Page 48 of Love You Too

I have no idea what that means, but I follow Radish as she scoops up the chickens, lifts them to the window, and pushes them through to some location I can see. I do the same, chicken feet scratching at me as I try to keep them in my grip. Soon, all the chicks have been moved over, and Radish slides the window shut.

We follow her around to the other side, where all the chicks are now in for the night under a large, warm lightbulb. “They need to sleep in here where it’s warm,” Radish says, moving us along to another area of the barn where the laying hens live. We harvest eggs, pet the hens on the heads, and say hello to a pen of roosters who seem none too happy to be separated from the brood.

“I feel you, guys. I’d want to be with the ladies, too,” I say. Trix gives me a playful punch, and I pull her against my side.

“Thank you,” she sighs. “For the record, I’ll go on a date with you anytime.”

I squeeze her closer, fully intending to hold her to that promise.

CHAPTER 19

Beatrix

“I want to drive the tractor.”There isn’t a hint of teasing in my voice, so I don’t understand why Ren starts laughing.

“What?” he asks. Okay, maybe he didn’t hear me.

“I want to drive the tractor.” I stand up from where I’ve snapped enough cherry tomatoes from their stems to fill two crates. Radish has me sitting on a cow milking stool, so I don’t need to bend over to do the work. I have yet to milk a cow, and I already told Ren we can’t leave until we try it.

I mean, I’m at a farm. I’m going to milk a cow.

“You’re serious.” He cocks his head at me in that golden retriever way like he really doesn’t understand the words I’ve now said twice.

“Of course I am. Radish?” I call out to our host, who is twenty yards away, busily plucking radishes—shocker—from a raised bed full of them. A wicker basket dangles from the crook in her arm as she pops the little red bulbs from the ground with theother. I understand now why she doesn’t use machines to do the picking. The whole point of living on her farm is getting her hands dirty. It gives me ideas about a side hustle we can offer visitors in our food garden if they want to be at one with the soil. I imagine what having a small working farm at Buttercup Hill could do for our business when so many people are interested in sustainable agriculture and farm-to-table food. It’s a perfect complement to the mission of Sweet Butter, and I know guests will love it.

I haven’t told Ren about this new venture because he’ll probably throttle me for taking on yet another side hustle when I’m already so busy, but I think it would be a great addition to Buttercup Hill.

“Yes?” Radish calls, looking at me from under the wide brim of her hat. I swear, everything about the woman screams social media post, and she’s not even trying. PJ would have a field day here documenting everything and sussing out media opportunities.

“Can I drive the tractor?”

“Do you have any outstanding moving violations on your record?” she shouts, never missing a beat in plucking radishes.

“Nope.”

“Good on you.” She stands and wipes the dirt on an apron tied over her skirt and fishes in the various pockets until she finds a key attached to a blue crocheted octopus keychain and hands it off. “More than I can say. I keep rolling stop signs and getting nabbed.” She shakes her head, and her braids flip back and forth.

I pocket the keys. “Can I drive it wherever, or do you have suggestions?”

Radish spreads her arms wide. “Anywhere you want, hon. Just don’t run over the seedlings.”

At first, I think she’s referring to the preschoolers she mentioned earlier, but when I squint into the distance, I see tiny sprigs of green up and down the rows. I wave Ren over to thetractor. Painted a shiny red, it’s clearly been cleaned up for photo ops. There’s even a straw basket hanging from one handlebar, and I can imagine it filled with vegetables or flowers. It’s just one more reason why I like it here so much. Everything is functional but also aesthetic, similar to my vision for Buttercup Hill.

“I can see what draws you to this place,” Ren says. Warmth swells inside me because he understands. “You could absolutely get this vibe going at Buttercup Hill, with an upscale twist that matches your brand. It begs to be photographed.” I think I squeal louder than the piglets and jump in the air, throwing my hands high.

“Yes! Exactly. You get it. This is my vision, only with great wine and stellar food and the best inn in the county. It’s just…we’re not there yet.”

“You will be.” Ren nods, spreading his arms wide at the potential. “It’s going to be awesome.”

I kiss him on the lips and survey the tractor, which looks much bigger closeup. I have to hike my skirt around my knees and put a foot on the step, but the pregnancy has messed with my balance. That, or my center of gravity isn’t where I expect it to be.

“Hang on,” Ren says. “Let me help.” He gives me a boost, and I slide onto the seat. Flexing my biceps, I get ready to ride.

Ren takes a few steps back and gazes at me, a smile forming on his lips. “You look like you were made for this, honey.”

My head whips around. “Did you just call me ‘honey’? That’s the second time today.”

Possibly realizing his slip, he takes a step farther away, as if that can somehow erase the offense. I told him I hate that word, and clearly, he remembers. “Sorry. Slipped out.”

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