Ian nodded, unconvinced. Changing the subject, he said, “I heard they asked you to drive a tractor for the film.”
“I told Mercer he could do it.”
His grin was small, tinged with lingering sadness, like he still remembered our previous conversation. “I think Della wants to show a woman on the farm.”
“Why?”
“Well, she probably took to heart your passion for nontraditional roles in farming, what with the way you educated Archer.”
I frowned. “Who’s Archer?”
Ian burst out laughing. “Only you could lecture someone into submission and tears and then brush it aside as no big deal. Archer will probably retain that as a core memory. He’ll be on his deathbed telling the story to his family, desperate to repent.”
Ah, yes. The sexist moron with the clipboard.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh,Archer. Excuse me. I don’t get the name of every youthful idiot in need of an education on feminism.”
Ian chuckled and finally popped the carrot into his mouth. “But seriously, you don’t think it would be fun to be in a major motion picture?”
“No? Should I?”
He stared at me in wonder. “I have literally never met someone so obviously unimpressed with all this.”
“You should meet more people.”
Ian’s bark of laughter nearly made me smile.
“That’s right,” he teased, still grinning. “You don’t like celebrities or anything celebrity adjacent.”
I waited for resentment to creep into his expression or accusation at the very least. But his eyes sparkled with amusement alone.
“That’s right,” I confirmed, knowing it would make him laugh.
And he did, shaking his head with what looked a lot like affection.
Part of me was still braced and ready for Ian to bring up the feelings he’d confessed. But he was acting like nothing ever happened. Like he hadn’t told me he wanted to date—or whatever—me, less than a week ago.
I was grateful that he wasn’t being weird. I barely wanted to deal with my own emotions. I couldn’t imagine juggling his, too.
We gathered up the rest of our trash and turned off the heater.
Making our way toward the exit of the Apple House, I told him seriously, “Be careful. That door has low clearance. You’ll need to watch your big, famous head on it.”
He was still grinning when he climbed into the side-by-side and drove away.
eight
IAN
I paused the YouTube video and poured detergent into the appropriate little trough.
“Shit,” I hissed, as the liquid overflowed its borders a bit. Okay, a lot.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter that the soap had gone over into—I squinted—the fabric softener’s compartment. Damn, did I need fabric softener? I checked the cabinet and didn’t see any.
I picked up my phone to google fabric softener when Sophia appeared in the doorway like a phantom. “What are you doing?”
I fumbled my phone like a rookie wide receiver. “Nothing.”
