Chapter 19 #3
“Sounds like your thing.”
“It was. It is.” I rubbed my temples. “God, Emily, what if I'm just playing house here? What if the farm is some kind of quarter-life crisis and I'm supposed to go back to real work?”
“Hey.” Emily's voice sharpened. “Running a farm is real work. You've been busting your ass for weeks.”
“But Lauren knows what I'm capable of professionally. She believes I could step right back into that world and succeed.” My voice got smaller. “What if this is my chance to stop struggling? To have a steady paycheck and health insurance and a career that actually makes sense?”
Emily reached over and squeezed my hand. “Those are good reasons to consider it.”
“Are they?”
“Rosie.” She waited until I looked at her. “Whatever you decide, we've got your back. If you stay, we'll help you figure out the farm stuff. If you go...” She shrugged. “We'll miss you like crazy, but we'll understand.”
The kindness in her voice made my chest tight. “How am I supposed to choose between everything I thought I wanted and everything I never knew I needed?”
Emily was quiet for a moment, then squeezed my hand tighter. “You clearly have a lot of thinking to do.”
“Yeah.” I let out a shaky breath. “I do.”
“And that's okay. Big decisions shouldn't be rushed.” She released my hand and leaned back. “Though if you want my advice? Call Abby.”
“Abby?”
“She's the queen of pros and cons lists. Seriously, the woman makes charts for everything.” Emily's mouth quirked up.
Despite everything, I laughed. “Of course she does.”
“She'll help you sort through all this. Make it less overwhelming.” Emily gestured at my phone. “Plus, she went through her own version of this—leaving the big city career to come back here. She might have insights.”
The suggestion felt like a lifeline. “That's not a bad idea.”
“I have them occasionally.” Emily grinned, then her expression grew more serious. “But honestly? Don't torture yourself trying to figure this out tonight. Sleep on it. Let your brain process.”
I nodded, feeling marginally less like I might fly apart at the seams. “You're right.”
“Usually am.” Emily hopped down from the truck bed, then turned back to me. “Take the basket, by the way. You brought it for us, but we've got plenty of food with Evan's crew around.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Besides, you might need comfort cheese while you're thinking.”
I climbed down, cradling the basket against my chest. “Thanks, Em. For listening. For not telling me I'm crazy for even considering it.”
“You're not crazy.” She walked me to my truck. “You're just figuring out who you want to be. That's never easy.”
I set the basket in the passenger seat, then turned back to her. “I should head home.”
“Good plan. And Rosie?” Emily waited until I looked at her. “You'll figure this out. I believe in you.”
I hugged her quickly, grateful for the steadiness she offered. “I'll call you tomorrow?”
“You better.”
I climbed into my truck, waving goodbye as I pulled away from the construction site. The short drive back gave me just enough time to take a deep breath before turning into my own driveway. The goats were clustered near the gate, waiting for their evening feed.
I was halfway to the goats when my phone buzzed. Cal's name lit up the screen, and I went still.
I stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the answer button. He'd been swamped this week with emergency calls. We'd barely talked beyond quick texts.
The phone kept ringing. I should answer. I should act normal, tell him about my evening with Emily, maybe invite him over for dinner. That was what people did when they were... whatever we were.
But what would I say? Hey Cal, guess what? I was offered my dream job and might just be leaving town. Surprise!
My thumb trembled over the screen.
The ringing finally stopped. Voicemail.
The silence afterward felt deafening. Sugar bleated from the pasture, probably wondering where her dinner was. I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed toward the barn, guilt sitting heavy in my chest.
Coward.
But how was I supposed to talk to Cal right now? How was I supposed to hear his voice—warm and supportive—and pretend my entire world hadn't shifted this evening? How was I supposed to look into those brown eyes and not think about leaving him behind?
Because that's what it would mean, wouldn't it? Seattle was twelve hundred miles away. Art directors didn't work remotely, especially not for live events. If I took Lauren's offer, I'd be walking away from everything I'd built here.
Including him.
My phone buzzed with a text. Against my better judgment, I pulled it out.
Cal
Hey, just finished with a difficult calving. Hope your day was good. Can't wait to spend some time together this weekend
I stared at the text until my vision blurred, then shoved the phone back in my pocket without responding.
The goats were getting impatient, their bleating more insistent. I grabbed their hay and tried to focus on the familiar routine, but Cal's text kept echoing in my head.
What kind of person walks away from that?