9. Ethan

We finally get a warm day—warmfor February, anyway—I decide it's time I put Baabara to work. In a sense.

I grab a shovel and a wheelbarrow and head over to her domain to gather up a winter's worth of sheep dung to work into the new berry patch. Diego suggested I get some goat crap, too, but I'd have to call Alex for that and I'm not crossing that bridge just yet.

I'm unsurprised when Lia makes her way up the lane and rests her hands on the fence. Because of course the next time I see her after making a drunken fool of myself, I'm ankle deep in ungulate crap.

"Hey there." She doesn't look angry. Her tone suggests she's nervous, though. I plop a final load of shit in the barrow and exit the pen.

"Morning, Lia." I feel like I should take off my cap or something, especially with her dressed so nice. Dark jeans hug the curve of her hips, and I can see the crisp white collar of her blouse peeking out from the black wool coat she has on. I shouldn't want to peel her out of those work clothes, but damn it, I can barely rein myself in. Why is this look so attractive on her? She looks every bit the banker she became. If banker is even the right word.

"Can we talk?" She pats the bag around her shoulder. "I've got some paperwork stuff to go over with you."

I nod and squint at the main house. There's no way I can go in there after the work I've been doing this morning. Gran would have my hide if I dragged shit into her kitchen, even if it is Baabara's. "We can sit in my place if you don't mind walking a bit." She flicks her chin the smallest bit in assent, and I lead the way. Lia falls in step beside me, her sensible boots the lone indicator that she knows how to be on an active farm. I'm aware of every sway of my arm, careful not to let my hand brush against hers, worried that if I touch her, I'll burst into flames.

We reach my porch, and she steps into the boot brush without being told. I smile as she scrapes her soles clean and leans against my house to remove the boots before we head inside. And then I realize that Lia Thorne is going to be inside my house. Her scent is going to linger there. I'll see echoes of her everywhere, for months afterward. I'm sure of it.

I swallow the dread and point her toward my tiny table. "Let me turn the heat up quick."

She shakes her head. "Don't worry about it, Ethan." She pats the table. "Have a seat." And then she blushes. "I shouldn't boss you around in your own house. I'm sorry." Lia looks around, taking in the sparse cabin. I have what I need here, but not much else. A small heap of Baabara blankets, knit by Gran, is my closest thing to homey decorations. "When did your family have this built? I don't remember a cabin here before."

I shake my head. "It wasn't. I built it after high school." After you left, I don't tell her. When I was moping around so miserably that Grandad insisted I find a project to fill my empty hands and distract my troubled mind.

"You built it? Yourself?" Her eyes widen, taking in the building with new perspective.

I shrug. "I had help with the plumbing. And the electric. Never mess with electricity if you're not trained."

"Mm. Thanks for the tip." She sighs and pulls a stack of papers from her bag, placing them on the table between us. It's a tiny space, never meant for more than one. I have two chairs but only because Gran insisted I keep an extra in my home for a visitor. More often than not, that chair holds my feet when I put them up in the evening. I try not to think about how nice Lia looks sitting in it, sun streaming in the window and sparking the gold strands mixed into her dark hair.

"Right. So, am I correct that you've started work on the organic strawberries? I'm working on this grant application and need to ask some questions."

"There's no way in hell we're getting certified organic. Too expensive."

"Really?" She frowns at her forms.

"It would take years, Lia. They go over your land with a magnifying glass, basically. I never agreed to organic. Nope."

Lia bites her lip and scratches notes across the paper. "But you're not using pesticides?"

I shrug. "I have no specific plans to, not yet anyhow. We have to figure out if the plants will weather the spring rains first."

She asks me questions about the estimated yield. I tell her where I plan to let visitors park their cars. She lists off a host of gadgets from point-of-sale machines to digital scales and I start to sweat despite the chilly temperature I keep inside my house. Finally noting my distress, Lia says, "We don't have to finish this today. We've got the shell of the budget and project narrative. This is good progress." She smiles and I forget everything I was just worked up about. How does her face transform like that, from perfect into supernaturally gorgeous?

One small curve of those rosy lips has me forgetting my name, forgetting the hard years. Just plain hard. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "I should finish with Baabara's crap while the light is good."

Lia laughs. "I wondered what your plans were for all that. How will you spread the … substance?"

I frown at her question. "With a shovel. I've only got a few wheelbarrows full of turds to go around. I still need to source something for the remaining acres."

"Can I help?" I don't respond at first because I'm certain I hallucinated her asking me if she could participate in spreading manure by hand. "Please? I'm sort of an expert on poop at this point, and I think it could help inspire me for the grant application."

"You don't need to beg me to spread shit, Lia." I look her over. "You're gonna need gloves, though." Beaming, she claps her hands and heads for the door, leaving her bag on my table and rummaging in her coat pocket for a pair of mittens. "Not that kind of gloves." I shake my head. "Come on."

We walk to the barn, where I get her outfitted in a leather apron--I have to help her tie it--and a pair of the smallest work gloves I can find. They must have been from when I was a kid, and I suppose I'm grateful Grandad never threw anything away. What are the chances Gran wouldn't have repurposed these into a fly swatter or something?

"I know I shouldn't treat this like an adventure, but it is, a little bit." Lia keeps pace with me as I push the wheelbarrow toward the new strawberry patch. "I feel better than I have in months."

"I'm glad you're feeling good."

Lia winces. "I hope that didn't come off like I'm celebrating your loss or something. I just meant that?—"

"I know what you meant. And if being here helps your disease, or whatever you said it's called, then I'm glad for it. Here, you can shovel the first scoop."

I point to indicate the first row of soil we're going to fertilize, and Lia gleefully flings a shovelful of Baabara scat. "You have no idea how much time I spend thinking about poop."

"You're right." I shake the handles of the wheelbarrow to loosen up our load. "I have no idea."

"Well, it's a lot. You know, I always was a big pooper."

I laugh. "I do recall you were regular." I can't believe I'm standing in the sunshine spreading stool with the woman who broke my heart, talking about crap.

"A lot of days, all I do is think about, document, and discuss doodie. I'm serious." She rests a hand on her stomach, getting dirt on the apron I'm glad I gave her to protect her nice coat. "I know where every bathroom is all the time. It's like how a CIA agent always knows where the exits are. And I keep a poop journal. There's even an app for it."

I nod at this. "Farmers have that, too. I call it my dung diary. You know, for the fertilizer…" I drift off because Lia is laughing so hard she drops the shovel.

"Dung diary! Oh, god, Ethan. I'm dying." She pulls off a glove and wipes at her eyes, where she's tearing up from laughing so hard. She laughs so long and so loud that I chuckle at the sight of her. And then I'm laughing, too.

And then she leans back to laugh harder and slips in a plop of Baabara BM and lands on her back in the mud. I freeze, wondering if she hurt herself or if she's horrified or if that was the final straw for Bedd Fellows Farm. But Lia laughs even harder, deep rattling guffaws.

I squat down beside her, plucking the shovel from her side and leaning it against the barrow. "You gonna make it?"

"I wasn't so sure there for a while, Ethan." Her words are punctuated by breathy, lingering laughs.

The sound of a car horn draws my attention toward the lane, and I hold a hand up to shield the sun, seeing Colleen's car. It must be late afternoon if she's heading home from school. She skids to a stop and slides down her window. "What in the hell are you two doing out here?" She peers up as much as the seatbelt will let her. "Is that poop?"

Lia and I start laughing all over again. I pull her to her feet as Colleen groans in disgust and speeds toward the house.