Page 27 of When We Break

“I believe it. I only saw you dance for a few minutes, but it was pure magic.”

“I know that it was meant to be a private moment, but it’s glad I am that you saw me dance, so you have an idea of what it looks like.”

“It looks like art.”

“And it is art, yes. I loved it.”

“Why did you stop?”

A shadow moves over her face as the pizza is set down between us. When we’re alone again, I reach across the table to take her hand.

“Hey, Irish. You don’t have to talk about that. Forget I asked, okay?”

“I don’t mind,” she admits, but doesn’t let go of my hand right away. “But maybe we’ll talk more about it after dinner, okay?”

“Sure.” Reluctantly, I pull my hand away, and we dish up slices of the pie and take a bite. “Mmm, fucking good pizza.”

She nods, then wipes her mouth with a napkin. “It reminds me of a favorite spot of mine in New York. Anyway, tell me more about your dairy farm. How many cows do you have that produce milk for you?”

I frown as I swallow a bite. “Do you really want to know about this stuff?”

“Of course. It’s what you do, where you live. The purpose of a date is to get to know each other better. I want to know everything.”

It’s been my experience that women don’t want anything at all to do with my ranch, least of all the farm side of it.

Tori couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It almost gave me whiplash.

“I have six milking cows,” I explain. “They’re milked twice a day.”

“But not with a stool and your own two hands,” she says with a grin.

“Not anymore, no. We have machines for it that are faster, but sometimes a cow needs to be milked by hand. We’re a small dairy, not a huge corporation, so if a cow needs a little TLC, we can give it to her.”

“I’ve milked a cow, you know.” Her eyes shine as she bites into her crust.

“Tell me more.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. The way her eyes flick down to my biceps isn’t lost on me. It almost makes me want to flex. “I find it surprising that a hotel heiress has had an occasion to milk a cow.”

“I’ll have you know that my best friend as a girl, Bridget Mary O’Reilly, had a farm, and they milked the cows for their own milk, and whenever I spent time there, I was permitted to milk them myself.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You squatted on a stool and milked a cow?”

“Well, to be fair, I was a wee girl, so I didn’t have to squat. I sat.” She grins and sits back, mirroring me. “And I’ll also have you know that I was quite good at it. Someday, you’ll take me out and introduce me to Bessy, and I’ll show you what I’m about.”

Jesus, I’ll take her there right now and keep her there.

“You’ve got a date. You’re welcome out there anytime, and you don’t even have to milk anything.”

She chuckles and takes a bite of her pizza. “Billie said you make ice cream. What flavors do you offer?”

I can’t help but grin at her. “Are you an ice cream fan?”

“It’s a weakness, but I don’t indulge often. Tell me you make peppermint ice cream, and I might try to sweet-talk you into a pint.”

“During the holidays, we do. Mostly, we specialize in the typical vanilla, chocolate, huckleberry, and strawberry. But we add one or two flavors with the different seasons.”

“I haven’t had huckleberry ice cream yet,” she says, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “I didn’t even know what a huckleberry was until I moved here last year. I was too late to pick some of my own.”

“I will have plenty growing on the ranch this summer. You can pick all you want.”

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