1. Aiden
Aiden
Nine months into this, my mornings are a juggle of packing lunches, taking ranch calls, and braiding Josie’s hair. This morning, the hair is winning.
“Ow.” Josie jerks her head away, taking half the braid with her.
“Hold still.”
“You’re pulling.”
“I’m aware.”
“Mommy never pulled.”
The words land quietly, without warning or accusation. Josie keeps swinging her legs beneath the kitchen chair while I study the uneven braid in my hand.
There are still mornings when Krista slips into the room like this. Through a song Josie remembers or a breakfast I make wrong. Through one of the hundred ordinary things Krista did so well that I never thought to ask how until she was gone.
I loosen my grip on Josie’s hair. “Your mom had a lot more practice.”
“And she did the bump thing.”
“What bump thing?”
Josie reaches up and pats the side of her head, nearly knocking my hand away again. “She made it puffy here. Then she pulled pieces out so it was pretty.”
“That seems like a design flaw.”
“It was not.”
“Hair deliberately escaping from the braid sounds suspicious.”
She twists around enough to give me the deeply offended look she inherited from her mother. “Mommy knew how.”
“She did.” I smooth my palm over the fine brown strands and start again. “I’m still learning.”
Her face softens. “You could watch a video.”
“I watched three.”
“Maybe watch a better one.”
A laugh slips out of me. “You are dangerously close to wearing a baseball cap to day camp.”
“I can’t. I’m wearing my sparkly headband.”
“Of course you are.”
Her headband sits beside her breakfast plate, covered in enough silver glitter to qualify as ranch contamination. I have already found it on the bathroom counter, in my truck, and somehow inside one of my work boots.
I secure the braid, then crouch beside her chair to inspect it. The left side is a little tighter than the right, and there are no decorative bumps. Still, everything is contained.
“Done.”
Josie turns toward the dark microwave door to check my work in the reflection. “It’s okay.”
“High praise.”
“You need more practice.”
“Good thing you grow hair every day.”
Her giggle follows me to the counter, where I slide the lid onto her lunch container and tuck it into the insulated bag. Strawberries, cheese cubes, crackers, and the sunflower-butter sandwich she requested, cut on a diagonal. Apparently, squares taste wrong in the summer.
My phone buzzes beside the coffee maker.
Axel: South pasture fence is down again.
I type back with one hand.
I’ll meet you after drop-off.
A few years ago, that text would’ve sent me straight for my boots, leaving breakfast and hair to someone else. Now, the fence can wait. Drop-off comes first.
“Shoes,” I tell Josie.
“I’m eating.”
“You’ve been holding the same strawberry for two minutes.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think with your shoes on.”
She lets out a sigh that could power a windmill, a sound of pure, six-year-old burden, but she still climbs down and heads for the entryway.
I glance at her camp bag by the door, running the mental list. Sunscreen, check. Water bottle, filled. Library card in the front pocket for the stop I promised her later.
I glance around the small foreman’s house. It’s not the place I had in Texas, but with Josie’s drawings taped to every surface and her crayons taking over the kitchen table, it feels more like our home than just another place we’re staying.
“Dad?”
I turn. “Shoes.”
“I have one on.”
“That means you’re halfway obedient.”
She holds up the second sneaker. “I need my library book.”
“The one on the couch?”
“No. A different one.”
“We can get a different one this afternoon.”
Her eyes brighten. “The Princess in Black and the Hungry Bunny Horde.”
I pause with my coffee halfway to my mouth. “The what?”
“The Princess in Black and the Hungry Bunny Horde,” she repeats slowly, her tone suggesting I’m the one who needs things explained. “I need it today.”
“That title raises several questions.”
“It’s about princesses and monsters.”
“And hungry bunnies?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“They eat everything.” She grabs her sparkly headband and pushes it onto her head, crooked enough to undo what little control I achieved with the braid. “You have to ask the librarian where it is.”
I pick up her camp bag and open the door. “I’ve handled bulls, blizzards, and your uncle Axel before breakfast. I think I can find one princess book.”
Josie stops skipping and gives me a serious look. “But you don’t even know about the bunnies.”
By the time I reach the south pasture, Axel has convinced six cows to stay inside the broken fence by glaring at them.
“You’re late,” he calls as I park beside his truck.
“I took Josie to day camp.”
“And yet the cows remain unsupervised.”
“They appear devastated.”
One of them stretches her neck toward the sagging wire, and Axel points at her. “Don’t encourage her. She’s the ringleader.”
I grab my gloves and fencing pliers from behind the seat. “You’ve spent too much time with Poppy.”
“Poppy has taught me that every group has a ringleader.”
We work in the growing heat of an early June morning, pulling the damaged section tight while the cattle watch from several feet away.
A branch from last night’s storm came down on the top wire, and the herd took advantage of the opening.
None got far, though they’d pushed two other posts to a hard lean.
Axel braces the post while I tighten the wire.
“You braid Josie’s hair this morning?” he asks.
I glance over. “Why?”
“Your text had the energy of a man losing a fight.”
“I was repairing a fence.”
“On her head?”
“She moved.”
He grins. “You made it too tight.”
“I followed the video.”
“Sadie says that means nothing. Apparently, little-girl hair is a hostile work environment.”
“Good. I’ll send Josie to your house tomorrow.”
His grin disappears. “You’ll improve with practice.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Smart kid.”
“Annoying family.”
“That too.”
My phone vibrates and my stomach tightens—a call from day camp. But it’s just the pickup alarm I set every weekday.
Two hours until pickup.
Axel catches sight of the screen. “You set an alarm two hours early?”
“I have another one at thirty minutes.”
“How many alarms does it take to retrieve one child?”
“As many as necessary to guarantee her uncle doesn’t have to do it.”
He gives me a wounded look. “I’ve picked her up before.”
“Once.”
“She arrived home.”
“Without her lunch box.”
“You found it.”
“At day camp the next morning.”
He shrugs. “Then the system worked.”
I slip my phone away. The posts need reinforcing and the cattle should be moved. It’s an afternoon’s work, but my day has a hard stop. Josie’s day ends at three thirty, which means mine does too.
“I can move the south group before I go, but someone else will have to handle the posts.”
Axel looks at me. “You know Dad won’t care that you’re leaving.”
“I know.”
The ranch always gives us another job. Another fence, another animal, another problem that feels urgent until I decide it isn’t. Josie’s day camp ends at three thirty whether the cattle cooperate or not.
Dad’s truck rolls toward us from the east field. He parks on the other side of the gate, climbs out, and surveys the fence.
“Temporary fix?” he asks.
“It’ll hold. The posts need to be reset.”
“I’ll take care of it after lunch.”
“I can get started.”
Dad shakes his head. “You have pickup.”
Axel leans against the post. “He knows. His phone started warning him before noon.”
“It’s called planning.”
“It’s called an anxiety disorder with calendar access.”
Dad laughs as he opens the gate. “Go move the cattle. I’ll get the equipment.”
The work shifts, and for once, I let it.
Axel walks back toward his truck with me. “Are you still stopping at Pike’s Perk?”
“I need food before pickup.”
“Tell Sadie I’ll be there after I shower. She wants me to look at something for the summer market.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“And Rowan should be working.”
I stop beside my door. “Okay.”
He leans against his truck, a slow grin spreading. “Just making sure you’re prepared.”
“For coffee?”
“For Rowan.”
I hold his gaze until he laughs and climbs into his truck.
Rowan and I flirted once. We never made plans, and neither of us tried to change that. Hearing her name now makes me wonder if everyone else has decided we left something unfinished.
I head toward Pike’s Perk. Time to make it clear that book is closed.
Pike’s Perk is crowded enough that Rowan spots me while I’m still deciding whether Axel’s warning made this weird.
She stands behind the register with her dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, ringing up an order while Sadie works the espresso machine beside her. Poppy is perched on a stool near the end of the counter, covering a paper cup with enough flower stickers to double its value.
“Uncle Aiden.” She holds it up when I approach. “Look.”
I inspect the cup. “Very professional.”
“It’s for Grandpa Saul.”
“Does he know?”
“No. It’s a surprise.”
Sadie glances over her shoulder. “That means he isn’t allowed to throw it away for at least a year.”
“He wouldn’t,” Poppy says, offended.
“He absolutely won’t,” Rowan says. “Especially since you used every sticker I ordered for the month.”
Poppy beams, missing the dry edge entirely.
Rowan turns to me. “Coffee?”
“And whatever the lunch special is.”
“You don’t want to know what it is?”
“I trust Sadie.”
“Smart man,” Sadie calls.
Rowan taps the order into the register. “Axel coming?”
“He said he’d be here after he showered.”
“He also said that yesterday,” Sadie says. “Then he walked through my café wearing boots covered in something I chose not to identify.”
“It was mud,” I tell her.
“That is what he claimed.”
Rowan hands me a coffee and tips her head toward the small table near the window. “Sit. I’ll bring your food.”
A few minutes later, she returns with a grilled sandwich. She sets it in front of me and slides into the opposite chair, her own iced coffee in hand.
“Axel told me you’d be here,” I say.
“That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“He thought I might need time to prepare.”
“For lunch?”
“For you.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Should I be insulted that seeing me apparently requires emotional preparation?”
“You should be insulted that my brother has too much free time.”
“That has been bothering me for years.”
She smiles, and I smile back. We’d had a few conversations that lasted longer than they needed to, a few looks that held. That was as far as it ever went.
Rowan traces a line through the condensation on her cup. “We should probably talk about it once so your family stops waiting for one of us to make it strange.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Neither was I, but the Slades prefer their emotional business conducted publicly and with refreshments.”
“I believe that’s in the family bylaws.”
A small smile touches her lips before her expression settles. “There was a point when I thought we might go somewhere.”
“I did too.”
The words hang in the air between us, a fact we both already understood.
Then Krista died, and my world shrank to Josie. Rowan was kind through all of it—a text asking if we needed milk, an offer with no strings. By the time I could see past getting Josie to bed each night, the moment was gone.
“I don’t think we missed anything,” I say.
“No.” She looks toward the counter, where Poppy is trying to convince Sadie that the sticker-covered cup needs glitter. “I think the timing passed because it was supposed to.”
“You don’t believe in fate.”
“I don’t. I believe we were mildly attracted to each other and never curious enough to do anything about it.”
A laugh leaves me. “That’s brutally romantic.”
“You’ll survive.” She lifts her drink. “I like you, Aiden. I also like where you fit in my life now.”
“Friend?”
“Axel’s irritating brother.”
“I’m his better-looking brother.”
“You’re identical triplets.”
“That doesn’t disprove my point.”
She laughs, a real laugh with no tension beneath it. I lean back, the air between us cleared.
“Friends.”
“Friends.”
“Good. Now Axel can find a new hobby.”
“He won’t.”
“No, but I can threaten him with decaf.”
I take another bite of my sandwich, then remember the title Josie gave me this morning. “Do you know anything about hungry bunny hordes?”
Rowan lowers her cup. “Are you having another ranch problem?”
“It’s a library book. Something about a princess and monsters.”
“The Princess in Black,” Poppy calls from the counter. “It’s good.”
I point at her. “That’s the one.”
“She gets it from Paige,” Poppy adds, lowering her sticker cup like she’s making a formal announcement.
“Who’s Paige?”
“The children’s librarian,” Rowan says. “Paige Whitaker. If Josie wants a specific book, ask her. She knows that whole section better than anyone.”
“That would require me to admit I can’t find it myself.”
“Yes.” Rowan’s expression turns sympathetic. “I know how hard that must be for you.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I’m proud of your growth.”
I finish my sandwich and take the plate to the counter, letting Sadie know Axel is on his way. Rowan gives me a small nod from the register as I leave.
I leave that old possibility where it belongs, in the past.
After I pick up Josie this afternoon, I’m going to find a librarian.