Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I rolled my eyes. How quickly married people forgot. “‘Picking’ a guy? You make it sound like they’re pie pumpkins in the patch over at the Albermarles’ farm and I can pay by the pound. Or like they’re on a shelf at the Feed and Seed, halfway between the t-posts and the riding mowers, and all I have to do is find one I like and plunk down my money. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Alright,” he conceded, chuckling. “I see your point.”
I blew out a breath. I was feeling riled and unsettled by the turn in the conversation, and I wasn’t sure why. Yes, there were times when I wished I had someone to share my life with, but it wasn’t as if I were pining for romance. I was content with my life the way it was.
Mostly.
“It’s been a while since I’ve found someone I was really into, that’s all,” I explained. I still sounded more defensive than I wanted to. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t bothered looking recently, firstly because I’ve already dated most of the men on your mom’s list and secondly because I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.” I gestured toward the mostly renovated barn and then across a field and through the tree break toward my own land and greenhouses. “Getting this event business off the ground while keeping my nursery business thriving is my main focus right now, which means I’m way more interested in finding a guy who knows his way around an orbital sander than a guy who enjoys long walks in the moonlight, if you catch my drift.”
Brooks nodded easily, but we both knew I was protesting a little too much, even if he was too kind to point it out.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway. Speaking of men who do manual labor…” I opened my truck door, grabbed my phone from the front seat, and turned back to Brooks. “Do you take Venmo?” I asked.
His forehead creased. “Venmo? For what?”
“You’ve spent the last four days hauling junk and repairing flooring. That’s hard work, and I’m paying you for it. Don’t worry,” I added quickly. “It’s coming out of the event barn budget. Alana’s got it all set up.”
Brooks shook his head. “Forget it. Tell Alana it’s a gift.”
“She told me you were gonna say that.” I folded my arms over my chest. “And I told her I wouldn’t take no for an answer, even if I had to sneak the money into your house, one twenty-dollar bill at a time. Might make things a little awkward when I show up in the middle of your reunion with Mal tonight, but I’m sure he’ll roll with it. He knows how stubborn you can be.”
Brooks sighed and slapped his cap against his leg. A plume of dust puffed into the chilly air. Dark was coming in fast, and I couldn’t wait to get home and shower off the grime of the day… along with the residue of this strange mood that had suddenly come over me.
“Actually.” Brooks gave me a considering look. “You know what? If you insist on paying me, why not donate to my mom’s charity thing? Alana volunteers at the animal shelter, so she’ll be good with it.”
I shrugged. “How you spend the money is your business. I’ll send it to you, and you can—”
“Donate it yourself,” Brooks interrupted. “You’ll be there tonight, right? You can’t miss the Biddin’.”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “That’s tonight?”
This wasn’t really a question. One part of my brain was very aware that the Biddin’ always happened on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and another part of my brain was very aware that today was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Somehow, those two parts of my brain had chosen not to communicate, though—possibly out of a sense of self-preservation.
“I’m surprised no one roped you into auctioning yourself off.” He winked.
“Alana tried,” I admitted. “Gave me a whole song and dance about how the community only thrives if everyone takes part, and blah blah. But I told her I was too busy. I am too busy.”
“Uh-huh. Well, now you’ve got extra money, so you can take part as a bidder instead of a biddee. She can’t complain about that.” Brooks looked a little too cheerful at this prospect. “Maybe finding a man is as easy as buying one.”
“Oh, fuck no.” I scowled, horrified. “I’m not bidding on a bachelor. Are you kidding?”
“You don’t have to bid,” Brooks said. “You could just make a straight-out donation. But…” He full-on grinned, making no effort to hide his glee. “We both know your mom will skin you alive if you donate money without creating a little excitement for the good folk of Licking Thicket.”
Fuck. I had no response to this since we both knew he was entirely correct.