Page 111 of At First Dance
By 10 a.m., the place is buzzing.
The kind of noise that makes your ears ring, but in a good way. Laughter bounces off the barn rafters. Little boots stomp through puddles I forgot to rake gravel over. One of the goats has already escaped twice.
I haven’t sat down once. But my chest? It feels lighter than it has in weeks.
“Rowan!” one of the kids from down the road—Hazel, I think—tugs on my shirt hem. “The chickens won’t stop staring at me.”
I crouch down to her level. “Did you tell them you’re in charge now?”
Her eyes widen. “I can do that?”
“Sure can.”
She nods, serious as a preacher, and marches back to the coop with both fists on her hips.
Crew walks past me, balancing three bales of hay on his shoulders like it’s nothing. “Did you tell that kid she’s the chicken queen?”
“Delegation,” I mutter. “It’s called leadership.”
He laughs and keeps moving. He’s been here since sunrise, helping me get this thing off the ground without asking too many questions. That’s what Crew does—he fills the space when I can’t. Doesn’t push when I’m not ready to talk.
Like now. When I’m watching the road with one eye even though I keep telling myself not to.
“You’re expecting her,” he says eventually, when we’re both out behind the shed trying to rig up a tarp for shade.
I don’t answer right away.
“She left her notebook,” I say finally, voice low. “Wedged in the couch. I found it a few nights ago.”
Crew straightens, his hands stilling. “Did you read it?”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“But you did.”
I nod, staring down at the wood grain on the bench in front of me. “There’s a song in there. It’s… about me. I think. About the farm. About being seen.”
He whistles low. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“About Ivy.” He waits until I look at him. “When she comes back, it won’t be for the journal. It won’t be for some cute farm chapter or a photo op. It’ll be for you.”
Something tight in my chest gives. All those fears and insecurities bubble to the surface. “You sure about that?”
“I’m sure about this.” He tips his water bottle at me. “Nothing ever happened with me and Ivy,” he says, steady. “Not before, not during, not after. She’s like a little sister to me. I look out for her, and that’s it. You’re my brother. I wasn’t competing then, and I’m not competing now.”
The barn takes a long breath around us. I take one too. “I was jealous,” I say, the word tasting like gravel. “And stupid. You didn’t deserve that.”
Crew shrugs, easy. “Jealous means you give a damn. Stupid’s fixable.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “Let it go, Ro. Trust her. And maybe trust me a little while you’re at it.”
I nod. It’s small, but it’s real. “Alright.”
He grins, quick and crooked. “Good. Because when she walks back up your drive, you don’t get to hide behind fences and weather reports. You meet her at the fork in the path.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling the truth of it settle. “I will.”
I pull out my phone before I can talk myself out of it.
