So I’d opted to have Art drive me out to the farm so I could squeeze in an extra hour and a half of work on the way there and again on the way back into the city.
“Yeah,” I said as my fingers glided over the keyboard. “Really beautiful.”
Art chuckled softly. “Sir, you’ve hardly looked away from your computer.”
“I’m a busy man, Art. I don’t have time to admire apples, leaves, and some grass.”
Art was quiet for a minute. “There is always time to admire such things, Mr. Holt. If you can’t, maybe you’re off course.”
“Uh huh.” I’d barely heard him. I was cutting and pasting, testing and running, publishing and deleting.
Art cracked a window and drove the rest of the way down the dirt road in silence so I could work. I appreciated it and didn’t even notice when the Rover came to a slow stop. The tires crunched on gravel and dirt, and Art put the vehicle in park before announcing that we had arrived at our destination.
I submitted my work and closed my laptop to tuck it back into my work bag, which I slid under the back seat for safe keeping. I opened my door and stepped out onto the dirt. The air smelled sweet out there and I detected notes of hay and honey along with soil, grass, and cider. Perhaps the cider smell was coming from the ruby-red apples hanging from the branches of trees in the fields at our back.
“Is that Ms. Goodfellow, sir?” Art nodded in the opposite direction of the orchard.
I turned as I straightened out my suit jacket.
There she was. Kayla stood in front of a traditional red barn. The doors were wide open, exposing the belly of a modern and well-kept barn. Hay lay strewn about in little piles on a concrete floor, and a woman in overalls was walking to and fro, surrounded by children. She was showing them the pens in the barn. Based on the clucking sounds from the chickens and the other variety of farm noises, I assumed the barn was full of sheep, goats, donkeys, and pigs.
Kayla had her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was smiling wildly at three children who were crowded around her, trying to get their hands on child-sized ball caps she was handing out. She laughed as one child pulled a hat down over his head all the way past his eyes to the bridge of his nose. Kayla crouched down and lifted the visor for him. She said something to him and he laughed before taking off the other way to run into a crowd of adults. Parents presumably.
Kayla wore a pair of jeans that fit her like a second skin. Her sneakers used to be white but had turned a muddy color around the soles. The staining had touched the ends of her laces, too. She wore a T-shirt that said Good Fellow’s and so did all the kids.
I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I’d shown up to a working farm in a three-piece suit, loafers, and a tie.
What were you thinking?
I left Art at the Rover and approached Kayla. She didn’t see me coming until I was practically right on top of her, and when she turned and saw me, her cheeks flushed a magnificent shade of pink.
“I hope I’m not late,” I said.
Kayla shook her head. Her ponytail swung back and forth. “No, not at all. We’re waiting on the hay wagon to come pick us up and take us out to the middle of the orchard.” She looked me up and down. “You look nice.”
“So do you.” I meant it. She looked quite nice indeed. So nice that the sight of her pulled my memories right back to the kiss we’d shared in her office the other afternoon. Her thighs had felt so good beneath my palms. Firm and full. Her lips had felt much the same against mine.
“Come on. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”
I followed Kayla into the barn where children were giggling while they fed carrots and hay to donkeys with swishing tails. We stopped in front of one of the pens, where a woman in a wide-brimmed black hat and a full black ensemble, including a shawl, was crouched down so she could peer through the lens of an expensive camera as she snapped shots of the kids.
“This is the photographer I hired for the day,” Kayla explained. “Her name is Winifred. She’ll be taking pictures of you today. Mostly candid. She’ll be taking pictures of the children as well. We’re going to send all the parents and guardians prints in the mail as a little added bonus so they can remember the day.”
I wondered how much that was costing Kayla and her organization. Based on the condition of her office, I found it hard to believe she was covering the cost out of her own budget.
Winifred straightened up and tucked her camera strap over her shoulder so she wore it like a bag. She thrust her hand out. Every single finger bore a ring on it. Her nails were painted black. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Holt. Don’t worry. You won’t even notice I’m out there with you.” She leaned in close and whispered. “I’m like a ghost when I work.”
It seemed unlikely that she would blend in amongst the group wearing blue Good Fellow’s T-shirts
