Page 27 of The Reason I Married Him
“I could not agree more. Let’s push everything leading up until now behind us and move forward. Why don’t you give me a tour of the farm, and we can see where I can make corrections?”
Corrections? Oh, the freaking arrogance.
Don’t punch him, Aubree.
It won’t do you any good.
It will only make things worse.
Maybe if you just show him the farm, he’ll see that everything is fine, that no one needs his suggestions, and he can go back to life with his keyboard and creepy stories.
Tacking on a smile that both of us know is fake, I say, “Sounds lovely.” I start the engine and press my foot to the gas pedal, shooting him back in his seat and causing him to fumble to find something to grab onto.
“Jesus, warn a guy.” He straightens up and adjusts himself.
That was worth it.
Hiding my smile, I bring him around the barn and to an abrupt stop in front of the future chicken coop. He flies forward and back against his seat again, looking like a floppy noodle rather than a man with working muscles. “This is where we’re going to house our chickens. It’s an addition we planned for this year. It will bring in some income and?—”
“Are you afraid your chickens will die?”
I turn toward him. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Aren’t you aware that potatoes are toxic to chickens?”
Uh . . . no.
I was not aware of that, but to hell if I’m going to admit such a thing to him.
“Yes, quite aware,” I say, lying right through my teeth.
He glances around the ground in front of us, noticing all the scattered potatoes dropped during transport. “Well, there are a lot of potatoes around. Chickens will try to eat them, and then boom, your egg layers are dead. Not only would that be sad but also a huge waste of money.”
“First of all, the chickens won’t be fed potatoes. If you want, we can put up a sign that says no potatoes. And second of all, the chickens will be in the coop. Therefore, they won’t be exposed to the potatoes.”
“You’re not going to let them roam?” he asks. “Free range organic is all the rage.”
“So are coyotes, and they like chickens. We’re not about to let the chickens run free so they can gnaw on some potatoes and drop dead only to be scooped up by a coyote.”
“Seems like a death wish, yes, but have you thought about how the chickens might feel about being trapped in a coop day in and day out?”
“Uh, it’s a giant coop,” I say. Once again, my irritation is clear through my tone. “There will be plenty of room for them to run around. There will be grass and beds and things for them to climb. It will be the mansion of all chicken coops.”
“Oh, if that’s the case. Great idea.” He smiles.
My nostrils flare.
He picks up my coffee cup.
I stare at him as if he’s lost his mind.
He brings the cup to his lips.
Before I can stop myself, I punch the cup right out of his hand, sending it to the ground on the other side of the four-by-four.
Quietly, he looks down at what I can only assume is spilled coffee and then back up at me.
After a few silent seconds, he asks, “Was that necessary?”
