The Simple Life

by Tara Sivec

  I hear Brooklyn whisper something to Grace, which causes Grace to let out a full-blown belly laugh. It momentarily distracts me from trying to get Mia down from the tree. I can’t even remember the last time I heard Grace laugh, and that knowledge is like a knife right through my heart. Which is why I’ve taken as many breaks as possible from work over the last week, and have been hanging out with them as often as I could, much to Brooklyn’s annoyance.

  Every morning when the girls and I are sitting on the front porch steps waiting for her to arrive, I watch her put a fake smile on her face as soon as she sees me when she gets out of her dad’s truck. Every time I ask her what’s next on the agenda throughout the day, I can tell it takes a lot of willpower for her not to roll her eyes, tell me to go the hell away, or insult me for being so annoying. This shit also makes me feel like someone is shoving a sharp object right through my chest. I did that to her. I made her feel like she couldn’t be herself around me, and I ruined everything fun and good about our twisted relationship. Gone are the snide comments and sarcastic put-downs. In their place is a subdued, nervous woman who will barely look at me and is completely uncomfortable with me, and I fucking hate it.

  I want the firecracker back who keeps me on my toes and makes me laugh. I want the woman back from her first few weeks here, who I swore I caught staring at me more than once with something other than annoyance in her eyes. I want the woman in the car on the way home from the Maple Inn, who gave me an inkling of hope that there might be something more between us, when she asked me why I never got in touch with her after she graduated, and she sounded so upset about it.

  “I bet you Princess Truffle Butter is in the mood for a sugar cube right about now,” I shout up to Mia, taking Brooklyn’s advice by mentioning her two favorite things: her horse, and sugar.

  I hear Brooklyn snort when I say the name of Mia’s horse, and it gives me even more motivation to put my next plan in motion. I’ve turned into a desperate sack of shit who will do anything to hear the sound of that woman’s laughter again.

  And yes, Mia’s horse is named Princess Truffle Butter. When we got her a year ago, I made the mistake of letting her name the stallion anything she wanted. Mrs. Sherwood had just experimented with a truffle butter sauce for steak at dinner the previous week, and Mia seemed to think it was the funniest thing to say, walking around the house shouting it for seven days straight. Hence the reason we now have a horse named Princess Truffle Butter, and why I will never, ever let the girls look up truffle butter on Urban Dictionary.

  “Sugar!” Mia suddenly shouts at the top of her lungs.

  I have just enough time to brace myself and put my arms out before she flings herself off of the branch, my heart flying up into my throat as I watch her plummet down. I catch her easily and take a few minutes to hug her tightly to my chest, shaking my head when she squirms in my arms, and I set her down on the ground.

  This child is going to give me a full head of gray hair before I’m forty.

  “Come on, Mia. Let’s put my cards away in my room and I’ll help you give Princess Truffle Butter some sugar cubes,” Grace announces, grabbing the binder from Brooklyn and walking over to us, holding her hand out for Mia to take.

  Well, this turned out better than I expected. I thought for sure I’d have to bribe Grace to go do something with Mia so I could be alone with Brooklyn for a little while. I’ve spent almost every minute with Brooklyn while she’s here at the farm over the last week, doing everything with her and the girls from watching movies, baking the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten called a pumpkin dump cake, playing board games, doing craft projects, and one horrifying, rainy afternoon during which I let Mia put makeup on me. It was the perfect opportunity for Brooklyn to insult me and tell me I looked like a drag queen reject, but she didn’t say one word when she walked into Mia’s bedroom and saw me with a face full of blue eye shadow, hot pink lipstick, and some glittery shit on my cheeks that took three showers to wash off.

  I can’t take it anymore. I need the old Brooklyn back, not this polite, nervous one who isn’t comfortable being around me.

  My oldest daughter gives me an over-exaggerated wink as soon as she pauses in front of me and grabs her sister’s hand.

  “Try apologizing yourself this time, instead of making us do it. Tell her how pretty she looks and stuff like that,” Grace whispers, making me have to fight back a smile.

  Jesus. This kid is too smart for her own good.

  “Got it,” I whisper back with a serious nod. “Apologize, compliment.”

  “Don’t screw it up,” she mutters, tugging Mia’s hand and pulling her toward the house.

  “Don’t let Mia have more than one sugar cube!” I shout after her when they’re a few yards away.

  “Duh! Do you think I’m an idiot?” she yells back.

  I hear Brooklyn let out another little snort, and I turn around to see her folding up the blanket she and Grace were sitting on. Thank God the girls are far away now, because watching Brooklyn bend over in those tiny jean shorts makes me have to shift my legs and discretely rearrange my dick before it tries to rip right through the zipper in my jeans.

  “Go ahead. I know you’re dying to say something about how those two are going to age me long before my time,” I tell her, finally getting my dick situation under control so I can walk over and stand next to her.

  “Nope. You’re doing good. They’re really happy being able to spend more time with you,” she says softly, tucking the blanket under her arm as she turns and starts to head in the same direction as the girls.

  Fuck, I hate this.

  When she moves past me, I quickly reach out and wrap my hand around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop as the blanket falls out from under her arm to the ground. I start rubbing my thumb back and forth over the smooth skin of her arm, and I smile to myself when she breaks out in goose bumps at my touch. Taking a step toward her until I’m right up against her side, I dip my head down and press my forehead to her temple, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Her skin smells like rainbows and sunshine and—Jesus Christ, someone needs to take my man card away. She actually smells just like cotton candy, and the scent instantly transports me back to eleventh grade and the first time Brooklyn Manning ever gave me a fucking hard-on in public.

  “I don’t have you on my list. Just have a seat at that first table right there and let me check with the office.”

  I looked up from the Steve Jobs article I was reading in Fortune Magazine when I heard the study hall teacher speak, unable to concentrate on it any more when I watched Brooklyn walk over to my table and flop herself down in the only available chair, which was right next to me.

  “Um, this is a junior and senior study hall. The loser freshman study hall is during seventh period,” I muttered, trying my best to look annoyed that she was sitting next to me, even though I just wanted to stare at her legs in that short skirt she was wearing.

  “Oh, shut up, nerd. I’m having a shitty first day of high school as it is. I completely missed Algebra and Biology, and went to World History twice,” she complained.

  “Let me see your schedule,” I told her, dropping my magazine onto the table and holding my hand out toward her.

  With a sigh, she pulled a piece of folded up paper out of the front pocket of her backpack resting on her lap and handed it over.

  I laughed as soon as I looked at the top of it.

  “This is the schedule you got at orientation last week. Didn’t you get a new one in first period?”

  “Of course I got a new one in first period. Why does it matter which one I use?”

  “Because they specifically told you at orientation to double-check the schedule you’d get on the first day, because it might have changed. Obviously, your schedule changed. Don’t you get straight As? How are you so clueless? Wait. I know. You sleep with all the smart guys and they do your homework for you,” I teased, the words making me want to throw up in my mouth as soon as I said
them.

  Fucking hell, please don’t let her say she sleeps with all the smart guys or I will throw myself off a bridge, because I’m a goddamn smart guy and she hasn’t slept with me!

  “Oh, piss off! I don’t sleep with all the smart guys, jackass!”

  Thank you, Jesus, thank you, Jesus, thank you, Jesus…

  “Ah, so you’re one of those frigid girls. Good to know.” I smirked.

  I watched as she lifted her backpack off her legs and set it on the table in front of her before she turned her body to the side to face me. She rested one arm on the table and one on the back of my chair, and then leaned in close until her face was right next to mine.

  “I’m not frigid. If you weren’t so busy jerking off to pictures of Steve Jobs, maybe you’d finally be able to experience what it’s like to touch a real, live girl,” she said quietly, the corner of her mouth tipping up into a smirk.

  All of a sudden, the sweet smell of her skin completely overwhelmed me, and before I could stop it, my goddamn traitorous dick decided to wake up and swell in my khaki pants.

  The loud clang of the bell that signaled the end of this class period rang through the cafeteria where study hall was held, and Brooklyn quickly jumped up from her seat and flung her backpack over her shoulder.

  “Are you just gonna sit there all day diddling yourself under the table, or are you gonna go to your next class?” she asked, having no idea just how fucking true that burn was and how much I wished it was socially acceptable to tug one out in the middle of the school day.

  “I’ve got another study hall next period, because I’m brilliant and already had too many credits this year, unlike you, who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time,” I told her.

  “You’re such a dick,” she said with a roll of her eyes as she turned and walked away, making the damn crotch of my dress pants swell even more hearing her say the word dick and watching the sway of her ass until she left the room.

  “I am so fucking sorry,” I whisper in Brooklyn’s ear, pushing the memory from high school out of my head before my dick starts nudging against her hip and she doesn’t take my apology seriously.

  I hear her let out a shaky breath, and I open my eyes when her head moves away from mine. Her chin is dropped and her eyes are squeezed tightly closed.

  “I never should have said those things to you. I was out of line, and I didn’t mean a single word of it. I was pissed at myself, and I took that out on you. You made Grace smile again, and I don’t know how to thank you for that. I really wish you would punch me in the face or something, so I don’t have to keep feeling like shit all the time,” I finish.

  She blows a huge breath of air past her lips, finally opening her eyes and turning her head to look up at me.

  “You also look like shit, just an FYI. They make these things called razors. You should try one.”

  I smile so hard at her I almost get a cramp in my cheeks.

  “There she is. There’s my abusive little firecracker.” I chuckle. “It’s okay. You can admit how irresistibly attracted you are to me. There’s no shame in that.”

  Brooklyn scoffs and rolls her eyes, jerking her arm out of the hold I still have on it, and then crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Bite me, Hastings.”

  “Just name the time and place, Manning,” I fire back, getting a whole hell of a lot of satisfaction out of watching the way her cheeks get a little pink and her eyes glaze over.

  “Just because you’re no longer a dorky computer nerd, doesn’t make you hot shit or anything.”

  It’s so adorable watching her lie through her teeth, especially when her eyes trail down my body and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

  Grabbing one of her arms, I have to tug a few times to get her to drop them from being stubbornly crossed in front of her. Sliding my palm down her arm, I lace my fingers through hers and tug her in the direction of the building next to the stables we use as a store on the farm.

  “Come on. I wanna show you something.”

  When her feet refuse to move, I give her hand a squeeze.

  “It will show you just how much of a dorky computer nerd I still am, and give you plenty of opportunity to make fun of me,” I offer.

  “Well, why didn’t you lead with that? Let’s go, loser.”

  She quickly walks past me with our hands still connected, reversing our roles so she’s the one tugging me this time. The smell of cotton candy is left in her wake, and I jog to keep up with her so it doesn’t disappear.

  Just fucking burn my man card at this point.

  Chapter 15

  Stalker Life

  I am a disgrace.

  Am I honestly going to accept Clint’s apology just because he got all up in my business, pressed his head against mine, and made my skin tingle and my heart flutter with his quietly whispered words?

  Goddammit, I am.

  “Blah, blah, blah, a POS system, which stands for blah, blah, blah, which means all of the orders made online go through the blah, blah, blah, then immediately print out so they can be filled,” Clint explains, as I nod my head.

  He didn’t actually say blah, blah, blah. There was a lot of technical, nerd jargon in there I didn’t understand, but just like with Mia, as long as I smile and nod my head, he thinks I’m paying attention. And I sort of am paying attention, but it’s just really hard to follow everything he’s saying when he keeps standing so damn close to me. In the last half hour, he’s brushed his body against mine seven times when he needed to lean over and point to something on the computer, held my hand three times when he needed to pull me to another area in the store, and pressed his hand against the small of my back twice while he was explaining something.

  Not that I’m counting or anything.

  And seriously, how is it possible that this guy gets even more adorable with each dorky word out of his mouth? He’s just so damn cute with how excited he gets, telling me about how he completely computerized the farm when he took over, writing special code to calculate shipping, automating payroll, and even developing an app for the companies who have large accounts with the farm, like all the big chain grocery stores, to make ordering easier for them.

  My head and my heart are all tied up in knots right now, and I don’t know what the hell is happening. It’s almost like he’s been… flirting with me since that damn apology. Which is just absurd. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with me right now, telling me Clint picking on me all these years was his way of flirting, but I mean, come on! He would have said something long before now. He’s definitely not shy when it comes to the shit that flies out of his mouth. Aside from that almost-kiss twelve years ago, which he clearly regretted, he’s never done something like this. He’s never done whatever he could to touch me, or stand so close to me. If anything, he would say something sarcastic and move as far away from me as possible.

  It’s likely the poor guy is so lonely out here in Bumfuck, Nowhere, with only horses, cows, goats, and chickens for company, that he’s decided I might actually look good to him. I’m probably the only single woman in White Timber under the age of seventy. I bet he said to himself, “Clint, you can’t fuck a goat. Might as well fuck Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn, do you want to fuck?”

  Yes, yes, yes, Jesus God, yes!

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, my head whipping around to look at him over my shoulder.

  “I said, Brooklyn, do you want to see the truck?” he replies. “The one I was just telling you about, with the computer system I installed for orders. I just heard it pull up out back to get a load ready to go to Ohio.”

  Yes, truck. That makes much more sense. Like he’d really ask if I wanted to have sex with him. Good God, stop thinking about having sex with him!

  We’re standing in his office at the back of the store, and the small room suddenly got a million times smaller. The store out front is empty and quiet since it’s still the off-season, and I’m suddenly hyperaware
that we’re the only two people in this building right now. I’m sure it’s just so damn hot in this room all of a sudden because we’re standing right in front of the four computers he’s got lining a table against the wall next to his desk, and all that equipment must be letting off some serious heat. It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he’s still standing right behind me, with his chest pressed against my back. The same spot he’s been for the last half hour as he explained everything on the computers to me, and now I can’t get the image of Clint naked and thrusting into me out of my head.

  “You should show me the website for the farm,” I quickly announce, moving away from him and rushing over to the front of the big wooden desk behind him with papers strewn all over it, and a laptop sitting closed amongst the piles.

  “No, don’t—”

  “Awww, is there porn on here?” I tease, cutting him off when he runs his hand nervously through his hair as he watches me walk up to the desk and lift the lid to the laptop. “It’s okay to admit you have a thing for farm animal porn. I won’t tell any—”

  The rest of my comment gets cuts off when my heart flies right out of my chest and gets lodged in my throat as I look down at the screen of his laptop.

  “What…? Where did this…? Oh my God,” I whisper, staring in shock at the lock screen photo.

  I don’t think I could be more surprised right now if there was a picture of Clint actually fucking a goat. Instead, taking up the entire screen is a picture of Clint and me from high school. I remember the day it was taken. It was a few days before he left for college. The first crop of pumpkins had been picked, and Mrs. Hastings made Ember, Clint, and me sit on the top step of the front porch, each of us holding a pumpkin in our laps. We bitched and moaned about it for at least twenty minutes, until we finally gave in. And then I bitched and moaned for another five minutes, because Ember made me squeeze in between her and Clint. I made some comment under my breath about how he needed to shower and wrinkled my nose at him, just so I wouldn’t be tempted to tell him I wanted to lick him because he smelled so good. I managed to look away from him and smile brightly for Mrs. Hastings a second later.