Page 44 of Till The Cows Come Home
I tossed a few rocks at the sliding door of Sage’s fire escape before powering on my speaker, which I set to blare a classic fanfare, dramatically announcing my arrival. I took my spot at the bottom of the fire escape, waiting patiently until she finally stepped out onto her balcony.
“This is not real,” she whispered, staring at me as I ascended the steps.
“Hello, Miss Sage Baker, I’m here to deliver a letter,” I said, bowing slightly.
Sage cackled, tears of laughter streaming down her face as she surveyed the scene in front of her. I’d parked the tractor in front of her building, setting the speaker in the bucket for elevated acoustics. When her wide eyes returned to me, I deposited the flowers along with the letter in her hands, and once the handoff was complete, I turned to leave.
“You’re leaving?” she squealed.
“I’ll wait for your return correspondence.” I winked, climbing back onto the tractor.
It was an oddly liberating ride home, knowing that I’d put it all out there. Sage had me in a chokehold and didn’t care who knew. I held onto that the entire way, ignoring the urge to pull off and check the messages I could feel vibrating through my pocket. As soon as I safely tucked the tractor back in the barn, though, I shamelessly pulled out my phone to read Sage’s cascade of thoughts.
You really drove your tractor here.
That suit, my god.
Your handwriting is adorable, like a little old man.
My answer is yes.
Chapter Twenty
Sage
Miles drove away from my apartment and I stood watching from my balcony in awe. I knew he’d rise to my challenge, but I didn’t expect this man to drive a tractor to my house just to deliver a letter.
The letter.
I scrambled inside, setting the tulips in the sink before ripping open the envelope. As I looked over the scrawls of Miles’ handwriting, I quickly realized that it wasn’t actually a letter, but an invitation.
Dear Sage Baker,
I’d like to utilize my twentieth question to ask if you’d like to join me for dinner. If interested, please arrive at Baker Farm this Saturday evening at 6:00 p.m. While the meal remains a secret, I assure you will be satisfied with the chef’schoice. Please RSVP to Miles Carver prior to the end of business day today.
He probably hadn’t made it home yet, but I couldn’t help sending him a flood of messages and about thirty minutes later, my phone rang, the image of Miles and Blossom invading my screen.
“Hello, Miles Carver.”
“Hello, Sage Baker. I see you’ve accepted my invitation.”
“How could I not?” I giggled, tucking the phone in the crook of my neck while arranging the flowers in a proper vase.
“I’d like to extend that invitation to the market if you’d like, but no pressure if you can’t.”
“I could probably be persuaded into that.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, “How about coffee before your feet touch the ground and a warm slice of Beth’s banana bread for break?—”
“Deal,” I interrupted, agreeing before he had a chance to finish his sentence.
The walls I’d built began weakening, and by the time we hung up, I hopelessly vowed to allow each brick to crumble if it meant granting myself the simple pleasure of being with Miles. I’d carried the vase of tulips into my room, and as I admired them from the coziness of my bed, I couldn’t help but feel happiness, the perfectly arranged hues of yellow serving as a constant reminder of his effort.
I woke up before my alarm the next morning and, after burning as much time as I could, I decided Miles wouldn’t mind if I showed up a few minutes early. My farm visits had dwindled now that Blossom had graduated, which meant Ihadn’t seen Miles much either. With his tech skills being that of a caveman, we hadn’t communicated all that much either, and I couldn’t help the excitement of knowing I’d be spending the whole day with him. When I arrived, he was sitting on the porch swing, and before my car was properly in park, he was up and opening my door, handing me a cup of coffee.
“Good morning.” I giggled.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered into my ear as he kissed my cheek, extending a hand to help me out.
