Page 17 of Captivating Anika
It was a spur-of-the-moment invite after I got her message this morning. One I second-guessed about ten times in the hours that followed, so I was pretty pleased when I finally got her response.
This morning Franco brought over a container of tamales he’d made with our own pork and last year’s corn and black beans. Those will be dinner, along with an easy salad. A quick check reveals I have a bottle of wine someone probably brought over at some point, because I certainly didn’t buy it. There’s plenty of beer, I filled up the water filter, and I have enough coffee and tea, should she want one of those.
I force myself to sit the hell down instead of flapping around my kitchen like a decapitated chicken. It’s not like this is the first time she’s been here, even for dinner, but I can’t deny something fundamental seems to have changed in the dynamic between us. Or maybe that’s just me, woolgathering.
Either way, I’m a forty-nine-year-old man and not a goddamn sniveling teenager.
Determined, I flip open my laptop I left sitting on the kitchen table, and force my focus on the property listings the realtor I dropped in on yesterday emailed me this morning. I told her I wanted to keep my options open, and wasn’t sure yet whether I wanted to buy or maybe rent or lease for a while first. The truth is, even though I’ve worked in Durango for coming up to twenty-five years, I’ve lived on the farm my entire life. I’m not even sure I’ll enjoy living in town so I’m leaning toward renting for now.
The list she sent me has only three rental places. Two are apartments, one in an older building right downtown, and another on the south side near the hospital, neither of which appeals to me. The third listing is interesting; a small, single level home on 7th Avenue, which is close to the river and maybe a fifteen-to-twenty-minute walk to the fire station.
I find the house on Google Street View to get a better look, when there’s a knock at the door.
As it does every time I see Anika, I’m momentarily lost for words. She’s that stunning. Dark, sleek, long hair framing unusual amber eyes in a face that could stop traffic. And that’s just from the shoulders up.
“Should I have called?” She’s first to speak, looking a little uneasy. “I thought, when you said any time, you meant?—”
“It’s all good,” I hurry to stop her, noticing the City Market bag in her hand. “Although, you weren’t supposed to bring anything.”
“I picked up a few groceries on the way home, and they had fresh apple pie right out of the oven. I couldn’t pass it up.”
My favorite, and she remembered.
“In that case, you’re forgiven. Come in.”
I step aside to let her pass and catch a whiff of cinnamon as she brushes by. I’m not sure if it’s from the apple pie, or all Anika, but the scent has my mouth water as I follow her inside.
“You changed stuff around,” she comments, walking through the living room to the kitchen.
“I’m packing up a few things, getting rid of some old furniture. I don’t intend to take it with me, I don’t need much.”
“Take it where?” Confusion marks her face.
“I’m not sure yet,” I tell her, indicating my computer on the kitchen table. “I’m still looking.”
It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get her opinion, given she was checking out the Durango market herself last year.
“What about the farm?” she asks, bending over to check out the listing on the screen.
It’s probably not good form to stare at her ass, but how can I resist when it’s right there, aimed at me.
“Hog?”
My eyes slide up to catch her looking at me over her shoulder.
“Yeah, uhh…I’m selling it.”
She straightens up and swings around.
“What?”
Right. I haven’t really shared that information with anyone. I didn’t see the point, since it wasn’t something that was going to happen overnight. But Franco let me know last month he’d be able to get the remainder of the money together by this coming June, so that time is soon approaching.
“To Franco. Here,” I step into the mudroom and shove my feet in my boots. “Let’s go see those piglets and I’ll explain.”
She follows me outside, where I’m glad to notice she thought to put on a pair of jeans and some worn running shoes. The farm can be a muddy place and is definitely not suited for any fancy footwear.
She listens attentively as I explain the arrangement I made with Franco, until the moment we step inside the barn and she catches sight of Petunia and her offspring.