Page 11 of A Fowl Match

He cuts me off, “Constance called. Brought me up to speed. And for the record, Violet is a pretty, kind, and motivated young woman. She’s been through a lot in her life. Take it easy on her. Besides, you two would make a fine couple.”

That one does it. I tilt my head back and laugh so hard my stomach aches. There is no way. We can’t even stand each other.

“What has she been through?” I’m almost positive the whole town knows and this is why he said something.

“That’s for her to tell you and for me to keep my mouth shut about. Just know she hasn’t had things easy. So be good to her.”

This peaks my interest even more, but I don’t have to dwell. The farmhouse comes into view. The inviting wrap around porch circles the front. The home is modestly sized with white aluminum siding. Hanging plants swing slightly, filled with colorful pansies. The slight breeze strikes the wind chimes. They sing a song that brings back memories of my childhood.

It feels like I am finally home.

Farther in the field off to the side of the farmhouse is where I’m staying for the foreseeable future. The small A-frame housematches the farmhouse's colors perfectly. My grandpa and I built it years ago. We cut the wood using the sawmill. Built with blood, sweat, and tears. So many nails pounded into it, hours spent creating a unique home. I wasn't sure why he wanted us to build it together when I was young. They had room in the farmhouse. Although now it becomes clear. He wanted me here all along.

The side-by-side comes to a stop in front of the house.

My grandmother calls out the front door, “Lunch is ready, boys!”

I hurry knowing she makes the best sandwiches. I feel almost like a kid again, even though I’m thirty and far from it.

“What are you doing here?” Violet asks, crossing her arms. A scowl sits on her face.

I will admit, my grandpa was right, she is pretty—who am I kidding, she’s beautiful. Her long hair is up in a ponytail, but strands fall from her face on both sides, framing it in a perfect messy way. Her hazel eyes stare through me. Almost as if she can decode all of my thoughts.

But I despise her.Keep telling yourself that.

“Umm hello? What are you doing here?” She waves her hands in front of my face.

“Oh—” I clear my throat. “I’m here so we can practice for the chicken race.”

“Seriously? You want to practice with me?” She gasps, putting her hand on her forehead, pretending to faint.

“Yes, do you have time now? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want you to slow us down tomorrow.”

“Ha! There he is. I’m glad you’re back, Grumpy. If anyone is going to slow us down, it’s you.” Her pointer finger stabs my chest.

“Ouch.” I rub where her finger just made contact.

“Don’t be dramatic. Come on, let’s go, no one's here now anyway I can close up early for the day.”

“I’ll wait for you outsidefuddy-duddy.” I use the nickname I gave her yesterday, knowing all too well it agitates her. The glare she sends my way confirms it.

Chapter 7

Violet

“Whatdoyoumeanwe can’t just use any chicken?” Dustin scratches his head, looking perplexed.

“Everyone is assigned a chicken at random. Ours is Helga. And we already have the biggest disadvantage out of all the teams.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She’s the largest chicken weighing in at eight point five pounds. A Golden Buff Orpington.”

“How do you know all of that, are you a chicken whisperer or something? And how do you know its weight?”

“There's a chart, of course.”

“Of course!” he mocks me.

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