His tone only set me further on edge.
“Things happen,” he went on. “Bad weather. Dwindling tourism. Supply chain disruptions. Farms like yours…” He trailed off, turning and surveying my land. “Run lean margins, any season could be your last.”
There it was.
The pressure. The hard sell.
“We’re good,” I said firmly. “But you mentioned Addison County, and that got me thinking. Funny thing about all those beehive collapses. More failures this year than ever. No mites. No disease markers. Just failure.”
Logan had been going on about the bees and what he’d heard from colleagues near the New York border. I had noidea whether they were connected, but I was sick of this guy’s shit.
He froze for a second, his face falling before he recovered his salesman’s smile. “Unrelated.”
We stood, staring at one another. I refused to look away. This guy needed to go. Wayne trotted to my side, and Tristan’s eyes widened. Wayne was a sweet boy, but he looked like the progeny of a pony and a wolf.
“I’ll just leave some pamphlets.” Tristan strode to his truck, then returned with a green folder. “Call me when you want to talk.”
I took it from his hand. “I don’t need to talk.”
“You will.” With that, he hauled himself into the driver’s seat of that too clean truck. Then he was gone, turning around and rolling down the driveway.
As I watched him disappear, my stomach tightened. I’d spent too many years watching markets spike because of so-called innovation, only to crash on buried data and junk science.
“No shortcuts,” I muttered to Wayne as we walked back towards the barn.
“Excuse me?”
I lifted my head up from the front-end loader I was working on. I was cranky and had skipped lunch to finish this.
Celine stood in the barn doorway with a clipboard clasped to her chest like armor.
“Hey,” I said, standing up and dusting the dirt off my jeans.
She continued to hover there, with the posture of someone bracing for impact, standing at the edge of the building, scanning everything around her, taking inventory, looking for exit paths.
The more time I spent with Celine, the more I clocked these behaviors. And I desperately wanted to ask herWho hurt you?But I knew that would be a massive overstep.
“You lost?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, but intentionally lost.”
I waited and crossed my arms.
She exhaled and lifted the clipboard. “I was hoping we could talk about hayrides.” She gave me a forced smile.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Okay. What do you need?”
“Um… I thought that since I’m not familiar with the area and you are, that maybe you could help me plan the route and…” She sighed, her jaw tightening. “I know this is a lot.”
“Of course I’ll help,” I said, admitting the inevitable. “And I’ve done it before. So no need to worry.”
“You have?”
“Unfortunately. Well, I’ve helped. My dad used to do it.” Just the mention of him made me thaw a bit more.
“The committee told me to ask Charlie at Whittaker Farm, that he usually plans the route, but I don’t know them, and I’m not good with new people.”
I nodded. Glad that she hadn’t asked Charlie, pleased that she’d asked me instead. Why? I had no clue, but I wasn’t in a position to be particularly reflective at the moment.