Page 2 of Take Me Home

Haha. Anyone who can lift 50 lbs is just fine

Cool. I’ll call all the Chippendales I know

Might be a pain. I hear they only accept payment in singles. Could be cumbersome

For real though. I’ve got a few people I can ask

Awesome. The sooner the better. That grass aint gonna mow itself

On it

I took a long drag on my beer, feeling that unmistakable sensation of someone’s eyes on me. The dilemma of being close to home again: do you want to talk to people and tell them what you’re doing, or do you want to hide and pretend everyone forgot about you? I didn’t know how long I’d be here working, or what came after the summer. I wasn’t even sure how long Uncle Bill would need help. I knew he’d need me until his surgeries were through, but he might still need me for a while after that.

I decided it couldn’t hurt to have a quick chat with whoever was burning their eye-daggers into me. I clicked off my phone screen and turned it over on the bar, sweeping my curls behind my ears and sitting up straighter.

It took zero seconds to lock eyes with the person who’d been watching me, and the result was a delightful surprise. It was a guy, and he was actually attractive. Like, really attractive. He probably had a hot name and everything. Jack or Alex or Noah or some shit like that. He was the picture of sun-kissed: hair the color of light brown sugar, glowing skin with just the right amount of charming sun damage, and when I got a good look at his eyes, a hazel or caramel color to match. I didn’t think I’d ever met this person before, which was rare back home. I grew up in Charleston, which was a whole separate community from Hurricane, but nothing was that far apart. Some people lived there as a suburb of Charleston or Huntington as if Charleston weren’t a glorified suburb in and of itself. I gave him the universal “hi” sign, raising my eyebrows and giving a little nod.

That good-looking doofus had the gall to smile at me. Not just a smirk, but a full-on smile. It was like someone had turned the sun on, or like a golden retriever wagging its tail. My brain started a chant of “don’t blush, don’t blush,” but my body told me it was too late. My cheeks were roasting hot, as were my ears and chest. I looked away in the right amount of time with a coy smirk, but I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

Not that it mattered. What were the chances that this guy would be 1) available, 2) interested, and 3) not a complete waste of time for some fuckboy reason or another?

Right at that moment, the bartender slid my sandwich across the bar and offered me ketchup.

“Uh, ah, yes please,” I stammered. I peppered my fries and couldn’t help but look back up to see if the mysterious Jack/Alex/Noah was still there. And he was, but now with a 10-year-old boy in a sports jersey across the booth from him. Right, of course. He was a dad. He looked pretty young for a dad, but I don’t judge. Or was he maybe a soccer coach? Why would a coach take one kid out to dinner? Creepy. No, he was probably a dad. A really, really good-looking dad. Maybe a single dad, though? I wasn’t about to push away a good time because of something like having a kid at a young age.

But alas, he was on his way out. Jack/Alex/Noah wiggled his way out of the booth in that shimmy everyone does using knuckles and butt scooting. He mussed up the kid’s hair and headed for the door, but not before taking one last look back in my direction, this time with a for-sure smirk. Damn, he’d better be a single dad giving out looks like that.

Otherwise, that guy was nothing but trouble.

2

DARCY

Friday morning arrived, heralding an entire work week that I had survived running the farm alone. But I wouldn’t be alone for long. Eli lined up a few people to come out for a test day of work.

A man and woman stood in the barn, early morning light casting over them. I was delighted to see a woman as a potential way to make a friend. All of my friends from high school had moved away, so I didn’t really have anybody close except my family. Time would tell if she was a farm hippie or a Marlboros and Bud Lights kinda gal. Not that those were mutually exclusive, actually. I also realized I was completely stereotyping and she could just be a person looking for a summer job.

And just like that, before I’d spoken a word, I’d already overanalyzed. My job loss and the life-in-shambles situation really did a number on my self-confidence and people skills.

The man was a tall, rail-thin guy, probably no more than 25 years old. He had kind brown eyes, very short waved hair, a prominent Adam’s apple, light brown skin, some dark scruff around his chin, and a shy smile.

The woman had a long blonde ponytail that looked like it tangled easily with a Braves baseball cap pulled over it. Oversized white tee and farm working jeans. She looked ready for the day, and that already made me like her.

Eli knew these people to some degree, so I didn’t really need to interview them. I just needed to confirm that they’d be up to the job.

“Eli, are we waiting on a third person?”

“Oh, yeah. He said he was having some trouble getting out of Huntington, but he should be here soon,” Eli replied.

I’m not one of those people who likes to wait around on the late person and penalize the people who showed up on time. I took a stab at introducing myself.

“Well, he can catch up. I’m Darcy. I’m glad y’all came out this morning. Today will be a trial day to make sure this is the kind of work you want to do. Once we get into harvesting season for the peaches, it’ll be all hands—”

I was cut off by the sound of tires slinging gravel and Tim McGraw’s “Something Like That” announcing an approaching vehicle. Since the state put in the new road on the other side of the holler, people sometimes used the road as a pass-through. Most times, though, it meant we were due for a visitor.

This time the latter was true.

The older red F-150 pulled into the driveway leading to the barn. A tanned hand waved from the rolled-down window, struggled to gear the truck down, and cut the ignition.

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