Page 18 of Restored By the Mountain Man
"There," Ezra says, pointing to a cluster of buildings ahead. "Wild Earth Farms."
The farm is picturesque in a way that seems almost too perfect. A white farmhouse with a wraparound porch, red barn that looks like it belongs on a postcard, silos stretching toward the sky. But there's something lived in about it too. Working vehicles are parked haphazardly, equipment scattered around the yard, the general organized chaos of a working farm.
As we pull up to the main house, I notice something else. There are colorful banners strung between trees and booths being constructed in what looks like a large field behind the barn.
"Festival prep," Ezra explains, following my gaze.
A man emerges from the farmhouse before we've even parked. Tall and lean with sun-weathered skin and graying hair,he moves with the easy confidence of someone completely at home in his environment.
"Francisco?" I ask.
Ezra nods, climbing out of the truck. "Francisco Morales."
Francisco greets Ezra with a firm handshake and genuine warmth. "Ezra! Good to see you, my friend. And this must be Ms. Diaz."
"Zoe, please," I say, accepting his outstretched hand.
"Welcome to Wild Earth. I hope the drive wasn't too rough."
"It’s a beautiful countryside," I tell him honestly. "Thank you for having us."
Francisco's smile falters slightly. "About that. We have a small problem with your accommodations."
Ezra's posture shifts, becoming more alert. "Problem?"
"The bed and breakfast we booked for you is full. Festival week, you know. Everyone in town is packed to capacity." Francisco looks genuinely distressed. "I feel terrible about the mix up."
My stomach sinks. Four hours from home with nowhere to stay. "Is there anywhere else nearby?"
Francisco shakes his head. "Not within an hour's drive and every where’s booked solid anyway." He brightens suddenly. "But Veronica and I have a solution, if you're willing."
He leads us around to the back of the farmhouse where a large RV sits beneath a cluster of oak trees. It's newer, well maintained, with an awning extended to create an outdoor living space.
"It's comfortable," Francisco explains. "Full kitchen, bedroom in the back, and the sofa converts to a bed. We use it when family visits and the house gets too crowded."
I exchange a glance with Ezra who looks about as comfortable with this arrangement as I feel. Sharing an RV means close quarters. Very close quarters.
"The bedroom has a door," Francisco adds quickly, as if reading our minds. "Complete privacy. Though I should mention, the bathroom's been acting up. Plumbing issues we haven't had a chance to fix yet. But you're welcome to use the facilities in the main house anytime."
"It's perfect," I say before Ezra can object. We've driven four hours for this meeting. I'm not letting accommodation issues derail what could be a crucial partnership for the distillery. "We really appreciate your flexibility."
Ezra's jaw is tight but he nods. "Thank you, Francisco. We'll make it work."
Francisco beams, clearly relieved. "Excellent! Veronica's preparing a feast for dinner. She's been cooking all day." He checks his watch. "Why don't you get settled and we'll eat around six? That'll give us time to walk the fields before dark."
After Francisco heads back to the house, Ezra and I stand staring at the RV. The space that seemed adequate when Francisco was describing it now feels impossibly small.
"I can take the sofa," Ezra says finally.
"Don't be ridiculous. You're too tall." I grab my bag from the truck with more confidence than I feel. "Besides, I'm smaller. I'll be fine on the sofa."
I climb the steps into the RV before he can argue, then immediately regret my hasty decision. The space is nice, actually quite comfortable, but it's designed for couples. There's an intimacy to the layout that makes my cheeks burn.
The main area combines kitchen, dining, and living space in an open concept that feels cozy rather than cramped. But it's the bedroom that makes my breath catch. Visible through the open door, the bed dominates the small space. It's a real bed, queen sized, with actual pillows and a thick comforter.
"This is fine," I say aloud, more to convince myself than Ezra, who's followed me inside. "Totally fine. Professional."
I push the door to the bedroom open wider, then immediately stop short.
