“So, you need to be alone to do this?” I ask, trying to understand.
He glances at me, shrugs, and reaches for his hat, placing it on his head. Geez, what is it about a big, strong man wearing a cowboy hat? My pulse ticks, and I feel another trickle of sweat slide down my neck.
“I do this alone because the other guys don’t get it. They don’t get me. They’d rather go into town and get drunk at the bar. I like to stay here, on the farm. I especially like it on Saturdays and Sundays when our foreman, Kip, isn’t around. Even though he said he wants to be my friend, I don’t trust the guy. I never have.”
“Why?”
“He’s a big bully and makes fun of me. He’s been harassing me since we were kids.”
It dawns on me how this gentle giant has deep feelings. He’s not like most men. He’s a guy who wants to be left alone to do something he enjoys without the snickers and sneers of the other workers. And whoever this Kip guy is, I already know I don’t like him.
I reach out and palm his knee, startling him. “I think it’s great you have a Saturday tradition. Really, I do. I’m glad you’re not like those other guys, especially Kip. I mean, what kind of stupid name is Kip anyway?”
My comment makes him smile.
“Tell me more about yourself, George. Tell me what you like. What gets you excited?”
His blue eyes scroll my face. Like he’s trying to figure out if I can be trusted. If he can be honest and tell me without fear of being made fun of, like that bully, Kip.
“Tell me.” My tone holds reassurance.
After a few seconds, he shifts on the hay bale and tips his hat back to reveal more of his handsome face. I swear he looks exactly like a countrified version of British supermodel David Gandy, and I swoon.
“I like sunsets,” he says simply.
I nod and wait for more. “I like sunsets too. What else do you like, George?”
His lips quirk in a lopsided grin. It’s subtle and adorable.
“I like… the night sky. And thunder. I like the smell of mud after heavy rain and real conversations, like the one we’re having right now.”
I feel my cheeks blossom with heat. I like knowing George is enjoying our conversation in the barn. His full lips part ever so slightly, and his blue-flame eyes are fully focused on me.
“The regular world doesn’t excite me,” he admits. “I want land, the scents and colors of flowers. The rustling leaves of the trees. I want a quiet life. I wish I could just… get lost in it.”
I realize my mouth is agape and quickly press my lips together. George is a poet, and his heartfelt words align with my spirit somehow. It suddenly dawns on me how his words are similarto my sister’s advice. How I should embrace a more “soft life.” I’m absolutely intrigued.
“Beautiful explanation, George,” I reply. “You’re… different. I like that you’re independent from the others.”
He scowls.
"I didn’t mean it as a diss. I mean it as a compliment.”
“Oh.” His features soften. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I look around the barn, my eyes landing on the chickens again. The way they bob their heads in a Charleston-like motion makes me smile. “George? Would it be okay if I hang out with you for a little longer? I’d love to see how you create one of your Saturday flower arrangements. I mean, if that’s all right with you?”
The corners of his mouth tweak again, his blue eyes boring into mine.
“You don’t think it’s weird or too girly for a guy to arrange flowers?”
“No, I don’t.”
“For real?”
I nod. “For real.”
