A moment later, he turns into a driveway and parks. “Favorite color?”
“What?” I ask.
“What’s your favorite color?”
He swings an arm behind my seat and looks at me too sweetly and too intently. “I want to know if you have a favorite color.”
I stare at him blankly. It’s as if I were in fourth grade. This feels like a damn stupid question, but he cocks his head a smidgen.
“C’mon,” he presses.
It’s hard not to melt into his inviting look. But I tell the boring truth. “Black. White.” I try not to cringe. “Gray.”
“That’s exciting.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m…fine.” Shallots digs his paws into my lap as he adjusts his spot. “I’m the color of nobody. What’s your favorite color?”
Danny doesn’t hesitate. “Cerulean.”
“That’s not a color. Or an actual word.”
Danny laughs. “It’s both.”
“Sounds like part of some cellular makeup that I had to identify in my high school biology class.”
“I promise you that I’m right about this. It’s a blue.”
“I could swear that I sawceruleanon a flash card during my sophomore year, but I’ll accept your definition.”
“It might sound like an SAT word—I get it. But color words are sexy,” he says.
Because he’s so damn animated and cute and I’m too comfortable with this boy who I both know and don’t know, I only hear part of what he’s saying. Stuff about some pigment being discovered by a chemist, the history of this apparently life-changing blue, and how the discovery of cerulean blue helped painters create more realistic skies.
“Okay, well, that’s pretty cool.”
“And, like, when were kids, we’re taught, what? Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple? As if there were no other colors? What about chiffon? Boysenberry? Parakeet? Pear? Artichoke? Those are colors that deserve attention. And colors that conjure up meaning and emotion, you know?” Before I can respond, he has out the door. “Coming? We have to stop down here because even this truck doesn’t always make it up this insane driveway.”
I’m frozen with Shallots in an accidental vise grip. When I glance up, I do see that the walk up this hill is insanely steep, but I also see that it leads to a huge farmhouse and barn, both of which I’m dying to see.
“Eggs, right? You need ’em, Wake’s got ’em. More specifically, Mary Ann’s got ‘em.” He’s opened my door, and his jovial and relaxing tone coaxes me and Shallots from the truck.
As we head up the path to the house, a melodious voice calls out, “Ohhh, Danny boy! Danny boooooooyyy,” which makes us both laugh.
His blush does not elude me. “And that would be Mary Ann.”
Dark curls are the first thing I see when Mary Ann emerges from behind the slope of the driveway, and the hug Danny gives her upon our arrival tells me that I should probably friend-zone him hard. Which is fine. I was obviously going to do that anyway…
“You must be Callie! So happy to have you out to our farm. Ready to get your feet smelly and see what we have going on?”
“I am. Looking forward to it. It seems this is the place to find eggs?”
As she leads us ahead, she turns back and laughs. “And so much more.”
My feet trudge through the muddy road, and I love it. LA’s concrete is hard and unforgiving, and the feel of my feet sinking a bit into the earth is incredible. Healing.
“So, what do you want to see? Or do you only want to snag eggs?”
We reach the top of the ridge, and I try to take in the main ranch house, the barn that screams of authenticity and restoration, the fields, the raised beds full of young crops, the fences that house animals. It’s impossible not to grin from ear to ear.
