7. Chapter Two #2
I glance down at the neatly prepared questions in front of me. Colour coded: green for skills, blue for work ethic, red for experience. Three weeks of planning condensed into a single laminated sheet. Yes, laminated, because apparently that's who I am. Type A doesn't even cover it.
The plan was to work through the questions methodically. Get a feel for them as workers first, people second. Professional. Efficient. Exactly how Wade would do it, minus the colour coding.
Yet as I think about her application, I know these aren't the questions I want to be asking. At least not at first. Because I find myself more intrigued by Maeve, the person, than the Maeve, the worker. I push the sheet to the side, going completely off plan. Not very like me.
“So, London to Texas,” I say. “That's quite a move.” I leave the question open, curious where she'll take it.
Maeve lets out a small breath, and I catch the way she rolls her shoulders back.
“Yeah, it is.” She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering there for a second.
“It definitely wasn't on my bingo card this year to be applying to work on a ranch.” She laughs slightly. “But here we are.”
“What made you apply?” I ask, letting myself settle back into the chair for the first time since the call started. “It's not like cattle ranching is on most people's bucket list.”
“Honestly?” She tilts her head slightly.
“A late night, a few glasses of wine and an existential crisis.” She pauses, fingers fidgeting at the edge of the frame.
She looks down. “Sorry, that wasn't very professional.
I promise I'm serious about this—it wasn't a drunken application. I just needed something real to grab onto. Somewhere I can sink my teeth into the lifestyle, get a proper feel for what life could look like somewhere new. Hence the application.”
There's something disarming about her. The way she'll say something completely unfiltered and then catch herself, like she's surprised by her own honesty. Awkward and upfront all at once. Just like her application. It intrigues me.
“Please, don't worry about being professional,” I say. “We're about the same age anyway, just be yourself.” I want to know the real her. Not the polished version people put on for interviews.
She nods as something visibly shifts in her, shoulders dropping, fidgety hands falling off camera, and she sits back. Like the interview version of her just clocked off.
“Ok, so forgive me if this comes across, erm, blunt, but ranch work is extremely hard and probably nothing like any city job in London. Are you sure this is the right path for you?”
“Well, I know it ain’t going to be all rainbows and animal cuddles.
” Her right eyebrow arches with a playful edge.
“Look, I know how to work hard—I've always had to.
And okay, fair. I've never mucked out a stall in my life,” she admits, “but I've cleaned up things at 2 a.m. in a pub bathroom that would make most people quit on the spot.”
I lean back in my chair, watching her carefully, and hiding my grin.
“Good to know,” I say. “Just wanted to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into, and that this isn't, you know...” I scratch the back of my neck. “Some sort of self-discovery retreat.”
God, why the hell did I say that? I sound exactly like him.
She lifts her chin. “I mean, with all due respect, I think self-discovery is kind of inevitable when you do something like this, isn't it?” She pauses, picking at the sleeve of her top.
“You told me to be myself, right? Well, honestly—I'm still working out who that is and where I fit in this world.
I've travelled loads trying to find somewhere that feels right. Somewhere that makes me feel...” she hesitates, “complete, I guess.
So, yeah, maybe I am still figuring myself out.
But I'm ready to get stuck into a life instead of just passing through one.
Because I think that's what's been missing.”
She stops, like she's said more than she meant to. Her eyes flick to mine through the screen, checking.
I don't say anything for a second. Honestly, I'm not sure what to say. Most people come into these things with a rehearsed answer, but that… That definitely wasn’t rehearsed.
“But, either way,” she adds quickly, like she's trying to fill the silence, “I can promise you that I will give this everything I've got.
Whether I find what I am looking for or not, I'll see it through. I pinky swear.” She holds her pinky to the camera with a sheepish smile.
A beat passes. She drops it. “I don't know where that came from. Pretend you didn't see that.”
I shake my head lightly. Who makes pinky promises during an interview? But it feels refreshing. Like she can't help but just be herself even when she's trying not to.