Page 22 of Till The Cows Come Home
“Platonically or romantically?”
“Either.” I shrugged.
“Romantically? Perhaps never. I think I was always too obsessed with proving I could run a farm and be independent that I never let anyone get that close. Platonically, I have Asher.”
“That’s Ruby’s boy, right?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “When he was born a part of me was healed. I don’t have any siblings so my experience with babies was pretty minimal, and I didn’t realize their love at that age is so…unconditional. They don’t try to see through you, your motives, your past, it’s just whatever is in front of them. Even I couldn’t deprive myself of that kind of raw affection.”
“I’m glad you have him.”
“Me too.” She smiled.
My eyes just so happened to notice the clock behind Sage, and I glanced at my wrist to confirm that it was actually as late as it displayed.
“Shit,” I cursed. “I need to leave. Like now. I’m sorry, I want to hear more?—”
“Can I come with you?” she interrupted.
“Sure,” I winked, “but we're gonna have to haul ass.”
She immediately rose from her chair, clinking her mug against the one I held limply in my own hand before draining its contents, and all I could do was shake my head, accepting my fate. This woman was going to be the love of my life or my demise and I had given away the reins.
“Ready?”
I chugged the contents of my own mug, standing to take hers before depositing both into the sink.
“Ready,” I confirmed.
In my makeshift creamery I’d boxed up most of the things I planned to bring to the market, storing them stacked in the cooler until I was ready to leave.
“I just need to load these crates into the truck and then we're set. The table and tent are already in the back.”
I grabbed the first crate and when I turned to get another, Sage had stepped in, loading the next. “I can get these,“ I said, grabbing the edge of the crate she had in her hands. Each held twenty bottles of milk and I was familiar with the lingering burn in my biceps after a truckload.
She swiftly pulled the edge of the crate from my grasp.
“You should know better than to do that. If I need you to be a knight and shining armor, I’ll ask. Until then don’t treat me like a damsel in distress and try to call it chivalry.”
She turned from me, placing the crate on the edge of the truck bed with ease, and when she turned around, I hadn’t moved.
“We won't ever get anything done if you’re just gonna stand around,” she said, but the sternness in her voice had dissolved into something more playful.
“You’re something else, Sage Baker.”
“Chop chop!” she demanded, and I couldn’t contain the full belly laugh that escaped me.
“Yes ma’am,” I said, bowing my head.
We continued loading, alternating crates like a well-oiled relay team, finishing in almost exactly half the time that it took me to do it myself.
We arrived at the market amongst the other vendors setting up, not as far behind as I worried we would be thanks to Sage’s help, and with her there, unloading the crates was a breeze. I raised the tent while Sage arranged the table, and when I was done, I joined her, expecting to help her finish, but she already had it settled and looking better than I ever had.
“Where did you get a tablecloth?”
“It was in the barn with our old market stuff,” she said, pulling my arm until my ear was level with her lips.
As if not to alert any patrons of her next words, she whispered, “you’re handsome enough to draw in some customers, but your setup looked like you were selling cheese out of the back of a van.” Letting go of my arm, she turned away, pulling out a cutting board. “Also, always offer samples. It lets the people who don’t know you earn your trust through your product.”
