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“Machines, you say?”
“Yep.”
Showing a little distress, Ellister rubs his temple. “I didn’t realize how complicated the process is.”
Good. Maybe I’m scaring him away. I do feel a bit guilty about that, because if my dad really needs to sell the farm and we have a buyer, I should be talking this place up.
But whoever takes over, they need to understand how much work it is. If they’re going to keep the farm running, they’re going to be putting in a lot of hours.
“Although this is called a maple farm,” I continue, “that’s just a small portion of what we actually do. Staying open year-round isn’t easy. That’s why we make honey, have the orchards, the bakery, and the weekend activities. On top of that, it’s not just about harvesting, producing, and running the shop. Behind the scenes, there’s legal stuff involved, like permits, zoning, business insurance, inspections from the Health Department, and taxes.”
Ellister has suddenly become mute.
Since I’m already on a roll, I keep going. “December is usually a busy month for us, because people come from all over to chop down their own Christmas tree. It’s a BYOA situation—bring your own ax. Don’t worry, we make everyone sign a waiver so we’re not liable if someone cuts off their own toes. And of course, we offer freshly cut trees as an easier option. But you’d be surprised how many people want to DIY.”
“DIY?”
“Do it yourself.”
“Why would they want to do that when someone else could do it for them?”
“Sense of accomplishment? Bragging rights at the holidays?”
With an air of snobbishness, Ellister sniffs. “I would never boast over doing more work than I had to. That’s just… nonsensical.”
I snicker. The man does have a point.
“I don’t really care about their reasons as long as they spend money, and you and your boss shouldn’t either. Because while people are here to get their tree, they buy food in the shop when they work up an appetite. They stop in for a cup of hot chocolate and a piece of pie, and once they see all the goods we have for sale, they make last-minute holiday purchases.”
“How clever, luring them in,” Ellister comments with admiration.
“Then there are our animals. They do their part, too. We sell the extra eggs from the chickens. Milk from the goats. And the horses do the hayrack rides in the fall and the holiday carriage rides we offer on the weekends in the winter. The kittens are a huge attraction, too, and that was purely accidental.”
“Kittens?”
I nod. “People dump their unwanted cats here sometimes. The poor, terrified things hide out in the barn or one of the outbuildings, and by the time we discover them, they’re usually knocked up. Whether they came that way or they bred with each other, it’s anyone’s guess. Hence, the kittens. It’s a happy accident though, because kids love to come see them, and people tend to get attached, which works out because they can apply for adoption. We don’t make money on them, but like I said, they bring people here.”
“I’m truly impressed, Hannah,” Ellister says sincerely. “You have an amazing establishment.”
“So you can see why I’m hesitant to part with it.”
“Yes. I never knew a place like this could exist. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have come up with all these ideas.”
His compliment warms me from the inside out. I can tell he means it, and there’s even a hint of whimsical longing in his voice.
I know almost nothing about this man, but Ellister has an obvious sadness about him. If I remove my own emotions from the situation, putting aside lust or anger, I see a person with a lot of inner turmoil.
From the hints I’ve gotten about his upbringing, it sounds like he hasn’t had an easy life. He isn’t as lucky as I’ve been.
I don’t think he wants to take my home away. Last night, in the midst of throwing myself at him, he said he didn’t want to hurt me, and I’m positive he meant that. I just didn’t understand what he was referring to at the time; I couldn’t have known about his intentions to buy the farm, and I didn’t exactly give him time to tell me before trying suck his lips off.
I’ve made a lot of assumptions about Ellister, but one thing I didn’t do is give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s not the bad guy in this situation. He’s just the messenger, and I’ve been shooting him with my verbal barbs far too much.
“Hey,” I say softly, drawing his conflicted eyes to mine. “Can we have a truce?”
“I didn’t know we were at war.”
“I mean it. I don’t want to be mad at you anymore. You don’t deserve it.”
