Page 11 of Once Upon a Boyband
This farm has been a labor of love for me. I renovated the house, the barn, added landscaping and hardscaping to make the grounds comfortable and accessible for anyone coming out to visit—something that happens all the time whenever people come out to adopt. But having Laney see it…somehow this feels different. I don’t know why her opinion matters so much, but I find myself hoping she likes it—hoping she’s impressed with what Hope Acres has become.
She eases to a stop in front of the giant farmhouse I spent way too much to remodel and leans forward, her eyes taking in the house before she turns to face me. “Adam. This place is gorgeous.”
I grin and reach for the door handle. “Come on. Let’s get the puppies back with their mom, and I’ll show you around.”
As Laney climbs out of the car, I take in her profile—the slope of her nose, the line of her cheekbone as she tilts her face up toward the late afternoon sun.
Sarah is always telling me I can’t live in secret forever. That eventually I’ll have to get more comfortable with telling people about my past.
I’ve always argued that I’ll be more than happy to tell the truth when I meet someone who’s worth the effort.
Much to my younger sister’s dismay, that still hasn’t happened.
But I’m beginning to wonder if the person worth the effort has been standing in front of me this whole time.
CHAPTER THREE
Laney
I don’t knowwhat I expected.
But I know it wasn’tthis.
Hope Acres is gorgeous. Stunning.
Lawson Cove has some nicer parts of town. Gated neighborhoods with sprawling lawns and backyard pools and those little signs that warn you each house is monitored with its very own security system.
This isn’t like that. It isn’t opulent, though the farmhouse does look like it’s been recently remodeled. It’s glowing white in the late afternoon sunshine, and the front porch is covered in pots overflowing with white and blue blooms. On either side of the house, lush green pastureland lined with white split-rail fencing extends in either direction. Off to the right, an enormous red barn with white trim that matches the fence is nestled up against the tree line, the terrain cutting steeply upward to the Blue Ridge Mountains.
I spin around, taking it all in.
As far as I know, Adam doesn’t have another job, and there’s no way a nonprofit dog rescue could bankroll a place like this.
Family money, maybe? A random lottery win? If he hadn’t already told me he grew up in Tennessee, I might assume the land had always been in his family.
Still, there are a lot of ways people wind up with money, and none of them, at least in Adam’s case, are any of my business, so I shove the thought aside and crouch down to greet the golden retriever who’s wandered over to say hello. She’s actually more red than gold, my favorite variation of golden retriever, and her nose is speckled with a healthy dusting of gray.
“That’s Marigold,” Adam says. “Or just Goldie for short.”
“You aren’t very golden, Goldie.” I scratch the dog under her chin. “But you’re still a pretty girl, aren’t you?”
Goldie sits and lifts her paw to shake, looking over at Adam like she wants him to see the gesture.
“Look at you!” I say, shaking her paw.
Adam chuckles. “She likes you. And she wants me to know she likes you.”
“It didn’t take her long to decide.” I stand back up, one hand still resting on Goldie’s head.
“She’s old enough to be a good judge of character. Which tends to stink for people she doesn’t like.” He opens the back door of my sedan and pulls out the travel crates full of puppies.
I try not to stare at the flex of his forearms as he does so, but it’s a losing battle. When he bends over to set the crates on the ground, I have to shift my gaze to the fluffy clouds overhead. It’s too soon to be ogling this end of him, isn’t it? I already incriminated myself in the car when I talked abouthim being so datable. The last thing I need is to get caught staring.
He opens both crates, peering inside, I assume to make sure the puppies are all well, then moves toward the porch. “Let me grab the keys to the Gator, and we’ll drive them back to the barn. Do you need anything? Water?”
“Water would be great,” I say.
He’s back outside in a matter of seconds, a cold bottle of water in one hand and a dangling set of keys in the other. We settle into an oversized all-terrain golf cart, the crates of puppies secured on the back, and I try not to be distracted by the warmth of Adam’s arm pressed against mine or the subtle woodsy scent that keeps tickling my nose.
