Page 9 of Her Juicy Cherry (Sweet Treats 2)

But it was more than that. These men aren’t just farmers, and I can feel it. They said they used to have tech jobs in San Francisco, and that they left them to start anew here on the farm. But I’m not sure if I believe that because they amass enough to buy a farm? Tech jobs tend to pay a lot, but they don’t pay that much. And doesn’t it take a while for an investment to pay off? Cherry trees don’t start bearing fruit until the third or fourth year of life, so there must be more than meets the eye.

Somehow, I get the feeling that Huck and Hank have their fingers in a lot of different pies. They’re not just simple cherry farmers; they’re out to change the world somehow. Sure, I understand the allure of the country because I was fed up with my own shitty situation at Praxel Puffin. But I was making nothing, and was bored and totally stagnant in my position.

By contrast, Huck and Hank aren’t that. They look like men of action whom people admire and respect. So what’s their story? As I get ready for dinner, my heart begins beating rapidly and I stare at my flushed face in the mirror of the bathroom. I can’t wait to find out more about my new bosses, and what I can do to get involved.

6

Courtney

I’m at dinner, but my heart sinks because we’re halfway through the meal and Hank and Huck haven’t shown up yet. I didn’t realize how excited I was to see them again, until the possibility of them not showing up occurred to me.

I look around the mess hall. It looks like a school cafeteria of sorts with long tables and benches, a scrubbed floor, and an industrial kitchen visible through an open window. Workers wearing white hats and aprons busily prepare food through the window, and I stare down at my tray. The food is good, at least. We had spaghetti and meatballs, and the sauce was tangy, just the way I like it. Plus, they served garlic bread warm from the oven, and steamed collard greens spiced with bacon bits.

Then again, I generally like food because I’m a bigger girl. I wear a size 14, and I’m proud of it. Plus, being bigger has never stopped me from getting a guy. What did Amy Schumer say? Oh right. She’s one hundred and sixty pounds, and she can “catch a dick.” I giggled when I heard her say that during an interview because the same is true for me. Guys seems to appreciate my lush assets, and I like sharing them with the right man too.

But where are Huck and Hank? This is our first night at the farm, so I’m surprised they’re not making an appearance. Rhea plunks her tray next to mine loudly on the table, and sits down. Oh no.

“Heya girlie,” she guffaws while digging into a heaping mound of mashed potatoes. Then she spits it out with an outraged look on her face. “What did they put in this? Mayonnaise?”

I take a tentative bite of my potatoes.

“No, it tastes fine to me,” I say judiciously. “Maybe a little heavy on the butter, but I usually like butter in my mashed potatoes.”

Rhea rolls her eyes as the girl on my left nods shyly.

“I like butter too,” she says. The new girl’s name is Abigail, and she’s just like Kara from my old job. Somehow, I attract young women who look up to me as a big sister of sorts. They tend to hang onto my every word, and sometimes I like it, but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes, I wish they’d develop a backbone of sorts, but I guess it’ll come with age.

Rhea snorts.

“They’re not using real butter. They’re using some fake artificial butter like VeganLove or I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.”

Abigail looks confused.

“You mean that stuff that Fabio promotes? I thought that was margarine. Margarine is real, isn’t it?”

I sigh, breaking into the conversation.

“Of course it’s real. Everything is real, but the health movement likes to get so technical sometimes. I’d even say that they over-exaggerate their claims occasionally.”

Rhea nods wisely.

“Oh yeah. All that PETA stuff is bullshit.”

I hold my hand up.

“No, not all of it. But people get carried away, which is pretty understandable. For example, did you know that some hardcore vegans don’t wear wool because they believe that sheep don’t need to be shorn?”

Abigail looks confused.

“Of course they need to be shorn,” she says stoutly. “I had a pet sheep that I showed for 4-H when I was a kid. Dolly had to be shorn at least once a year because otherwise she’d grow into a puffball.”

“Yeah exactly,” I nod. “Domesticated sheep need to be shorn regularly because they’ve been bred for wool production. If you don’t shear these guys, they turn into giant furballs, and it’s dangerous to their health because they can hardly walk, see or pee. It literally puts their lives at risk.”

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