Page 43 of The Best Kind of Bad

I lean against the other side and we face each other.

“Did Jerry make an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

She shrugs. “We’ll see.”

I try to summon up the energy to be happy for her. That bakery of hers is important to her. Gus was always clear about that. “We’ll need to know when you’re planning to sell.”

“I still haven’t figured out all the details.”

“Yeah. It’s just… I need to know when Sienna and I should start looking for a new place.”

She straightens, wincing when she looks over at the barn. “Oh. Right. Of course. Would you find another place in Silver Bend?”

“Not unless we want to live in a rusted-out trailer.” I try to smile, but I’m sure it isn’t reaching my eyes. “Not much of a rental market in Silver Bend. We’d probably try Clark.”

She frowns. “Clark is thirty minutes from here.” Her eyes widen. “Would she have to switch schools?”

I shrug.

“Dusty.”

“It’s possible. Don’t worry about that.” My voice sounds gruff again. “It’s not your problem.”

“I kind of feel like an asshole. I didn’t realize… I didn’t put it together…” She scans the yard. “Maybe I could hold on to the homeplace for a few years.”

“Don’t do that on our account.”

I’d love to hold on to the last scraps of my manhood, but she needs her farm manager, not an insecure lover. “Look, I couldn’t afford the rent. Look around. This property has a full shop. Two grain bins. The house and the apartment in the barn. You’d be better off finding a buyer who wants the whole thing. Or at least someone who can afford the rent.”

It feels better to slip into the role of farm manager. I’d rather lay it out straight than worry about mincing words. Babying feelings.

But as I step into my role, the one Gus trusted me with, it forces me to put distance between the two of us. And God, that hurts.

This right here is why they say never mix business with pleasure.

It’s not my first defeat.

I’ve grown accustomed to the many ways life can disappoint. I’ve had years of experience with it, you could say.

But this particular humiliation, the idea of letting my little daisy slip through my fingers, that hits me harder than usual.

I can feel the wall rising between us.

Ironically, it’s her cheeks that are flushing with embarrassment. “Yeah, but what about you?”

I grin at her. “I’ll land on my feet, girl. I always do. Don’t you worry about that.”

29.

Marnie

My dad and Uncle Gus are the same age.

Seventy-two.

Seventy-two is when people should be enjoying retirement. Taking cruises. Buying RVs and traveling stateside.

It’s not when they should be laid to rest.

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