There.
A white envelope with the county seal. “PROPERTY TAX STATEMENT” printed across the top in bold letters.
Found you, you sneaky financial obligation.
I tore it open, scanning the numbers. Due date: June 30th. Amount: $1,547.82.
June 30th. That was... I checked my phone. Ten days away.
Okay. Not ideal, but manageable. Walt had set up farm accounts for exactly this kind of thing. I just needed to pay it.
Simple.
I grabbed the envelope and headed down the hall to Walt's office—a small room off the living room that smelled like old paper and wood polish. His desk sat beneath a window overlooking the front yard, and filing cabinets lined one wall.
I settled into his chair and opened my laptop, pulling up the bank accounts.
Current balance: $3,204.56
Not terrible. Not great, but not terrible.
Except...
I grabbed a notebook and started listing expenses. Feed delivery next week. Vet bill for Buddy's checkup. Weekly farmers market booth fee. Gas for the truck. That weird supplement Walt had mentioned for Buddy's joints.
Then there were the regular bills. Electric. Water. Internet. My own groceries. Truck insurance.
I stared at the numbers, then at the bank balance, then back at the numbers.
After the tax payment and monthly expenses, things would betight.
Really tight.
I should panic. This was definitely panic-worthy. This was the kind of situation that called for hyperventilating into a paper bag while questioning every life choice that led to this moment.
Instead, I sat there. Staring at the numbers. Breathing slowly.
This was it. The moment where I should call Walt back. Tell him I couldn't do it. Admit I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Let my mom know I'd be back in Seattle in ten days, and yes, I'd take that boring assistant position at her firm. The one with the beige cubicle and the boss who microwaved fish in the break room.
I could practically hear my mom's relieved sigh.Thank goodness you came to your senses, Rosie.
My finger hovered over Walt's contact.
One call. That's all it would take.
Except...
No.
The word rose up from somewhere deep, visceral and immediate.
No. Absolutely not. Not happening.
There wasn't a single fiber of my being that wanted to go back. Not to Seattle, not to corporate life, not to playing it safe because safe was easier than scary.
I'd left for a reason. Multiple reasons. Aaron. The soul-crushing monotony of designing the same boring corporate presentations. The feeling of slowly disappearing into someone else's idea of who I should be.
I'd come here because this place made mefeellike myself. The girl who collected eggs with dirt under her fingernails. Who talked to goats like they were people. Who handpainted signs at midnight and thought it was the best use of her time.
