I wait.
And wait.
Hattie: YES.
I frown at my phone. Then I thumb through our chat thread. Most of her messages have been long. And even if they weren’t long, they were enthusiastic. Emojis. Exclamation points. Hell, she used the word Huzzah.
With three exclamation points and a heart-eyes emoji.
Okay, so maybe she’s not over-the-moon excited about seeing me again.
But the thought of seeing her again? My chest fills and my pulse leaps.
And I have no idea how I can make this work.
Things will ease up around Thanksgiving, but I can’t ask Hattie to wait six weeks for a first date. And, sure, I’d love a first date that had her sitting in my lap on the tractor, but I don’t think she’d be too impressed. Especially if she’s not sure she wants this in the first place.
Then it hits me.
The Saturday Farmer’s Market at Moncus Park. Griffin will be here. After we get the stall set up and make it through the first rush of customers, he can cover it while I break away. I could buy Hattie a coffee from the Hunt’s Roasters stall, and we could take a walk through the park.
It won’t be fancy. But it might be nice.
And I can’t think of anything better just now.
Me: I’d love to take you out on a real date. Candlelight. Dinner. The whole thing. But it’s peak harvest time, and my days are freakin’ long right now. Would you consider meeting me at the Farmer’s Market at Moncus Saturday morning? We could get coffee, take a walk, and talk for a bit.
I press send before I can second-guess the sub-par offer. Hattie didn’t grow up on a farm. The dress she was wearing made it clear she’s not from a family that is just scraping by. If she’s used to eating in places like The French Press and vacationing in the Sierra-Nevadas, she might not?—
Hattie: YES. WHAT TIME?
A rush of warmth replaces the chilly churning in my gut.
Me: How about 10? Our booth is in the middle row on the northeast side.
Hattie: I HAVE NO SENSE OF DIRECTION. I WILL USE THE COMPASS ON MY PHONE.
Hattie Mercier officially owns my grin. I picture her walking through the Farmer’s Market, navigating with her phone, and I want to wrap my arms around her.
Me: The side closest to Johnston Street. I’ll be looking for you.
Hattie: I KNOW WHERE THAT IS! I’LL FIND YOU!!
God, is it just the caps lock and the extra punctuation? Or is she this eager? Is it stupid of me that I want her to be this eager?
That I am this eager?
Fuck it.
Me: CAN’T WAIT!!
Chapter Five
HATTIE
My mind won’t slow down Monday night, so I don’t get to sleep until four a.m. Which means I hate nearly the entire world Tuesday because Mom’s household motto is You Can Sleep When You’re Dead. And as long as I am alive, I have to be up by seven.
So, when she bangs on my door Tuesday morning, making death sound pretty damn luxurious, I wonder aloud if group home residents get to set their own hours.