seventeen
BRADY
Mac didn’t have to lock the gate in the evenings.
Now that she was management, she could delegate the task to someone else.
So, she didn’t reallyneedto walk down the path to where it met the highway and drag the metal rungs across the pavement. But she still did it.
“Hi,” I called with a grin when she came into view.
Her hair was in a thick braid over one shoulder, and she wore a navy cardigan to ward off the spring chill.
She smiled. “Hey.”
I crossed the highway and met her at the end of the drive. I wrapped my arms around her as I lifted her off her feet. Mac laughed as my lips met hers, and I didn’t think I’d ever been this happy in my whole life.
The sound of an engine coming down the road had me placing her back on her feet and shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
“You busy?” she asked. “You want to come up?”
It was a Sunday, and Grandpappy’s closed at five. We hadn’t made plans for the night, but we generally always ended up together in one way or another at the end of the day.
“I could be persuaded.”
She gave me an amused shove as she went to retrieve the chain, but I beat her to it.
“What’d you have in mind?” I asked once the entrance to Grandpappy’s had been closed off.
“I have to close up the office, but then I wanted to plant the sunflower field. Uncle William already plowed it, so it’s ready to go. And I know Will planned to come down and do it after the last freeze, but I just thought I’d help out.”
“Yeah, count me in.”
So we made our way up the drive, chatting about our days. I told her about how Amos went to another Dungeons and Dragons event at the library downtown. And she told me that Bonnie wanted to start a team for the bowling league down at the Lucky Strike on Thursdays.
Everyone was gone by the time our boots brought us to the Bake Shop. It felt like we had the whole farm to ourselves.
When we approached the door to Mac’s office, I noticed the shiny brass nameplate on the front and raised my eyebrows.
Manager of Farm Operations and Social Media Director
Mac appeared bashful but pleased. “My grandma Nola had it made and sent it to me.”
I grinned. “Authority looks good on you, Clark.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning the handle and opening the door.
I’d been in Mac’s office a lot in the last few months. We ate lunch here together at least three days a week. I’d had her bent over the desk last Thursday, and she’d repeated her Christmas party blow job performance several times since the office had become hers.
I wasn’t a stranger to her space, but I always found new additions. Local artwork on the wall. A family photo in a frame on the bookcase. Postcards tentatively added to a corkboard one by one. It was as if she was too afraid to decorate all in one go. Like the idea of settling into the office and making it hers was somethingshe had to get used to. Dipping cold toes into the shallow end rather than cannonballing into deep waters.
The postcards were the most interesting. Most of them had been sent from her grandparents as they traveled the country in their RV. Places they’d been and sights they’d seen.
It could have been that Mac simply treasured the mementos from her family—people she loved. But I’d seen the stack of travel magazines in the sunroom at her house. I’d watched her pore over my photos from my summer in Europe. She’d lingered on the smallest details, and I’d answered all her questions about the food and the people and the places I’d visited.
I’d seen her on her phone, checking prices for imaginary flights. And then quickly hiding her screen like she didn’t want me to know. Like her desire to get away was secret or shameful.
From what I could recall, Mac had never been outside the country or even very far from home. For someone who’d stared in awe at my photograph of the basilica in Florence and traced all the lines of architecture while I’d spoken about it, Mac didn’t have a lot of travel experience of her own.
