Page 31 of The Reason I Married Him
“Yeah, the chicken—wait, what?” I ask, looking over at Echo.
“Oh yeah, I just assumed you assigned him that task. I went over there to grab wood for more bee boxes, and he was working on the coop. I was shocked with the progress he’d made.”
No.
There is no freaking way.
“You look angry,” she says.
I try.
I try to change my face into something neutral, but my eyebrows won’t work with me, nor will the frown I can feel pulling on my lips. This girl might explode.
“Just . . . annoyed,” I say, unable to hold it back.
I know I shouldn’t talk to an employee about this, but for the love of God, I know if I said something to Hattie or Ryland,they’d tell me he has the right to help around the farm. This is his property too.
But they don’t get it. This is supposed to be my project. I’m the one supposed to continue Cassidy’s legacy, not some thriller author who picked up a hammer for the first time today.
To be fair, I don’t know if that’s the case, but this man with his worldly views and talents . . . and connections. It’s frustrating.
And if you think I feel inferior and that makes me sound insecure, you’re correct.
Put yourself in my shoes. My courageous sister leaves me her farm, and I’m struggling to make sense of it all. My father told me when I was young that I would never do anything productive with my life. I want to prove him wrong. I want to make Cassidy proud, and then Wyatt walks in, not a stress on his shoulder or a worry in his chest, and he’s solving what feels like the Great Potato Famine of the 1840s.
“Why are you annoyed?” Echo asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I let out a deep sigh and stare down at my sandwich. “I wasn’t expecting Wyatt to visit. He sort of showed up out of nowhere last night, and I’m just . . . taken aback.”
“Ahh, I see.” Echo nods. “I think I know where you’re coming from. When I was working on my parents’ bee farm, I had a distant relative come into town. My parents knew about it, but I didn’t, and she was this bright light of ideas. Everyone fawned over her, and it was irritating because I had been making some of the same suggestions for months. Honestly, it was one of the reasons I decided to leave. Because if they could value her opinion, why didn’t they appreciate mine?”
“That would be infuriating.”
She nods. “Is it like that with Wyatt?”
“Sort of.” I pause, and my teeth pull on the corner of my lip.
She must notice my hesitation because she says, “You know, if you want to take a time-out from being my boss and just talk for a second, I’d be more than happy to listen. I won’t hold anything you say against you. I promise. I had my family do that to me time and time again. I wouldn’t do that to someone else.”
“I appreciate that,” I say and then let out a deep breath. I could really use the chance to get this bubbling anxiety off my chest, at least to calm my nervous system before I spiral into insanity. “I don’t know why he’s here, Echo. He’s shown no interest in our family, in the farm, nothing. I thought he’d own part of the farm but never really care about it. He’s a very popular author. He doesn’tneedthe farm. But then, out of nowhere, he decides to come into town and turn everything upside down. I know there’s a reason behind it, but I can’t figure it out. And do you know the worst part of all of this?”
“What?” she asks.
“And don’t think this is directed toward you in a mean way, but he’s so freaking charming and nice that everyone likes him. I seem to be the only one who thinks he’s being calculating and looking for something else.”
“I mean, he was really nice to me, took interest in who I was, and asked me a bunch of questions. He made eye contact and was very thoughtful when he spoke. So yeah, I get why he’s likable.”
“So do I,” I say. “When I gave him a tour, he had great ideas, was able to solve problems without me asking, and even cracked a few jokes. I, of course, didn’t give him the satisfaction of laughing because I want him to know that I’m not buying what he’s trying to sell to everyone.”
“And what do you think that is?” she asks as she opens her bag and pulls out a ham and cheese sandwich.
“I think he’s trying to be charming and likable because he wants something, and when he asks for it, everyone will say yes because it would be hard to say no to the nice guy. Make sense?”
“Do you think he’d be that crafty?”
“Yes,” I say. “I do. The man plots storylines for a living. Why wouldn’t he plot a way to get what he wants?”
“I guess that makes sense.” She leans back on one hand as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “But I wonder what he wants.”
