Chapter 9

When I was a kid,the early summer was like a caterpillar in its cocoon, slowly, slowly emerging. Now, it's flying by like a butterfly. Part of me worries about when it finally flies away.

In June alone, Blue learned to ride a bike but is still working out the wobbles. She's a natural on skates and has a new best friend named Meg—the Nebraska Knights' team captain's daughter. Baloo is in heaven at the farm...and I am too.

Long ago, I was Little Miss Rebel Girl. Now, I'm a cookies and milk food truck vendor. Redd was the charming bad boy and followed it up with being a force to be reckoned with on the ice. But around Blue, he seems to have a softer side. I assumed that our roles were locked in. Turns out people change.

Recently, he took it upon himself to fix the screen door, which may have had a selfish motivation behind it since mosquitos were sneaking in. But he also stopped a leaky faucet and has been mowing the lawn which is generous if you ask me. Not to mention he repaired Pippy's transmission—apparently, it was a low fluid issue.

We've also been doing things for each other. It was by chance and circumstance at first, in some ways redeeming our high school hatred.

It makes me feel vulnerable, but also cared for—something I've never let anyone do for me in my adult life. Now that it's nearly July, I'm worried that I'm getting too used to the sweet acts of kindness.

I have to admit that having Redd here isn't the worst, and Blue is a big help with the cows and a pleasant companion. She's a sweet kid and if spending time together here on the farm helps her in some way, given the bits I've learned about her life until now, I'm here for it. For example, she could count on one hand the number of animals she'd seen in real life: cats, dogs, rats, random birds, and cockroaches—not sure if they count though.

Seated at the kitchen table, I look up at the clock on the ancient stove and rub my temples. It's well past midnight and I shouldn't still be awake. But I need to focus and DO NOT need the specimen of a man standing in the cased opening to the hallway.

Redd, hair tousled and face sleepy, rubs his eyes as if surprised to see me.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, ready to warm some milk.

"No, I was sleeping like a log, dreaming about Renault from the Warriors finally getting a penalty for icing the puck—his main move against me—but Blue woke up with a nightmare."

It's happened a few times now. "Is she okay?"

"Like before, she probably won't even remember it tomorrow, but..." He trails off, the corners of his eyes pinched, as if he wants to confess that his heart hurts for the previous life the sister he didn't know he had until recently lived but can't form the words.

"You're doing a wonderful thing, Redd. Don't lose sight of that."

"But is it enough? Doesn't she need a mother too?" He slouches into a chair and holds his head in his hands.

Those are big shoes to fill and I wonder if Redd has had a woman in his life lately. Then again, as far as I know, he's always had commitment issues.

He looks up at me with bleary blue eyes. "Do you have any idea what my life was like until last month? It was all me, all the time. Welcome to the Redd show, starring Redd. It never occurred to me to think about other people, especially not about what parents do for their kids. Do you know what helped her get back to sleep the other night?"

I shake my head, expecting he'll tell me.

"Blue had me sing the National Anthem. She said she wants to perform it someday at a sports event." He frowns and shrugs. "Where did that idea come from? She'd never seen a horse until two weeks ago. How do parents do it?" Exhaustion fills his voice, but something else too.

"You're James Reddford. You'll figure it out," I say, squeezing his forearm. I note how firm his muscles are. His skin is warm. My fingers hum electric like I shoved my entire hand into the wall outlet.

"Yeah, but being a dad wasn't on my radar, and if I were to have a kid, I'd have imagined a woman would've played some role." His lips quirk.

We both chuckle.

"That's often the case."

"So, what do I do?" His exhale is plaintive as if I somehow have the answers.

"Exactly what you've been doing. Like how patient and protective you were when she was learning how to ride the bike. The support and enthusiasm when she skates. Getting up at night when necessary. Making sure she eats her broccoli."

"Once she takes a bite, she remembers she loves it, but mostly that's because you add plenty of butter and cheese."

I pinch my fingers together. "Just a pat."

"I'm figuring it out as I go along."

"And doing a great job. Give yourself some credit. There isn't a manual for a big brother getting custody of his six-year-old sister and taking on all of this."

"Our father will be in prison for the rest of his life." I recall him mentioning that he's in his early sixties.

"That's rough. Don't hate me for saying this, but you're giving her the life he couldn't. In a way, that's a gift, a blessing for you both." I don't know how to frame exactly what I want to say but try, anyway. "So far, from what I can see, you both seem better for the relationship you're building—the confidence and love you're providing for each other is pretty special."

Redd looks up, gaze locking on mine. Instead of exhaustion, I see something else there—appreciation, authenticity, maturity—qualities I'd never have attributed to him. But there's more, a spark too.

"When did you get so sweet, Whitney?"

My expression isn't sure what to do—frown, smile—my cheeks flush and my eyes brighten. It's like I'm short-circuiting.

Redd wears a grin I'm afraid I could get used to.

"Don't get used to it," I say as much to myself as to him. It's the kind of snarky, quippy thing Wild Whit would've said and I instantly regret it.

"Why not?" he asks.

I shrug. "Not sure."

"Too bad. I am getting used to it and I like it. I like you as a matter of fact."

My lips rebel—though I guess that's been my M.O. for a long time. A grin forms and Redd's joins the party.

"I don't hate you," I manage to say.

"That's a start. So, what do I do?"

"About Blue?" I ask, wondering if he heard what I said before or if he needs more encouragement.

"No, about us?"

My expression falls, drops into a mutation of shock and delight. "About us?" I stammer.

"Yeah. You and me." He wags his finger between us.

The full-body rebellion continues. The shrug I mean to make is more like a twitch as if I'm doing everything in my power not to throw myself into Redd's arms.

He says, "You're smiling. You know what I'm talking about."

"I doughhh—" Let me spell this out for you: I'm not talking about cookie dough, though I had been thinking about it up until Redd joined me for this late-night kitchen chat. But my lips form a perfect circle as if caught between saying the words I do and I don't, landing somewhere in Doughland. I guess that's better than Dorkdom because that's how I feel—like a big dumb dork.

But the truth is, I do, as in I'm aware of the pleasant tension between us. We extend then retract our hands as if debating the wisdom of physical contact. Our gazes float together and then just as quickly we avert our eyes in case we burst into flames.

I don't want to admit it. So, dough, or in this case, Doh, like the cartoon dad on the show Redd and my brother used to watch. Meaning, Oops. I blew that one.

Redd sits back, amusement replacing his weariness. "Thanks for talking with me, by the way. What are you doing up this late?"

"Dough," I repeat.

Redd glances down at the notebook and recipe cards, then spins one toward himself and reads from the list in my notebook, "Chewie jalapeno corn cookie, sweet corn cookie skillet topped with melted butter, Cobbiton cookies."

"For the Cornament," I explain.

He nods, likely remembering the Cobbiton Corn Tournament well. "If I remember correctly, your grandmother won the Yellow Ribbon a few times."

"Her cookies were amazing. A-maiz-ing."

"Ha ha. But mine are mediocre."

"Not according to your two biggest fans."

"Blue and Mr. Gormely? He only likes my cookies because his wife is too busy to bake. If you don't remember, she's a long-necked neighbor, reporting on everyone's business."

"I wonder what she'd say about us."

"Is there much to say?"

Redd winces ever so slightly.

"I mean, so far this isn't a crime scene, so that's good, right?"

"Yeah. Great," Redd says, but his tone is flat.

Biting my lip, I say, "Coming back home, I sometimes slip into old patterns and who I was—the version of me I thought I'd outgrown. It's like everyone expects me to be Little Miss Rebel Girl. I can't blame them. I wasn't a model citizen. But?—"

"They're probably also wondering why I'm back here with a kid." He raises his eyebrows.

"How do I break out of it?" I ask, more to myself than Redd.

"One skate in front of the other. The only good piece of advice my father gave me was if I couldn't play nice, play hockey."

"Are you suggesting we start a club and not invite Mrs. Gormely?"

Redd chuckles.

Exhaling, I say, "Yeah. You're right. One skate in front of the other."

He pumps his fist in the air. "Ooh. Two points to Reddford. I'll take it."

I gently slug him in the arm, but before I can withdraw my fist, he takes my hand in his, which is much larger, rough from callouses, and so pleasantly warm. It's like the human embodiment of cookies and milk. I could just curl up with my hand in his and find comfort.

Redd holds a question in his eyes. My answer is not to pull away.

He gently unfurls my fingers and slides our palms together.

"Can we make a pact?" he asks.

"That depends."

"That we won't hate each other. That we will hold each other to a higher standard. Me, less selfish. You, less rebellious."

I contemplate this for a moment and then nod. "Sure. I can do that."

"Then it's a deal."

He squeezes my hand. I do the same. Neither one of us lets go. The pact consists of things we won't do, but I can't help but wonder what it means we will do to fill in those gaps. Redd tilts his head to the side as if he's wondering the same thing.

My anticipation for tomorrow just ratcheted up a few notches. But for now, we remain in the kitchen together, in peaceful silence with little more than the crickets chirping through the open window. Both our hearts beat out a rhythm that's less staccato and more melodious as if they're finally finding their way to each other.

Captain Whit's Log:Attempt number one of me being less rebellious and not reverting to how I was when I was a teenager when spending time with my family. Abject fail.

I love my parents, so I was happy to go to their house for a Sunday afternoon BBQ. Redd and Blue came along too, because, why not? Mom loves him and always says, The More the Merrier.

But my brother is coming and all my mother can talk about is how I have to find a boyfriend. I think the engaged couple is genuinely getting worried that my singleness is going to interfere with their nuptials. Thankfully, she's kept her quips about me being single between the two of us so far…but that probably won't last long.

While shucking corn, I stand my ground. "You're being unreasonable."

"Whit, you're missing out in life," Mom says.

"And you think forcing me to find a boyfriend before my brother's wedding day is a solution? No, it's madness, preposterous, borderline blackmail." I snort in exclamation.

Thankfully, Redd and Blue are out of earshot, searching for a missing cornhole beanbag.

If they had heard, I'd say, No, folks. This is my real life. The adult woman whose home you currently live in has a meddling mother who is telling her son he can't get married unless I find a boyfriend.

When Mom insists that it's for my own good, I watch a fantasy play out where Redd swoops in like a scene straight out of a heartwarming Hallmark movie and declares that we've been secretly dating for a month.

Confession: I occasionally watch those kinds of movies. Just once in a while. Not weekly or anything. Not even a few times a week.

I am a liar!

After the romance fails in Chicago, I fell in love with those movies. But no one knows that—especially not the men who I'd lead in board meetings. Moreover, not a soul can ever find out I just entertained such a wild fake dating scenario with James Reddford. That's bonkers.

Though, he is an amazing big brother-dad, has amazing forearms, and his smile is pretty amazing when it's directed at me. He's amazing to the third degree.

I recall his a-maiz-ing comment and giggle to myself.

Clancy and Kathleen get a hero's welcome with their picture-perfect romance when they arrive. Mom fawns over them like they're the first and only engaged couple on the planet.

They're so cliché. I don't want to be a cliché.

But when I see Redd and Blue playing cornhole with them, and Clancy tackling his fiancée with tickles, making her smile brighter than the sun, maybe I want cliché.

This thought lingers with me while we sit down on the back deck to barbecue ribs, potato salad, and corn on the cob.

Perhaps I don't mind that Redd fixes my coffee every morning with extra cream and sugar even though I typically take it black.

Could be that I look forward to the little notes he sometimes leaves on the bathroom mirror with silly jokes.

Once, he commented on how he likes my freckles.

It's easy to talk to him, never mind that he's charming. We've spent hours on the farmhouse's porch chatting late into the night or gazing at the stars, content in each other's company.

I don't mind when he reminds me to moisturize my hands and sometimes applies the goop before I whisk out the door—all the baking and resulting dishes do a number on my skin.

He even bought me an apron from a local shop with cookies and milk on it. Blue wants one too.

Are he and I in a relationship and don't realize it?

I stumble as I enter the kitchen where Clancy is doing the after-dinner dishes.

He laughs because I nearly fell. "That's the floor. Those are your feet." He points like I'm a dufus and learning this crucial info for the first time. "Did you forget how to walk?"

"Ha ha. No, Ding Dong. I did not." But I did have a frightening thought about Redd and me, not that I'd tell either one of them.

"Glad you finally came to help me with the dishes. Cleaning up the kitchen was always our post-mealtime chore."

"Shouldn't Kathleen help too?"

"The soap dries her hands. She has eczema flares."

I roll my eyes, but in a way, it's sweet that he's thinking of her skin health. Could I want sweet too? Do I already have that?

While I dry a dish, a question bypasses my mental filter and flies off my lips. "Did Redd ever mention me or ask about me?"

Clancy's laughter in reply can likely be heard on the moon. "Why would he do that?"

I don't have an answer. Instead, more questions come to mind. What if Clancy put Redd up to woo me to make good on Mom's no-wedding threat?

If it were me, I'd have gotten married without their blessing. Or the old me would've done that. Now, I'm starting to see why Clancy's not putting up a big fuss. Yes, our parents are being irrational, but he's honoring them by being patient. Or he could just hit me over the head with the cast-iron skillet, bury me in the backyard, declare me missing, and not have to worry about the fact that I could potentially be the reason they have to postpone the wedding.

"Why are you wearing a murder face? Who do you want to kill?" my brother asks.

"Actually, I was thinking about my own demise." I eye the big skillet hanging on the wall, hoping he didn't get any bad ideas.

"You rarely look murder-y anymore, but there was a solid six months in high school that I slept with an air horn under my pillow in case you crept in at night, ready to suffocate me."

I chuckle, but the truth is I've been a lot happier lately. Partly it's because I left my soul-sucking job in the city and pursued my dream. I also spend a good portion of my day with cows—it's a highly underrated activity—but there's more.

Redd and his sister brought something else into my life that was lacking, I just can't quite put my finger on what it is.

"Murder face gone. Wistful expression as you stare into the middle distance locked in," I hear Clancy say as if far from my thoughts.

Maybe he should hit me over the head with the pan because I realize what had been missing and what I have now.

Love.

There is love in my life and not just the built-in Reid household love. The found family kind of love. I feel all kinds of love—the friendship and familial kind. But maybe the beginnings of the attraction-affectionate guy-gal romance kind too.

"I'm sorry mom is making trouble for you guys because of me," I say.

"Kathleen has been on the case and has a list of four potential suitors you can call."

I make angry eyebrows. "Clancy, do you realize how insane that sounds? I may no longer regularly wear murder face, but—" I'm not even going to dignify the possibility of calling potential suitors.

Just then Redd enters the kitchen. "There you are."

Clancy sees his living-breathing exit strategy and says, "Whit, finish doing the dishes. Redd, you ready for me to defeat you in cornhole?"

Redd blinks a few times as if registering a distraction from a mission, then his gaze lands on me. "Oh, uh, maybe in a few minutes. I came in here because I wanted to show Whit the chalk art Blue and I did.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Who else would want to see our rendition of Elsie, Bessie, Walnut, and Cinnamon in bikinis and sunbonnets?

Apparently, not his best friend.

As I strut out of the kitchen, sticking my tongue out at my brother and leaving him to finish the dishes, I have two thoughts:

Redd and I are friends again.

I imagine Clancy is not going to enjoy having to share.

For once, I'm the chosen one.

Does that make me petty? Sure.

But I'm not the one who routinely threw his sibling under the bus so he could hang out with his friends in high school. Not that I had many. But that was also my twin's fault.

I don't mind basking in the bad boy's glow for once. Though, I should know better than to get too comfortable. The hockey season begins soon and Redd has Blue to take care of, especially when she starts school in the fall.

As usual, I'll probably be the one left in the lurch.