Page 91 of Free Agent

“That means a lot, Rori. Thank you.”

With perfect timing to keep things from getting awkward, Amina came bouncing back into the room, her mouth full of pancakes, to remind her dad that she had to be at school soon. We talked a few more minutes after that, with Amina making me promise to gather more information so that when she came back to me with any bovine-related questions I’d be able to answer them.

Once I was off the call, I headed to the bathroom to do my morning hygiene, with my phone still in hand.

Initially, I was just checking debug notes for the app and peeking at any potentially urgent emails. That only took a couple minutes, though, and then unfortunately, I couldn’t help the draw of social media.

I found myself looking at my notifications.

Why do people always want to tag you in bullshit?

I didn’t even care that much about folks saying whatever they wanted to say about me or about the app.

If they hated it, fine.

Talk about it to whoever the hell they felt like talking about it to, except me directly.

But nope.

That was not a particular courtesy I was given at all.

My notifications were perfectly chaotic, especially rife with a weirdly growing sentiment that I was somehow trying to sabotage Yams’ pregnancy because I was trying to get back at Monty.

Or back with Monty.

Or back at and with Monty.

They actually couldn’t make up their minds.

Damn weirdos.

Instead of letting myself linger there, I put the phone down and went about finishing up, just in time for a knock at the door.

Tatum.

I opened the door with a big smile and got swept into a big-ass hug in return, something that was quickly becoming a favored morning ritual. Which could quickly become problematic since, you know… we were just vibing.

“What’s up?” he said when he finally pulled back to look at my face. “You ready to get dirty today?”

Immediately, my eyebrow went up. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He laughed. “Today is the day. Get you some of this good old organic mud.”

Nose wrinkled, I asked, “Did I imply I was having any part of that?”

“You didn’t, but a man can dream, right?” He laughed. “You can at least come out. You have to. That’s where everybody’s gonna be anyway.”

“But I don’t have to get in the mud, right?”

“Just your feet,” he bargained.

“Um, I actually don’t have boots I want getting dirty like that,” I attempted, only halfway hoping that would actually work.

“That ain’t no problem. We got boots.”

“But what if they don’t fit?”

“There’s a whole shop. I am positive we have your size.”

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