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I don’t know what to say to that. “Uh. O-kay.”
“Have a great day, Abi!” Regina says brightly. Then she hangs up.
What is going on?
I look down at my boots. The pink boots from Torin. The prince who is not currently engaged to anyone. The prince who loves my ideas for my farming systems.
That gives me a little surge of confidence. Torin is…or will be…in charge of an entire country and he thinks that my ideas could benefit all of his people.
I can definitely check out this one site and answer whatever questions these local people, my people, have about this one system. I don’t love selling people on systems they’re skeptical of, but these people have already bought this one. They just need some expert input. I can do that. I don’t need to prepare ahead of time. I know IAS systems inside and out.
But, for just a second, I think about how much I’d enjoy touring a site where one of my farms had been built in Cara for Torin’s people.
And then I shut that down.
Because I can’t possibly go to Cara, where Torin will be marrying some other woman. Even if he’s not currently engaged. I can ignore all of that news and those photos and stories here in the US, probably, but no way will I be able to avoid it if I’m in Cara.
However, I could teach someone else at IAS about my systems so they can go to Cara. Because my systems really would be wonderful for Torin. I mean, for Cara.
The car finally pulls up at our destination.
And I gasp.
We are at the curb beside the building that was an apartment building the entire time I was in school at Clover Park Elementary and in high school right across the street. About six years ago, the building was sold and turned into offices. But three years ago, the company defaulted on the loan and it’s been sitting empty ever since.
“Here we are,” my driver says. “I’ll wait for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say absently. I get out of the car slowly, staring at the building.
Because it’s not empty anymore.
And it doesn’t look like an apartment building or an office building.
It looks like…an indoor farm. One that I’ve described a number of times. On paper.
This one is in real life. Huge and shiny and…gorgeous.
My gaze finds the sign sitting in the dirt next to the brand-new front doors.
Clover Park Indoor Farm.
What.
The.
Hell?
“Abigail! Welcome!”
My gaze is jerked away from the building to the man approaching me with a wide smile and his hand outstretched.
Holy. Shit.
The Mayor of Shreveport is coming toward me. And he knows my name.
“Um. Hi.” I run my hand over the skirt of the dress I’m wearing. It’s blue with little pink flowers that match my boots. It’s sleeveless, the skirt is loose and flowy with the hem hitting just above the top of the boots, and it ties loosely at my waist. It was comfortable for the plane but looks dressier than blue jeans. Which is basically everything that’s in my closet. “Mayor Aiden.” I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Johnny, please,” Johnny Aiden—a hometown boy who played football for LSU and won in a landslide, because what better qualifies someone to govern a city than being a star running back?—says, clasping my hand in a warm handshake.
