Page 87 of The Back Forty
“Impressive,” says Beatrice, the CEO of the company as she rises from her seat with a bright, polished smile. “We’re thrilled to have the holiday line in stores by December. Can’t wait to see you sell the hell out of it.”
“Thank you for your time,” I reply, voice steady, smile sure. “It’s been a pleasure meeting with you all today.”
The rest of the meeting winds down quickly, easy conversation, laughter, handshakes. Lawson and I do what we always do best: make connections that'll pay off later down the road and answer follow-up questions.
He’s charming, professional, and just casual enough that they don’t feel like they’re being sold to, even though we both know the truth. And when the last executive leaves the room, it’s just us. He looks at me with his relaxed smile, hands shoved in his jeans pockets like he’s got all the time in the world.
“Fucking killed it, sweetheart.”
That nickname.Sweetheart.He hasn’t called me that since before… everything. Back when I used to be able to hear that and not feel my heart race. But it makes something tight in my chest loosen even in this freezing conference room.
“It felt good,” I admit. "I think I'm hitting my stride."
He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t know if I’ll need to come with you to these anymore. You’re a professional at the Marshall brand now. I think you can handle these pitches solo.”
I smile, lifting a shoulder. “I don’t mind the company.”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting a grin because he likes that response, and I swear, that little flicker of amusement in his eyes makes the whole damn day worth it.
“Come on,” he says, slinging an arm around my shoulders like old times. “Let’s get some food in your stomach and celebrate before we head in for the night.”
Chapter 34 – Lawson
“This place is totally different in the winter,” Dani says, her brown eyes catching the warm glow of the overhead Edison bulbs as she scans the bar. Her voice carries a mix of curiosity and nostalgia, and her lips curve around the rim of her glass, beer bottle just before she takes a sip.
We’ve been here before, last time we were in Minnesota for work. A forgettable bar tucked inside a converted, old warehouse, all exposed brick and wood-paneled charm. The kind of place I used to come to alone during those long business trips back when it was just me managing the sales and marketing for the egg farm.
I’d sit at the bar, nursing a double pour of whiskey, pretending I was brainstorming some new marketing push when really, I was just trying to outrun the ache of loneliness that I felt constantly in my chest.
I told myself I didn’t mind the solitude. That I was building something and contributing to the family name. That this kind of life came with the job and it was better than being home in Whitewood Creek and lonely. But it’s not the same anymore.
Because now, when I think about this place, I don’t think about the quiet or the bourbon or the empty hotel bed waiting for me after. I think about her. Dani, sitting across from me six months ago in a dress that wrecked my ability to form coherent thoughts, her hair twisted up to reveal the soft, delicate slope of her neck.
I think about how, for the first time in years, I’d felt unsteady around a woman. Not in a bad way. Just in a way that made me realize I might be in real, actual trouble if I let myself look at her differently for too long.
That night, we were in town for a local interview. Some puff piece about the hen operation that we could’ve passed on because hardly anyone would see it, but I never turn those down. Small town loyalty goes a long way when your target audience lives and breathes what you represent. She’d stood behind the cameras while I'd answered questions about the Marshall family legacy, the craft behind our liquors, the quality of our eggs, and I hadn’t heard half of what the interviewer had been asking.
I was too focused on the way she looked and the way that it was making me feel.
Afterward, I brought her here. Needed a distraction. Thought I’d take the edge off by catching up with Natalie, an old college friend who just happened to be in town working sales in a different industry. It worked temporarily. But it felt hollow. Like every other attempt before her.
All I’d ended up thinking about that night was Dani and her haunting, brown eyes.
“Yeah,” I say now, dragging my gaze from the warped wood of the bar to her face. “Not much to do in Minnesota this time of year. Just cold, snow, and shitty local beer.”
She snorts and reaches into the basket of nachos I ordered, mostly for her since I know she likes them, and scoops up a messy bite overloaded with sour cream.
She’s looser now. I noticed it on the flight here how tense and quiet she was. Dani doesn’t like admitting when she’s nervous and I never point it out, but I can tell. Maybe it's because of how things shifted between us. Because she’s trying to keep boundaries in place that I think she no longer wants. Because she doesn’t want me to see her as weak after her panic attack. But I wish she’d open up to me anyways.
I wish we could go back to the ease of how things were before I touched her. Before I wanted her so badly that I forgot how to act like her boss. And now I’m just trying to do the right thing. To give her space. To protect her peace. To protect myself and my heart because fuck, last night wrecked me.
She’s on her second beer now, it’s a cheap stout she insisted on ordering because, in her words,“supporting the town's local brew, even if it sucks, is a way to give back to the community that's going to be writing our checks now that we've signed this new deal.”
Even here, she’s thinking like a strategist. Like someone with her head in the game. Never mind that the Marshall businesses are already thriving. That we’re on track to clear a billion in revenue this fiscal year. Dani’s the kind of woman who doesn’t waste a penny if she doesn’t have to. It’s one of the things I love most about her.
Her burger’s demolished. She’s eaten half the nachos too, and some of the color’s finally returned to her face. Her shouldersdon’t sit quite so high. Her laugh is a little easier now. A glob of sour cream drips onto her chin and she lets out a soft, breathy sigh, her long pink tongue darting out to catch it.
“I’m a mess.”
