Farmer Boy. She called me Farmer Boy.
I thought about this as I walked through the fall wheat, running my fingertips along the tall grain. The air was crisp today, not quite chilly, but with a hint of the winter that was only a few months away now.
The fall wheat was usually the last crop harvested; the apples already picked and stored for the winter. She’d made apple butter after all.
Polly loved apple butter. She ate it every year, but this year she learned to make it. I smiled as I thought of the afternoons spent in the back kitchen of the diner, jars spread out everywhere, a spicy cinnamony scent heavy in the air, and my girls in matching braids, laughing as they filled containers with the sweet treat.
My girls.
Roxie was adamant about keeping her own place, and rightly so. Once she made the decision to move back to Bailey Falls, she was determined to live away from her mother, but close by. The old farmhouse she found was about halfway between my place and her mom’s, only a few minutes from the town she claimed was too small, but she secretly loved.
When I flew out with her to Los Angeles to pack up her apartment, I noticed there wasn’t a lot there that made it . . . well . . . homey. It was functional, and of course the kitchen was impressive, but there was nothing about it that really said . . . Roxie.
As much as she claimed to have a full life out there, it took us less than a day to pack her up, and less than an evening to say goodbye to her friends. Sure, her Hollywood friends Jack and Grace were sad to see her go, but they assured her that anytime they were on the East Coast, they’d be sure to get together.
Driving back across the country, Roxie seemed excited to be getting home, to her new old life. And quicker than anyone expected, she’d cleaned out the Airstream, equipped it with the necessary items to turn it into a food truck, and Zombie Cakes was born. And killing it. She sold out each and every time she showed up to a farmers’ market, a county fair, or a private event.
I smiled, thinking about her leaning out of the side of the truck, passing a slice of mile-high coconut cake to a happy customer. I smiled wider when I thought about what her tits looked like in her V-neck Zombie Cakes shirt.
I came to the end of the row, satisfied with the feel of the plump grains on the stalks. We’d harvest soon, maybe by the end of the week. When I heard the Jeep roaring up the dusty farm road, I turned, catching the faint sound of U2 through the open windows. Turns out Polly was a big fan of the band as well, and she and Roxie listened to the old albums by the hour while they baked. “It’s good for dancing, Daddy,” Polly had informed me one afternoon, when I caught the two of them busting a move while sifting flour.
I agreed.
As they made the last turn and pulled up beside me, I raised a hand in greeting. Roxie turned off the motor as Polly wrestled with her seat belt, eager to get out and race up and down the rows, like she did every time she came out here.
“Hey, Daddy!” she cried out, as I helped her unbuckle and swung her high.
“Hey, Pork Chop! Did you finish your homework?”
“I did; Roxie helped me. We stopped by the diner after school, and Miss Trudy gave me some pie.”
“A small piece,” Roxie explained with a sheepish look. “And who gives seven-year-olds homework, by the way?”
“I don’t mind, though. I learned all about the difference between cumulus and cumu . . . cumula . . . what is it called?” Polly asked, looking to Roxie.
“Cumulonimbus,” Roxie prompted, and Polly nodded her head vigorously.
“Yeah, cumulonimbles. They’re different types of clouds.”
“I see. And what are those over there?” I asked, pointing at the western sky, watching as she wandered and muttered to herself, trying to decipher exactly what was overhead. I took the opportunity to pull Roxie into me, stealing a kiss.
“Watch yourself, Farmer Boy,” Roxie sighed, the faintest bit of green showing in her eyes. “I’m not above groping you in front of the wee one.”
“She’ll be busy with her cumulonimbles for at least twenty minutes.” I grinned, my heart beating a little faster at having her in my arms again. “At least let me take a peek down your shirt. I’ll pretend a bee flew down there.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Besides, we need to save something for later,” she said, but her breath was coming faster.
“I can’t come by tonight, Sugar Snap. Mrs. Nyland had to go take care of her sister down in Yonkers, so I’ll be on Polly duty tonight.”
To keep things as routine as possible, there’d been no overnights at my place. Roxie was insistent on that. She came over all the time, but she never spent the night. I was hoping to make a change in that department sooner rather than later, but that was a conversation for another day. In a fancier setting.
“Oh no, I called in a few favors. My mom agreed to come over tonight and stay with Polly, so feel free to come stand outside my window anytime after eight. If you’re not there,” she breathed, more green appearing in now, “I’ll start without you.”
“Dangerous,” I groaned, kissing her lips and wrapping my hands around her hips, feeling those curves underneath my fingertips. She got breathy, like my girl always did when I kissed her gentle like this. Her hands slid down the front of my shirt, tugging me closer. As I bumped my hips into hers, her eyes popped open in surprise.
“Are those nuts in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?” she asked, her soft brown curls blowing wildly around her face.