Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Not surprisingly, Mom simply shrugged. “Several neighbors have coops. They’re darling.”
“But the chickens in them still need daily care.”
“Actually, they’re pretty easy birds.” Finn was doing me no favors here. My shoulders tensed. I hated needing to be the voice of reason.
“You saw how cute Finn’s birds were.” Mom returned the book Finn had been browsing to the shelf, while making big eyes at me.
“Cute. But also escape artists.” Cute wasn’t the word I’d use, but I was trying to be polite.
“I’ll get some of that wire fencing. Or maybe a little white picket fence…”
“You should come see the farm.” Finn clapped her on the shoulder like they were old friends now. “You can meet some of our different breeds. We offer a backyard starter set at our farm stand, but you might want to see some varieties up close. And do try the eggs. Farm fresh tastes slightly different.”
“I know. I grew up in Burlington, remember?” Mom smiled at him. “We always had local dairy and eggs. Even my decades in New York haven’t totally chased the Vermonter out of me. But, yes, I’d love to see the farm. Harrison will bring me.”
Years of urban living had taken any urge my mother had to drive. Truth be told, I was still adjusting myself, and was glad I’d taken on one of the apartments upstairs rather than try to figure out a daily commute. So far, the weather had been nice enough that Mom had been making the twenty-minute or so walk from her house as part of her daily exercise, but she relied on me and my recent car purchase for things like groceries. And apparently field trips to see chickens.
“Excellent.” Finn nodded in my direction like I’d already agreed. “Weekends are often busy for us, as visitors come to use the trails and to visit the farm stand, but maybe Wednesday afternoon? I should be able to fit in a tour for both of you.”
“We don’t need to trouble—”
“It’s no trouble.” Cutting me off, Finn gave another of those blinding smiles. “I love talking chickens. And showing off the farm is my second favorite activity.”
Gulp. I had a feeling I knew what his first favorite activity was, and cursed him for putting the image in my head. Even though he undoubtedly didn’t mean the tease as flirting, my cheeks still heated. “I see.”
Tittering, Mom beamed. There would be no talking her out of this. “It’s a date.”
I shot her a look because it most certainly was not. I was not doing anything remotely date-worthy with Finn Barnes.
Chapter Four
Harrison
“That’s what you’re wearing to the farm?” My mother gave me a critical once-over as we met by the parking space I rented by the month in a garage near the traffic-free Church Street Marketplace where the bookstore was located. She’d wanted to visit the gourmet tea store while I finished my last interview of the day, so we hadn’t walked over together.
“Why?” I glanced down at my blue shirt and gray slacks. It was finally warm enough to skip the jacket. And no tie because this was Vermont, and I hadn’t seen many since we crossed the state line. Still, I wasn’t going to toss my ironing board or give up a professional appearance simply to fit in with the lumberjack crowd. “What should I wear?”
“Not that. And definitely not those shoes.” Mom looked ready for a children’s program in the library where she’d worked—a long-sleeved T-shirt advertising the summer reading program of a few summers ago, black pants with red apples all over them, and red clogs.
Had I known there was going to be a dress code for our field trip, I might have made a stab at more casual, but there was no time to change, and it wasn’t like I had a pair of overalls handy anyway.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’re going to be late. That last interview ran long.”
“It’s a farm. They see time differently.” She smiled at me as she took the passenger seat in the small hybrid SUV I’d purchased after careful research into the best cars for Vermont winters. After buckling, she made an expansive gesture. “I’m not sure they’re strict on punctuality.”
“It’s a farm staffed by real people. Being on time is only respectful.” Carefully, I backed out of the space and made our way out of the parking garage. What I lacked in driving experience, I made up for in an abundance of caution and exhaustive review of driving rules. “I’d rather not keep Finn waiting.”
“He is a handsome farmer, isn’t he?” She settled back in her seat, much more comfortable with my driving than I was. And way too comfortable ribbing me.
“Mother.”
“Maybe you’d be less cranky about the move if you had a reason to stay. Or even a reason to laugh.”