“How long have you felt like this?”
It’s settled in slowly, like a fog rolling in off the water. Everything lately has felt … off … and I don’t know why. The blogging started as a hobby, something fun for me to do. I never intended to build a career out of it. Now though, I have everything I’ve ever wanted from a job. I’m successful, sought after.
And terribly lonely.
I feel disconnected, I guess. Muted. Far away from anything that feels real. The guilt kicks in and I avert my gaze to the tabletop.
Poor social media influencer, sad she has too many followers and not enough friends. I feel like an impostor. Like the worst kind of fraud.
“I’m lying to everyone. I post this content and I’m just—Josie, I’m just pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
Everything, I think. Everything, all of the time.
The owner of the empanada shop makes her way over to our table, a plate full of fried deliciousness in her hands. She sets it on the edge and shouts over her shoulder in Spanish, another loud, cackling laugh echoing through the space. My heart lifts. A little bit of real-life magic.
“I don’t want to post content,” I say to Josie, still distracted.
She pops a pastelito in her mouth. “Then don’t.”
“I’m tired of traveling.”
“Take a break.”
“I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for.”
“You won’t.”
“I feel like I’ve forgotten how to be happy,” I whisper, my most secret thought. The one that slips through my head like a wisp of smoke when I’m flat on my back and staring up at the ceiling of whichever hotel I’m staying in for the night, unable to sleep. Mind racing. Thoughts buzzing.
“Did this ever make you feel good?” Josie asks. “Before you exploded into internet stardom, I mean. Were you happy making videos?”
I was. Some of the very best memories I have are from wandering around with my dad’s old camera. I’d spend my Saturdays sitting on a bench at the farmer’s market and just listen to people talk. I lost some of that, I think. Somewhere along the way.
Josie reaches for a croqueta and studies me. “I think this is a good thing for you. Most people go through this. You want to take a step back and evaluate if this is still the right fit. I champion a little self-reflection.” She raises her croqueta in a little toast, knocks it against my forehead once. “Do you, baby girl.”
“You don’t think I’m being ridiculous?”
“I think you are being forty-five percent ridiculous. And that is primarily attributed to the way you’re talking about yourself. Nothing you have has happened by accident. You work hard and move at the speed of light. I think that’s the crux of your problem. You’ve been bee-bopping all around and haven’t found roots to dig in. Your cute little body is exhausted. Your brain, too.”
I reach for a croqueta and take a bite, salty flavor bursting on my tongue. “I’m happy when I’m eating these,” I mumble around a mouthful. Josie grins.
“Well, we could send you on a food tour.” She leans back in the booth with a satisfied sigh. She pats her belly once and twists her lips in thought. “Seriously though, when was the last time you felt like you weren’t doing a job? Where is the last place you felt happy?”
It comes to me instantly. Leaves beneath my boots. A cloudless sky as blue as a mountain lake. Dirt roads and a big red barn by the road. Rows and rows of trees, pine needles in my hair.
A stupid joke about strawberries on a sunny afternoon. A plate of zucchini bread on the table.
I feel myself settle, my shoulders rolling back with the first deep breath I’ve taken in what feels like months. “I think I know.”
She nods, a satisfied glint in her eye. “Then let’s start there.”
CHAPTER THREE
BECKETT
“Can I just say,” Jeremy Roughman leans up against the back of the tractor, sunlight beginning to wink over the horizon. I hear his voice and it’s a challenge for me not to turn around and go right back to my cabin on the edge of the property. “I’m real excited you decided to bring me on as an apprentice.”
I did not decide to bring him on as an apprentice. Sheriff Jones cornered me in the paper products aisle of the pharmacy and lightly threatened me with crosswalk duty for the elementary school until I agreed to take him on. Apparently, Jeremy can’t keep himself out of trouble for more than thirty-seven seconds and if Ms. Beatrice catches him making out with another girl in her alleyway, she’s likely to do something that requires jail time.
“I know his parents would be appreciative,” Dane had said, and I almost flung my body into the paper towel shelf. “He just needs a little direction.”
So here we are, giving direction. Dawn crawls across the sky in bright pink and burnished gold, a brilliant brushstroke of cloud through the center of it. I can still feel the bite of winter this early in the morning and I’m grateful for my thermal shirt and the cat curled up against my neck, dozing with her chin on my shoulder.
I glance up at Barney, perched in the driver’s seat of the tractor—his old, wide-brim hat pulled low over his eyes. He smirks at me around a mouthful of donut.
“Real excited, boss,” he says. He shoves fried dough and powdered sugar into his mouth. “Could hardly sleep last night on account of it.”
I roll my eyes and reach for the shovel propped up against the tire. For all his needling, Barney makes my job easier. He’s a walking encyclopedia of crops and soil, plant-eating diseases and … the 1990 Baltimore Orioles roster. I’ve got no use for the last bit, but the rest of it comes in handy. I’ve been working with him ever since I took over my dad’s shift at the produce farm almost two decades ago. When Stella recruited me and I gave my notice, he gave his, too. Patted me on the back and told me he couldn’t let me screw up a whole new farm by myself.
I hand the shovel to Jeremy and he grips it between thumb and forefinger, holding it away from his letterman jacket. I didn’t even realize they still hand those things out, but Inglewild has always felt a little frozen in time. Prancer echoes a plaintive meow right into my ear and I rub my knuckles over her soft head.
“We’re gonna chisel today,” I tell Jeremy.
“Dude, I can’t chisel something with a shovel,” Jeremy tries to hand it back to me. “I thought I’d like … advise on placement or something. Give you a fresh perspective on the aesthetics of the place.”
I summon my patience.
“The aesthetics of the place.”
He flips his hair back and tips his chin up. “Isn’t that why you brought me in?”
I did not … bring him in. I was conned in front of the paper towels. I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the side of the tractor. Prancer takes the opportunity to hop from my shoulder to the top of the cab, settling into the divot next to the seat. She likes to ride with Barney in the mornings and wander back home when she’s ready.
I do my best to ignore Barney shaking with silent laughter atop the tractor.
“What do you know about farming, Jeremy?”
He combs his hand through his hair and squints at the horizon. “I know a bit.”