac noted.
Are you rethinking that goat farm?” I joked.
“Not if you want one.”
I shook my head at him as we approached the greenhouse entrance, pushing the vinyl flaps aside to stick our heads outside.
I was figuring we’d call for an employee, but the petting zoo was pure bedlam.
The male teenage worker had managed to get a leash on Stinky Pete, but it hadn’t done much in terms of controlling the goat. The animal trotted past us with the poor teenager in tow, dragging him even though the boy had his heels dug into the ground.
One goat had been returned to the paddock, but it looked like a miniature donkey was now loose as well.
“Maybe we should try to catch it ourselves,” Isaac said.
“Are you sure? These guys seem wily.”
The goat, copying us, stuck his head through the plastic flaps and let out another ear-piercing scream. I made a grab for the collar, but the goat ducked and ran back inside.
We followed it up an aisle of flowers, moving slowly.
“So, you’ll keep in contact?” Isaac asked. (I’d witnessed his persistence at work with a lot of admiration. I was less appreciative of the trait now.)
“There will be a pretty big time difference,” I said.
“That doesn’t matter if it means I’ll get to talk with you,” Isaac scoffed. “I can get up at whatever hour is required.”
I pressed my lips together, then nodded. “OK, but if I get any messages from the team mentioning you’re even a little tired I’ll cut you off.”
“Deal.”
The goat paused to nibble a weed growing in a crack in the cement floor. I reached out and patted his back.
“There’s a good goat,” I said. “You’re so friendly!”
The goat leaned into my hand, his eyes half closing in bliss. I didn’t think it even noticed Isaac, who was reaching for the goat’s collar.
Isaac’s fingers brushed the red fabric, and the goat darted away at the last second.
“It seems the McBride goats are very skilled in evasion,” Isaac said.
I held in a laugh as I watched the goat prance off, flicking its tail, tangibly proud of itself. “They’ve probably perfected the art with a lot of practice.”
“In that case, we need to change our approach.” Isaac let go of my hand, and I instantly missed the warmth of his fingers. “Stay with the goat. I’ll be right back.”
He stepped out of the greenhouse, leaving me with the rogue animal.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat and chuckled when the goat caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass window and screamed angrily.
This was the most fun I’d had in a long time. It wasn’t only the goats and the fun of being at McBride’s. Isaac had planned this date with obvious care and was proving at every moment just how much he paid attention to me. Maybe he did understand what I needed more than I gave him credit for.
The goat, bored apparently, screamed at me, and I sighed. “You’re right,” I said to the goat. “I shouldn’t waste my time daydreaming over something that isn’t going to work out.”
The goat snorted, then tried to eat a flower hanging over the side of its pot. It was balanced on the edge of a table that was just a little taller than the goat. The runaway tugged on the flower, yanking the cup straight off the table. The pot—flowers an all—landed on the goat’s head, settling over his ears and horns like a hat.
I was still laughing when Isaac returned.
“Hold out your hands,” he said.
I obediently cupped my hands together, and he dumped a handful of peanuts, still in their shells, into my palms.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Goat bribes. They sell them in crank machines around the petting zoo.”
We crouched down, and I held out the peanuts. “Here goaty, do you want a tasty peanut?”
The goat twitched his ears and trotted toward us, his hooves making a clattering sound on the cement. He bobbed his head as he approached me, snorting a little until he gave in and ate from my hand. His muzzle was velvet-soft against my skin, and he crunched the shells with a delicate greed.
Isaac patted the goat’s shoulders, keeping away from the collar as he lulled the goat into focusing on the food. “So, how’s the job hunt going?”
“I have final interviews with two companies,” I said.
“You’ll get offers from both,” Isaac said.
I shook my head. “We’ll see.”
Slowly, Isaac touched the collar. The goat continued eating, unconcerned. Isaac’s fingers closed around the collar.
“Got it.”
We stood, and Isaac gently tugged the goat toward the door. I held out a peanut as a bribe, and the goat followed eagerly along, more obedient than I expected.
“Maybe you need the goat farm for yourself,” I said. “You seem to have a new friend.”
Isaac leaned into the plastic flaps of the greenhouse entrance, parting them for me and the goat as we left the warm greenhouse air. “You are worth buying anything for,” Isaac said. “Me? I just want you.”
I coughed to masquerade the choked noise I made from his casual confession.
Thankfully, before I had to figure out a reply to that, a teenage employee spotted us, and her eyes lit up with relief.
“Oh, thank you!” she said, rushing over. “I was afraid Tribulation had run off to the alfalfa fields again!” She clipped a leash to the goat’s collar and pulled out a handful of sunflowers. The goat’s nose twitched, and he followed her obediently. The rest of the goats had been recaptured and were milling around, chewing on hay and each other. (The donkey was still technically loose, but the male employee was in the process of dragging him back into his paddock.)
Isaac leaned closer to me and kept his voice low. “Who in their right mind would name a goat Tribulation? That’s like asking for it to be a harbinger of stress and disaster.”
“I don’t think you’re wrong.” I laughed, wiping my goat spit–spattered hands on my pants. “But that was fun!”
Isaac smiled. “It was.”
We stood close, the kind of close where I could feel the warmth of him even in the cool spring air. The kind of close where if either of us shifted, even just slightly, we’d brush against each other. I glanced up at him, my heart knocking against my ribs as I met his gaze.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, just for a second, and my pulse stuttered. The space between us felt like a question neither of us had voiced yet but we were on the verge of answering. Was he going to kiss me? Was I going to let him? My fingers twitched at my sides, and he leaned ever so slightly closer?—
Isaac’s cell phone rang.
Of course it did.
Isaac dug it out of his coat, glanced at the screen, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I have to take this work call. It won’t take long.”
I waved him off. “Don’t worry about it.”
Isaac flashed me a smile, then answered the call—his voice shifting to a professional, no-nonsense register. “This is Isaac Warner of Warner Print.”
He fell out of hearing as he walked off, gesturing with his free hand as he talked.
This. This right here was the problem.
Isaac was everything I could want—handsome, smart, dependable. He knew me better than anyone else, and he cared. He’d be the perfect boyfriend.
Until Warner Print needed his attention.
I turned my gaze to the goat pen. The employee had successfully gotten Tribulation back inside and was scratching his back for him. Tribulation had a blissful, dopey look on his face. The kind of look I imagined I’d have if Isaac ever kissed me.
This was a good reminder.
For all of the fun Isaac brought to my life, he’d keep me forever tipped out of any kind of work-life balance, and I wasn’t interested in a love triangle—even if one of the lovers was a company.