Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Rosalie
I might be getting the hang of this.
I dumped another scoop of grain into Buddy's feed bucket, watching him immediately stick his nose in with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been waiting all day for this exact moment.
“You know what, Buddy?” I leaned against the fence rail. “I found three secret egg spots today. Three.”
Buddy kept eating, completely unbothered by my revelation.
“The one behind the hay bales? Genius. I'll give them that.” I scratched behind his ears. “But the nest in the old bucket? That one's weird.”
He lifted his head long enough to give me a look that clearly said are you done talking?
“Right, sorry. Important eating time.” I patted his neck, glancing back toward the garden.
The tomato plants were thriving. The zucchini had exploded, their broad leaves claiming more territory every day.
The lettuce was coming in so fast I could barely keep up with it.
The flower beds were bursting with color—bright orange zinnias, purple dahlias, cheerful yellow sunflowers that made the whole farm look like something out of a magazine.
And the goats. The goats. Snickers hadn't escaped in four days. Four whole days. Some kind of record.
I grabbed the empty grain bucket and headed back toward the barn, taking in the farm with fresh eyes.
When Walt left, this place had felt like one giant disaster waiting to happen.
Every system seemed designed to fail at the worst possible moment.
The animals had been mysterious creatures with unknowable needs, and I'd been terrified I'd wake up one morning to find everything had gone catastrophically wrong overnight.
Now? I'd cracked the secret codes that made farm life click into place.
Feed the chickens first, then raid their nests while they were too busy eating to notice. Scatter the goats' evening hay in three piles instead of one, which somehow turned dinner into a peaceful activity instead of the territorial battle that ended with Snickers escaping.
Little things. Simple things Walt had probably done without thinking for forty years.
But I'd needed time. Time to try, to fail, to figure out the rhythm that made everything flow instead of crash.
Time to learn that Buddy preferred his grain slightly moistened, that Sugar would follow me anywhere if I talked while I walked, that the chickens laid better when I let them out during the day.
The farm had stopped fighting me.
Or maybe I'd stopped fighting it.
I hung the grain bucket on its hook and leaned against the barn door, watching the sun paint the mountains in shades of amber.
The evening light caught the creek, turning it to liquid gold as it wound through the property.
Wildflowers dotted the pasture like confetti someone had scattered just for me.
This. This was what I'd imagined when I said yes to Walt's offer.
Not the panic of those first weeks, when every sound felt like impending disaster. Not the exhaustion of learning everything at once, or the fear that I'd ruin something precious Walt had spent forty years building.
This. The kind of peace that sank into your chest and made you breathe deeper. The satisfaction of watching things grow because you'd tended them. The simple joy of animals who trusted you enough to eat from your hand.
The chaos hadn't disappeared entirely. Snickers would probably figure out a new escape route by next week. Something would break. The weather wouldn't cooperate.
But now I knew what to do when things went sideways. I had people to call—Cal for animal emergencies, Emily and Abby for moral support, even Walt, who I'd been terrified to bother during those first panicked weeks.
I didn't need to pretend everything was fine anymore. Didn't need to hide the broken irrigation timer or the property tax panic or the fact that I'd nearly poisoned myself making soap.
Walt wanted to know. Wanted to hear about the farm even while he was falling in love halfway across the country. And the weirdness? I wanted to tell him.
Not because I needed rescuing. Not because I'd failed.
Because I was doing it. I was running this place, making it work, figuring out solutions instead of drowning in problems. It felt good to share the wins, knowing I'd earned them. Knowing Walt could enjoy his retirement without worrying I'd burn the place down.
I was halfway back to the farmhouse when movement caught my eye in the distance. Emily's blue truck, unmistakable even from here, parked near the construction site where her new house was taking shape, just over the property line. My future neighbor.
I'd been meaning to stop by. To thank Emily properly for everything—the brewery rescue, the friendship, the way she'd made me feel like I belonged in Alder Creek again instead of just being “Walt's niece who came every summer.”
Now looked like perfect timing.
Inside the farmhouse, I loaded a basket with eggs, a jar of goat cheese, two bottles of lotion, tomatoes, zucchini, and a handful of the prettiest dahlias. I stepped back, admiring my work.
The basket looked like something you'd see on Pinterest. Rustic and charming and exactly the kind of gift a grateful neighbor would bring.
I grinned, grabbed the basket, and headed for my truck.
The short drive to the construction site took me past a small field, over the creek that marked the property line, and up a gentle slope where Emily's future house sat. The structure was coming together nicely, rising against the mountain backdrop.
Emily's truck was parked near a pile of lumber, and I spotted her blonde hair near what would become a porch. I parked, grabbed the basket, and climbed out, suddenly buzzing with excitement.
Emily spotted me and straightened, brushing sawdust off her jeans.
“Well, look who finally decided to wander over.”
“Brought you something.” I held up the basket. “Overdue thank you for the brewery rescue.”
Emily crossed her arms, eyebrow raised. “You mean that time you had a full meltdown in your truck?”
“That's the one.”
She walked over and peered into the basket. Her expression shifted from playful skepticism to genuine surprise.
“Wait, is that your goat cheese?” She grabbed one of the lotion bottles, turning it over. “And you made these labels? Rosie, these are gorgeous.”
“Graphic designer, remember?” I shrugged. “Turns out those skills transfer pretty well to farm products.”
“No kidding.” Emily tucked the bottle under her arm and snatched the basket. “Come on. Evan's got his crew inside doing actual work, and I'm officially useless out here.”
She headed for her truck without waiting for an answer. I followed, climbing into the bed after her. Emily settled against the cab, already twisting open the lotion bottle.
“Lavender?”
“From the garden.”
She squeezed some onto her palm and rubbed her hands together. “God, that smells amazing.” She held her hands up to her face, inhaling. “Okay, you have to save me more bottles.”
“I'll make you a whole batch.” I grinned. “But you have to tell me what's going on with the house. It looks amazing.”
“It's coming along.” Emily twisted the lotion cap back on. “Evan's being his usual perfectionist self, which means everything takes twice as long but looks incredible.”
“So you're thinking... what? A few more months?”
“Should move in late fall, if we're lucky.” Emily stretched her legs out. “Nate's pushing for Thanksgiving, but I'm not holding my breath.”
“Well, I'm excited to have actual neighbors.” I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “Instead of just goats and chickens judging my life choices.”
Emily snorted. “Please. You love those goats.”
“They're growing on me,” I admitted.
“Speaking of—how is the farm?” Emily's expression shifted, genuine interest replacing the teasing. “You surviving?”
“More than surviving, actually.” I smiled. “I mean, it's still chaotic. But it's manageable chaos now. I know what I'm doing. Mostly.”
“Good.” Emily leaned back, satisfied. “Because watching you panic about everything those first few weeks? Exhausting.”
“I wasn't that bad.”
“You were a disaster,” Emily said flatly. “But you're figuring it out, and that's what matters.”
I bumped her shoulder with mine. “Thanks for not letting me spiral that night at the brewery.”
“Please. That's what friends are for.” Emily pulled one knee up. “But seriously, I'm glad you're settling in. The farm suits you.”
“Thanks.” I grinned. “It feels right, you know? Like I'm finally doing something that's mine.”
“Speaking of things that are yours...” Emily's smile turned wicked. “How's it going with Cal?”
My face went hot immediately. “What?”
“Don't play dumb.” Emily leaned forward. “Word around town is you two were pretty cozy after the last market.”
“Who—” I pressed my hands to my cheeks. “How does everyone already know?”
“Small town, babe.” Emily laughed. “People watch. People talk. And when the town's grumpiest vet starts smiling? Everyone notices.”
“Oh my God.”
“So?” Emily nudged my leg with her boot. “Spill.”
I opened my mouth, warmth spreading through my chest as I thought about Cal, the way he'd called himself smitten after my phone call with Walt, how he'd looked at me while we worked together.
“It's... It's perfect. He's—”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, cutting me off.
I pulled it out, ready to silence whoever was interrupting, but the name on the screen made me pause.
Lauren Riley.
My old boss from my time working at the Seattle music festival. Before I'd taken the corporate job. Before Aaron convinced me “stable income” mattered more than creative fulfillment.
We hadn't talked in over two years.
“Sorry, I should—” I glanced at Emily, already standing. “I need to take this.”
Emily waved me off. “Go. I'll raid this basket while you're gone.”
I climbed down from the truck bed and walked a few steps away, my thumb hovering over the screen. Why would Lauren be calling now? We'd kept in touch for a few months after I left the festival, but that had faded when my life became consumed by Aaron's world.
I swiped to answer. “Lauren?”