8. DIANE
CHAPTER 8
DIANE
Even though it was uncomfortable as hell to sit through, I was impressed at the family dinner last month when Colleen’s brothers got it all out on the table, so to speak. So unlike my stiff upper lip family, where you’d never know what anyone is feeling. If they’re feeling anything. Sometimes, I’m not sure.
Still, it took some convincing for Ethel to get me to return to Fork Lick. It’s not like I was planning to stay forever, but it was clear she was disappointed when I left so abruptly. I get the feeling she didn’t stand up for herself before she was widowed, but for the past few weeks, Ethel Bedd didn’t let up with the phone messages and texts until I agreed to return.
I’ll admit that the videos I posted after my visit here seem to have hit a chord. Every single one I put up is getting hundreds of thousands of likes and comments, even without a shirtless farmer.
Well… there was that one shot I got at the dairy of two shirtless farmers, Alex and one of his guys, tossing bales down f rom the hay loft. And I may have put it in slo-mo, but that’s because it was the only way the viewer could see the way wisps of hay and dust caught the light.
Every other video focused on seeds, whether it was interviews with the other members of Ethel’s co-op or drone shots of row upon row of heirloom varieties thriving in this upstate New York microclimate, nestled between the Catskills and the Hudson River. I even got the time lapse feature to work for once and made a cool video of a row of bright green sprouts emerging from dark brown soil.
It smelled like cow poop, but my viewers will never have to know.
Anyway, Ethel assures me that Ethan and Alex have made up and that tonight’s Sunday dinner will be a peaceful one. The minute we wrap a quick shoot where Ethel demonstrates the best ways to harvest herbs, we’ll be heading upstairs where said herbs will get mixed in with heirloom green beans, cherry tomatoes, boiled potatoes, and a neighbor’s chicken to make a hearty salad that already has my mouth watering. Even better, dessert is a berry crumble topped with ice cream made from Udderly Creamy milk–Ethel is helping them expand their product offerings, and we’re testing out cheeses and milks.
“I think I’ve got what I need,” I tell her, checking the footage briefly on my camera.
“As do I,” Ethel says, holding up a metal bowl piled with fragrant herbs.
Promising her that I’ll be in shortly to help out in the kitchen, I take the steps from the basement that lead directly outside to stow equipment in my car. The first time I stayed here, Ethel had ordered me to enter the house through the side door without knocking, “like family.”
The phrase warmed my heart and sliced it open in equal measure. If only I were a member of this family. Or any family that wasn’t my own.
I’ve learned my lesson, though. Best not to get too close to my subjects. This time, I found a VRBO to rent while I interview the rest of the folks in Fork Lick and, as she has requested, give Ethel pointers on shooting her own videos.
The sun has dipped behind the hills, meaning dark’s falling quickly as I lock my Subaru. My belly grumbles as I take the porch steps, making me wonder if I’m good enough at shooting food to add cooking and recipes to my video lineup. People need inspiration to grow their own food, right? Need to know what to do with it? As I round the corner of the house, a scrabbling sound yanks me out of my head seconds before a furry beast barrels into me.
I let out a super embarrassing girly squeal before I register that it’s just a very friendly, very large dog. German shepherd, maybe. Whatever he is, he seems very excited to see me because he can’t stop wiggling. Stroking over his soft fur, I try to calm him down.
“Who are you, buddy?” I ask, but that just makes him whine and wiggle more. Before I know it, I’m on my ass and he’s licking my face.
I’m trying to figure out if the dog has a collar and tag, when a man barks, “Gomer! Off!”
There’s something about that voice, something that sends a shiver of excitement down my spine, but I can’t quite? —
“Oh my god,” he says. I’ve heard those exact words gritted out in passion in that voice. Just the thought of it has my nipples perking up and aiming themselves in his direction.
Words pour out of his mouth as he pulls the dog off me—apologies, reassurance that he's friendly, that he never acts like this—but I’m too stunned to react.
Happy memories of the night I spent with this man vie with enraged ones from the following morning when I learned what kind of person he really is. Not to mention the way his testimony ramped up my own residual guilt.
Now, I’m mostly confused at what I see in the dim light. There isn’t a suit in sight. The knees of his Carhartt work pants are streaked with mud. A faded t-shirt strains across a chest that’s more defined than I remember. Rolled up sleeves reveal corded forearms, now tanned instead of pale. His hair is longer too, curling at his collar and flopping over his brow, more Henry Cavill in Night Hunter than Superman .
But the ice blue eyes and full lower lips are the same.
“My grandmother made me tie him up out here,” he says. “So he’s probably extra squirmy. But he wouldn’t intentionally hurt a fly.”
“Ethel is your grandmother?”
Hope surges behind my breastbone. Colleen’s a twin, so maybe this guy’s a twin too—the twin of the asshole who testified before the state assembly, not the man himself.
“Are you okay, Diane? Did he hurt you?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, even as I check my arms and legs for scrapes. I don’t feel hurt, but I’m kind of having an out-of -body experience right now. But wait, if this is the good twin… “Hang on. How do you know my name?”
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Squinting, he steps closer. “Do you not remember me? Samuel? Daniel12051 on Trivia Crush?”
When he reaches down to help me up, I scoot out of reach. “So you’re not a twin?”
His brow furrows. “No. I am. A twin.”
“An identical twin?” I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m a fraternal twin. Colleen’s twin.”
“Not a twin of one of her brothers?”
He side-eyes me like he’s now sure I hit my head. “My brothers don’t have twins.”
Disappointment lands on my chest with a crushing blow. “So you’re Samuel.”
“That’s what I said. We met in Albany. Just nine months ago.”
The dog squeezes between us like he’s protecting Sam. From me.
Want-to-kiss-him hormones flood my body, but anger throws up a dam. If he’s the evil twin, I’m mad at him. Scrabbling to my feet, I straighten my spine and pin back my shoulders. He may be a head taller than me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t face him down. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m invited to dinner. If you’ll excuse me, I need to wash up and help with the preparations.”
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my elbow.
When I look down at his hand pointedly, he frees me.
“Sorry, I just… uh…”
I meet his gaze, brows raised in challenge .
“Maybe at dinner we can pretend we don’t know each other?” he asks.
My cheeks heat with shame, but I lift my chin, banishing it. He’s the one who should be embarrassed. “Fine with me. We don’t ever need to speak again. Besides things like, you know, pass the salt.”
“That’s not what I?—”
Hand in the air between us, I stop his words. “You don’t need to explain.”
And then I hustle inside.
I need to wash my hands after the encounter with the dog, but I also need a minute to catch my breath, so I slip through the screen door into the kitchen, past the pre-dinner chaos, and duck into the hall bathroom. There, I scrub my hands, wishing I could scrub my brain—and maybe even my vagina—splash water on my face and tell my girl parts to calm the heck down.
This is not a chance for a do-over, I tell myself firmly. That man just happens to be a member of the family I wish were mine. But his employer is evil incarnate and goes against everything I believe in and work for.
I enter the kitchen with an expression of surprise pre-applied to my face in preparation for pretending to meet Sam, but it’s quickly replaced by genuine astonishment. Instead of a warm welcome, everyone treats Sam like he’s the stranger, not me. Colleen punches him with what could be construed as affection, but his brothers frown at him while Ethel points a wooden spoon at each of the siblings in turn. “No fighting at the table, boys, physical or otherwise. We have guests.”
After they all mumble various versions of Yes ma’am , Ethel uses the spoon to point out the two WWOOFers she’ s brought on since I was last here, introducing them all around. Jane, a freckle-faced blonde, and Hetty, a brunette with a warm, tawny complexion, each lift a pint of beer in salutation. Ethel pokes Colleen with the spoon. “Are you going to introduce your friend to your brother?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Diane.” An odd expression passes over Colleen’s face before she grabs Sam’s elbow and drags him around the kitchen island. “Diane, this is Sam. Sam, this is Diane.”
Ethel hoots. “Just like on Cheers !”
“You mean like on New Girl ?” Jane asks.
“I never got past season one of that show,” Ethel says. “But on Cheers , Sam and Diane were the kind of couple that hated each other—total opposites—but you rooted for them anyway.”
“Huh,” Hetty says. “On New Girl , you didn’t really root for them as a couple. But they did end up together, I think.”
“Didn’t Diane end up moving to Paris to be a writer?” an unfamiliar male voice asks. “On Cheers ?”
Sam’s head whips around. “Wait. You’re here too?”
“Too?” Ethan asks. “What do you mean too ?”
“Uh… I-I don’t know,” Sam mumbles. “I just… I’m surprised Sunday dinner is so crowded all of a sudden.”
“To answer your question, your grandmother invited me. Remember?” The stranger waves at me from a spot in the corner. “I’m Carlos, Diane. Sam’s boss.”
Whaaat? This guy is not at all what I’d expect from a Congento executive. I mean, it’s the weekend, so I know he wouldn’t be in a three-piece suit. But a handlebar mustache? Shaggy salt-and-pepper hair that’d rival Einstein’s? A flannel shirt that’s seen better days ?
Doesn’t seem like a C-suite type. At least not the ones I know.
A kitchen timer dings, biscuits are whisked from the oven, and then the whirl of activity is back until we’re all settled at the table for dinner. Sam manages to find a seat diagonally across and at the other end of the table from me, which suits me just fine. I don’t have to talk to him, but I can study him without being obvious.
Why does he have to be so damned attractive? He’s as sexy in dirt-covered work attire as he was in a perfectly pressed dress shirt. As scrumptious as he was naked.
Le sigh. I think naked might be my favorite.
“I hear you’ve got a YouTube channel focusing on seed preservation,” Carlos says, breaking into my estrogen-laced thoughts.
After fumbling my fork until it hits my plate with a clatter, I manage to catch it before it hits the floor.
“You okay there?” Sam asks.
“Fine. Just, you know, clumsy.” I hold up the fork like it’s a prize before spearing a chunk of chicken salad and stuffing it into my mouth.
This doesn’t deter Carlos, who just waits patiently.
Once I’ve chewed a long time, swallowed, and washed it down with water, I nod. “That’s right.”
“I’d love to hear more about it.” He butters his biscuit all casual, like he’s not pumping me for intel so he and his big guns at The Seed Alliance can try and take me down.
I shake my head. “I doubt you’d find it interesting.”
“She’s very talented,” Ethel says. “I couldn’t believe what all she did with my interview. Added all kinds of music and little cartoons and everything. Made me out like a superhero. ”
“You and your club are heroes, Ethel,” I say, my passion for the subject overriding my well-founded wariness around the Congento boys. “In the United States alone, we’ve lost ninety percent of our fruit and vegetable varieties. You’re an essential part of the effort to protect what little crop diversity remains.”
Carlos, seemingly oblivious to the not-so-subtle digs I’m making at his company’s expense, continues to ask questions until I can’t take it anymore.
“What, total vertical integration isn’t enough for you? You’ve got to stamp out every tiny little effort to undermine Congento’s ever-growing control of our food supply?”
His brow wrinkles, and he tips his head to the side. “Congento?”
I point my fork at him and then at Sam. “Aren’t you his boss? At Congento?”
Sam clears his throat and then raises his brow to speak slowly. “I don’t work there anymore. I quit nine months ago.”
Wait. Sam and I met nine months ago.
“You quit? Nine months ago?” The phrase echoing in my head as well as my mouth, gravity wins, and my fork hits the floor.
“How did you know Sam worked at Congento?” Colleen asks, like she’s acting out a part.
I blow out a breath. “Because the last time I saw him, he did.”
Sam wipes his mouth with his napkin, folds it, and places it next to his plate. “May Diane and I be excused, Gran? ”
“But—” I begin. I mean, I’m all for a chance to yell at him and then jump his bones, and I don’t want to do either in polite company, but I don’t want to miss that berry dessert.
“We just need to discuss an important matter,” Sam says, eyes on me. “We’ll be back shortly.”
Ethel narrows her eyes at Sam, while Colleen looks like she’s about to burst out laughing. Feeling exposed, I get to my feet. “Yep. We’ll be right back. Excuse me.”
Without waiting for Sam, I make a beeline for the front door. Outside, I take a deep breath and keep walking, past the shed I know now truly is the sheep’s home. So weird. I’ve almost made it to the pole barn by the time Sam catches me.
“That day at the state house,” he growls, getting in my way. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
“Explain why you lied to me? Or why you humiliated me?”
“It was my job.”
“You could’ve at least given me a heads up.”
“First off, I didn’t know you’d be there.” I step back, doing my best to hang onto my mad. He follows, his expression driving me back and making me want to rub up against him all at the same time. “Second, I didn’t know that you work for a seed bank. Third, I had no idea that I was going to be on that panel. My boss was supposed to do it, but he got food poisoning.”
“Lucky him. He didn’t have to spout lies in front of a government commission. I mean, seriously? Agroterrorism?”
“I quit before I’d even left the building, Diane. I tried to find you, but you disappeared.” His head tips to the side, and he narrows his eyes. “And now you’re here getting all cozy with my family.”
I throw a hand up between us. “I had no idea it was your family. And it doesn’t look like you’re terribly cozy with them, anyway.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a long story.”
I blow out a breath. Oh, families and long stories we don’t want to tell. But instead of admitting that, I double down. “You have no idea what you have here, you dummy.”
He stiffens. “I may be a lot of things, but dumb is not one of them.”
“Oh, yeah? Well you may be smart up here”—I reach up to knock once on his forehead, then tap his chest as I say—“but here? Not so much.”
Suddenly, I’m pressed up against the pole barn. “What about here?” he asks, as he whispers a kiss below my ear.
Without checking with my brain, my hands grab the sides of his face and pull his mouth to mine. “About as smart as you are here,” I snap, before covering it with my own.
And then it’s on. He grabs my ass, hikes me up so we’re level, and presses me up against the side of the barn. I never knew I had this fantasy, but I’m into it. My legs grip his slim waist, and my ankles lock behind his back as we devour each other.
Turns out, berry cobbler has nothing on this man and his mouth.
Or his hands. Which I need to feel on my bare skin. But just as I manage to untuck my shirt, something cold and wet hits my side, making me yelp. “What the?—”
“Gomer, off!” Sam yells, stepping away so fast that I almost land on my ass. The dog backs off too, but he doesn’t go far, whining as his gaze flicks from me to his owner and back again.
“He’s right, Sam. This is…” I push past him. “A bad idea.”
And then I hightail it back to the house before I can get any other bad ideas.