Page 38 of Riding the Sugar High

“Likely just sprained. I’ll bandage it now.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. She obviously feels guilty, and I guess she technically shouldn’t. She didn’t fall on purpose.

The silence stretches as I grab the white bandage and roll it around her ankle. Everything about her is so tiny that it feels like trying to paint a miniature with oven mitts.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you tell me what’s going on with the farm?”

I glance up at her. “What did Kyle say?”

“Nothing.” I cock a brow, and she shrugs. “He just mentioned...you’re having issues.”

Focusing on the bandage, I mumble, “We’re a vegan farm, so our prices are higher than average. It costs more to grow produce when you’re picky about what chemicals you use.” I keep wrapping. “And we don’t provide meat or eggs, which means that most customers working with us will have to get a separate supplier, and not everyone is willing to.”

“And I guess all the animals you keep here are expensive.” Her eyebrows are arched, and her eyes are rimmed with worry.

“Very. Food and vet bills. Medicines.” I tape the bandage. “I’ve had to take on some loans.”

I’m done with her foot, but she keeps it on my thigh.

“Plus, the competition is cheaper.”

“You mean Derek?”

“And a few others, but mostly him, yes.”

“Well, it’s unfair.” She pouts. “His produce might be cheaper, but he’s...”

“He’s the devil, but that’s not how business works.” I doubt I need to explain it to her, seeing as she’s built an audience of two million. “And besides, I’m not such a great person myself.”

Her face does something. It’s a sort of amused twinkle in her eyes with a hint ofI’m not buying your bullshit. Like she’s telling me she knows me, which is ridiculous since forty-eight hours ago, we were strangers to each other.

Lifting her foot off my leg, she asks, “Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” I watch her set her foot down, then check her face, but she doesn’t grimace. Instead, she knowingly grins. “What?”

“Logan, you got my list back, and I didn’t even ask you to. And tonight you showed up with that pickup flying across the field...You almost ran your friend over, then I saw with my own eyes the relief washing over you when you were sure I was okay.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“And as you eloquently said tonight, you don’t even know me. So, sorry if I struggle to believe you’re this horrible person you want me to think you are.”

Thinking of my lash-out, I grimace. A nice person wouldn’t have told her any of that. “You’re not leftovers,” I mumble.

With a flick of her hair, she nods. “I know.”

“And I don’t think you’re leftovers.”

“I know that too.”

Good.

“So...what’s going to happen to this place?”

My heart twists, but I look away to hide my expression. “Uh, no idea.”

---