Page 39 of Riding the Sugar High

“I can see why you’d have a panic attack over it.”

With a glare, I snap, “We don’t know what it was.”

“Sure.” She fidgets with the hem of her dress. “Does anyone know? Because Kyle didn’t seem well-informed about the farm’s financial situation.”

So shedidinquire, the snoop.

“No, not really.” And I just know telling her is the wrong choice, but she has this way of looking at me when she asks questions. Makes it impossible to tell her to mind her business. “The farm wasn’t vegan before I took over. My mom tries to understand, but...”

“You’re afraid to admit making the farm vegan...”

“Is bringing it toward certain failure. Yes,” I conclude in her place. It’s the truth, as painful as it may be. And telling my brother he was right all along feels like punishment for something I’ve done in a previous life.

“Still, if we were to end up in prison, someone would have to take over. And they should be aware of the situation. Don’t you think?”

“We’re not going to prison.” Not as long as we act coupley and don’t give them any reason to look into our past. “I don’t want you to worry about that.”

She scoffs. “Easier said than done.”

“I made a promise, remember?” I busy myself with the first aid kit, shoving everything inside. Then I force myself to stare back at her. “I keep my promises.”

She nods, though I can still see stress lines on her forehead. “Well, you have to do something, right? About the farm?”

Oh, I’ve done more than something. I’ve hired an advertising company, run dozens of promotions, and reached out to any local business that might be interested in our produce. Good god, I even tried to get a table at the farmers’ market, though I’ve been denied every week. “Trust me, this farm is the most important thing in my life. I’m doing everything I can.”

“I guess I could...” She drums her fingers on her leg, indecision making her stop in her tracks.

I’ll make it easy for her.

“I don’t want you to promote us.”

“Why not?” she asks suspiciously. “Everyone does.”

“Because I think influencers are lazy freeloaders who didn’t feel like finding a job, so they made their egotistical fantasies their occupation.”

At her horrified expression, I laugh.

Even when she doesn’t say a goddamn word, she’s funny.

And pretty. She’s pretty too.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Yes. Primrose, this is something I need to fix myself,” I explain. “And besides, you’re busy with your own thing. Bold flavors or whatever.”

It looks like she’s about to argue, so I slap my thigh and stand.

“Do you want me to take you to bed?” She smirks, and I give her a dry smile. “You know what I mean.”

“I can hop,” she says, getting to her feet and taking two hops forward to prove it.

“Now I wish I had a phone to record you.”

With a chuckle, she hops across the living room. “I’ll see you tomorrow, cowboy.”

“Try not to die before the morning.”

She widens her eyes dramatically. “You’d miss me too much, wouldn’t you?”

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