Page 51 of Good Directions

“Still,”—I take her hand again, loving the softness of her skin next to mine—“this is where it all started. Well, not all. When Augustus Hayes, our ancestor who had made all his money building rifles for the Confederates during the Civil War, married Rose Anton, her family was already in agriculture. But they were in peanuts. Anton House, very aptly named since it’s where I live now, is a few miles thataway, surrounded by peanut fields.”

I gesture over in the direction of my place, keeping my focus on her rather than the details of where I live.

“Where is this grove in relation to the others?”

“The main groves are a couple of miles down the street. This is part of the Hayes estate, which is what Magnolia Manor sits on. So actually,”—I place my hands on her shoulders, turning her about ninety degrees—“just over that hill and down a bit is the house. Then up to the left is Gus’s cottage. To the right is Hayes House, the monstrosity that Augustus built right after the war, that Auggie converted into employee housing, and then on the complete other side of the property is the very original home of the Hayes family and the barn that we turned into the bunkhouse.”

“Wow.”

Silence overtakes us, the movement of nature the only thing filling the air. Shit…I killed the mood. Too much history. No one wants to be word vomited at with the history of the Hayes family estate.

I need to save this.

“Sit,” I say, panicking. I pull out the blanket I shoved into the basket, fumbling as I try to lay it onto the ground one-handed. Smooth, Anton, real smooth. “I brought us lunch. Dolly said you liked the BLT, so I grabbed us a couple of those.”

“Her BLT might be the best one I’ve ever had.”

The smile I get is the perfect reward. It’s easy, happy, and bright. Fuck, does it light me up like a pinball machine. Whatever I need to do to earn more of those, I will.

I kneel down to unload the basket, then think better of it. Popping back up to my feet, I run over to one of the trees, plucking two peaches straight from the branch.

“Complete with fresh peaches!” I toss one up, catching it and then taking a bite. “Although, these are still kinda hard.”

“I actually like it hard.”

Errr…what?!

Sawyer says it so straight-faced at first I’m not sure I hear her right. But there’s no mistaking it.

She went there.

I smirk, unable to help myself. Because that’s what she said. Literally.

“Do you now?” I wink, sinking back down onto the blanket. “Good to know.”

It takes her a second, but as soon as it hits her, the daggers are back.

“Seriously? Why do you do that?”

I laugh, unable to help myself. Only, she’s not laughing with me. Shit.

“Sorry.” I straighten myself out. “Sorry, teasing and pushing buttons is my go-to.”

“Why?”

Her question is so earnest, so heartfelt, it hits me right in the gut. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before. It’s something everyone knows about me. Something they’ve always just accepted about me. But never asked why.

“Just who I am.” I lift a shoulder, as if that simple answer will be enough. I know it won’t be though. “In my family, each of us has a very specific role, and that’s mine.”

Sawyer nods, understanding in her eyes. “I get that; my siblings and I are our own personalities too, but⁠—”

“But you’re not one of seven,” I tell her, unpacking the rest of the basket. I hand her a sandwich, and she smiles, lighting me up inside all over again as she mouths thank you. “When you’re in that big of a group, you have to do something to make yourself stand out, especially when you’re in the middle. Hux got tapped to be actual middle child, so the rest of us middles had to find a way to be seen. This is what came naturally.”

“So you just go around pushing everyone’s buttons?” she asks, taking a bite of her BLT.

“I got ten bucks that says you go around telling your siblings how to live their lives,” I counter, breaking off a piece of bacon sticking out from the side of my sandwich.

Sawyer purses her lips, looking away, then right back at me. “How dare you.”