Rosie pulled back enough to meet my eyes. “You're really okay with the whole town knowing?”
“I don't care what the town knows.” I brushed my thumb across her bottom lip. “I care about you.”
She kissed me, soft and quick. “You're good at this.”
“Just being honest.”
“Right.” She patted my chest, stepping around me toward the stove. “Come on. This milk isn't going to turn itself into cheese, and I can't afford to mess up this batch.”
I bit back a smile as I moved to the stove. She handed me the thermometer, and I clipped it to the side of the pot while she turned on the heat.
“Slow and steady,” she murmured, more to herself than me. “Can't rush it or the curds get weird.”
I watched her lean over the pot, checking the temperature with that little crease between her eyebrows that appeared whenever she concentrated. Her hair kept falling forward, and she kept tucking it behind her ear only to have it slip free again.
This. I wantedthis. The morning chaos with stubborn goats and nosy chickens. Making cheese in a kitchen that smelled like fresh milk and lavender soap. Rosie's hand on my arm as she pointed to the thermometer, telling me we needed to stir clockwise, not counterclockwise, because Walt swore it made a difference.
I'd spent years coming home to an empty house. Heating up whatever was left in the fridge. Falling asleep on the couch with my phone in hand, waiting for the next emergency call. Convincing myself that was enough. That work was enough. That I didn't need anything else.
But this? Standing in Rosie's kitchen, watching her fuss over cheese while she told me about how General Cluckington had chased Chip around the yard last week—this was better than every quiet night I'd ever spent alone.
“Cal?” Her voice pulled me back. “You're stirring too fast.”
“Sorry.” I slowed the wooden spoon.
She pressed closer, her hand covering mine to guide the rhythm. “Like this. Nice and easy.”
I could feel her warmth along my side, her shoulder tucked under my arm.
“Perfect,” she said softly.
Yeah.I thought.It really is.
ChapterNineteen
Rosalie
I might be gettingthe hang of this.
I dumped another scoop of grain into Buddy's feed bucket, watching him immediately stick his nose in with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been waiting all day for this exact moment.
“You know what, Buddy?” I leaned against the fence rail. “I foundthreesecret egg spots today. Three.”
Buddy kept eating, completely unbothered by my revelation.
“The one behind the hay bales? Genius. I'll give them that.” I scratched behind his ears. “But the nest in the old bucket? That one's weird.”
He lifted his head long enough to give me a look that clearly saidare you done talking?
“Right, sorry. Important eating time.” I patted his neck, glancing back toward the garden.
The tomato plants werethriving. The zucchini had exploded, their broad leaves claiming more territory every day. The lettuce was coming in so fast I could barely keep up with it. The flower beds were bursting with color—bright orange zinnias, purple dahlias, cheerful yellow sunflowers that made the whole farm look like something out of a magazine.
And the goats.The goats.Snickers hadn't escaped in four days.Four whole days.Some kind of record.
I grabbed the empty grain bucket and headed back toward the barn, taking in the farm with fresh eyes. When Walt left, this place had felt like one giant disaster waiting to happen. Every system seemed designed to fail at the worst possible moment. The animals had been mysterious creatures with unknowable needs, and I'd been terrified I'd wake up one morning to find everything had gone catastrophically wrong overnight.
Now? I'd cracked the secret codes that made farm life click into place.
