Working at Merrywood Farms is a highlight of my week. My advisor is friends with the owner, and recommended me when a position opened up during my summer semester between freshman and sophomore year. I have a few rotating shifts during the week and come in on the weekends for extra help.
The farm is run by a therapist offering a variety of activities and services with their mostly rescued animal residents. Some of it is geared toward mental health well-being, but they also provide animal-assisted therapies that I get to observe for my degree. I do a bit of everything for the farm, often working with the horses.
This afternoon, it’s a goat yoga session with my new co-worker that started here last month. Hana Yoo is a freshman performing arts major and way better at leading yoga classes with her lithe dancer build than I am. I love hanging out with the goats, though. Like our guests, I spend sessions cuddling the cute little kids that run around freely during the class rather than bending myself into a pretzel the way Hana excels at.
“And…deep breath out,” Hana says serenely from her mat at the front of the pavilion. “Namaste. Great job, everyone. That’s it for today’s session. We hope you had fun!”
Right on cue, one of the goats yells as it headbutts her, making the group break out in laughter. We wrangle the goats and end the class with some group photos. Once the book club that arranged the session files out, we work together to return the goats to their paddock before finishing our shift for the day.
“Great work, ladies. Thank you,” our boss says when we pass her walking through the grounds. “See you tomorrow!”
“Have a good night, Marnie.” I wave.
“Want to go for a trail ride?” Hana asks when we reach the stable.
Prince pokes his head out of his stall, ears swiveling to me. He’s my favorite horse here for his friendship with the donkeys and his penchant for breaking into the hay shed to help himself. I stop to give him some love.
“I wish I could. I promised Reagan I’d get groceries on my way home.”
It’s my turn. We’ve split the groceries between us since we first started rooming together freshman year.
“No worries. Next time?”
“Definitely.” I laugh when Prince bumps his soft nose against the top of my head. “I haven’t had the chance to ride in forever.”
It always reminds me of Grandpa. He taught me to ride on his lazy old mare as soon as he thought I was old enough after I begged him. We used to saddle up and circle the pasture where cows grazed when the dairy farm was operational.
The nostalgic memory makes my eyes sting. Even if he makes a full recovery, Grandpa likely won’t be able to ride a horse with me ever again.
Clearing my burning throat, I get my things and go. The drive to the grocery store is short. In the small town of Heston Lake, everything is nearby. Normally I walk to and from work, but on shopping days I borrow Reagan’s car.
I wander the store with my thoughts a million miles away, plucking our staples off the shelves without paying much attention. A familiar laugh breaks me out of the trance with a jolt. I hesitate at the end of the aisle.
Easton’s here. He’s filling a shopping cart with another guy our age with a shadow of dark scruff on his jaw and a backwards cap. The two of them joke around while they grab three large bags of pizza rolls from the freezer.
Tell me why my stomach dips like I’m excited to see him? Because I’m not. I can’t be.
Have the athletes at this college always been so hard to escape? How did we go the last two years sharing this campus without meeting, yet now I can’t seem to avoid him?
I haven’t seen him since he bought my coffee a week ago. It’s Friday again, shouldn’t he be at the arena playing? I purse my lips side to side, then check the game schedule. They’re off tonight after playing Sunday and Tuesday earlier in the week.
I could turn around and sneak away before they notice me. I should, but I don’t.
“Hockey stars shop for their own groceries? They’re just like us,” I announce sarcastically to the otherwise empty aisle.
Easton freezes, then whips around so fast he nearly knocks his friend over. I hide a laugh behind a hand, giving them a small wave.
“Maya. Hi.” His face splits in a handsome grin that makes my heartbeat falter.
“Hey.” The other guy—probably a teammate—nods in greeting, adjusting his backwards cap. “You were at The Landmark the other night. Dancing, right?”
I huff in amusement. “That’s me. Is there anyone who didn’t see that go down?”
“You were hard to miss.” He glances at Easton. “I’m Cameron.”
“Go and get the, uh, chips.” Easton nudges his friend, shoving him more insistently when the guy snorts. “Yeah. Go, Reeves. I’ll catch up with you.”
“Uh huh.” Cameron smirks, looking between us. “Nice to meet you, Maya. See you around.”
“Sure.”
“Reeves.” Easton frowns, shifting closer to me to block me from his friend’s line of sight.
I hate to admit it, but the hint of jealousy is a good look on him. His jawline becomes more defined when he locks it and those thick brows flatten, giving him a sense of ruggedness that stokes an ember of heat within my core.
With our height difference, it’s easy for him to become my shield.
“Relax, dude. I’m going,” Cameron says through his poorly hidden snickering.
Easton’s features clear once he moves down the aisle to leave us alone. He erases the small distance between us. It makes the wide grocery aisle seem more intimate.
“Hi.”
The corners of my eyes crinkle. “You said that already.”
“Right. Shit.” He clears his throat, attention sweeping over me appreciatively. “I’m glad I ran into you. Any day I see you becomes a good one. How was your weekend?”
He’s got lines. Better ones than Johnny’s. My ex’s idea of romance was only talking about himself and trying to hook up at every opportunity.
“It was good. I had work, then kept my roommate company while she worked Saturday night. The Landmark was noticeably more chilled out without the hockey team.”
“We got back late on Sunday. That away game was in Vermont, then we had an exhibition game.” He pauses, pride gleaming in his eyes. “We won. Crushed both of them, actually. It was a shutout.”
“Good job.”
I know Heston won, though I don’t admit it to him that I looked up the final score on my phone. I checked out the highlights over a basket of fries while Reagan took the small stage to belt out covers for a twenty minute set.
There was a photo of Easton in action with the puck that I stared at for longer than I care to admit. Reagan caught me scrolling through the team’s official social media, watching a video of Easton shaking out his damp, messy hair before putting his helmet on. All she had to ask was how many times I let the video loop before I regretted my curiosity.
“You were my good luck charm,” he murmurs.
“Shame that wasn’t the case against my brother’s team,” I tease.
“We’ll play another game against Elmwood before the end of the season. Things will go differently then.” He smirks, unaffected by my heckling. “Will you wish me luck again?”
“Do you need it?” I repeat the same words, though this time they don’t sound jokingly skeptical.
He dips his head, bringing his face almost near enough to kiss me. “Maybe not, but I want it. That’s what matters.”
My breath hitches. He always finds a way to catch me off guard, while also making me relax around him. It’s strange.
Typically, guys like Easton set me on edge. I keep waiting to feel that when I’m around him, and yet…
And yet.
“So…” He scans my face and his throat bobs. “That party is tonight.”
I know what’s coming. I really shouldn’t have risked making the same mistake by challenging Easton to try to win me over because part of me wants to say yes to see what happens.
“Is it?” I reply with a neutral tone.
There’s something sweet about the way his brows pull together in confusion every time I respond differently to how he expects. Too bad for him—I’m not someone willing to throw myself at hockey players, no matter how hot and tempting he is.
He coughs out a laugh and regroups, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he retreats a step.
“Yeah. You know how to get there? Actually, let me give you a ride. I’ll pick you up at, say, seven?”
Smooth. Skipping over inviting me again and acting like I’ve already said yes. Cuts out the chance of rejection. I didn’t miss the offer to pick me up so he knows where I live, either.
“Ohh, close, but no cigar, captain.” I pat his arm and pout. “You botched it when you left it open as a question for me to decide. Have fun.”
He takes my hand, twining our fingers together. It steals my breath when his blue eyes flare with heat and his voice lowers to be smoky and inviting. “We will, baby.”
It takes effort to pull free of his warm grasp. The way his big hand encompasses mine is strangely comforting, making it difficult to remember why I need to say no.
“Without me.”
Easton heaves a sigh, broad shoulders sagging and the corners of his mouth turning down. Oh god, his sad puppy eyes will be the death of me. It was difficult enough not to cave to them last week at the donut truck.
Be strong, girl.
I know his type. He’s into me now because I’m not easy. I present a challenge to conquer. But as soon as I open up to let him in and he gets what he wants? Bam, he’s moving on and I’m left with a wounded heart and the unpleasant reminder that I shouldn’t fall for guys like him.
Drawing a fortifying breath, I square my shoulders and lift my chin. I’m ready to give him a firmer refusal to end this little game here and now before it goes beyond my control when he nods slowly, ruffling his messy brown hair.
“Okay. Sorry for pushing you. I don’t want to do that at all.” He offers a rueful tilt of his head, eyes bouncing between mine. “I’m not that guy. You just have me ready to do anything, even if it takes getting on my knees to beg for you to give me a shot.”
My shoulders fall. Now he’s the one confusing me with unexpected behavior. And distracting ideas of him on his knees for me. That mental image is—
I force out a breath. “I—No. It’s fine. If you really overstepped, I’d tell you and shut it down.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “I like that about you. Not afraid to tell it like it is.”
There isn’t one hint of bullshit in his tone. Only honesty.
My cheeks flush. I swallow thickly, ducking my head.
“If you do change your mind, I can give you my number. I’ll come get you. Even if the party is over. I mean, you can have it for whatever you want—to talk, to pretend it doesn’t exist in your contacts, to call me in as your cavalry the next time you’re dancing on the bar and some guy gives you shit.” He chuckles at the last one. “It’s up to you.”
I stare at him for a beat. Before I decide, Cameron clears his throat as he approaches.
“Sorry to interrupt. E, we’ve gotta go before the guys get back. Noah keeps texting me SOS. Theo’s smart, he’s going to figure out this is a surprise for his birthday.” He throws an arm around Easton’s shoulders to steer him away. “Crashed and burned, man. What happened?”
“I keep asking myself,” Easton mutters. “Doesn’t make any sense.”
They disappear around the corner at the end of the aisle with Easton’s teammate laughing.
I’m lucky Cameron interrupted us when he did. If he hadn’t, I might’ve gone against my own rules and accepted Easton’s number.
