I stare at him, continuing to walk as Jake drives alongside me, his stupid Porsche inching forward in time with my steps. “What are you even talking about?”
“I’m not getting rid of your farm,” he says. “We might have to start from scratch with the big barn, but we’ll rebuild it the right way with the right permits. I promise.”
The tears are bubbling up again, dangerously close to spilling over.
“Are you stealing my Goatvana business plan?” I ask. I swear, the audacity of this jerk. He’ll probably copy my entire idea of a goat retreat and then tell everyone he came up with the idea while eating pie during a snowstorm.
There’s room for more than one goat retreat in the world, but some creative credit would be nice. Dick.
“You’re going to try to take my idea and turn it into some corporate-backed bullshit? Did you get an advance from an investor for the merchandising rights to Goatvana too?”
“Sutton, I can assure you no one is handing out advances for a goat farm. That doesn’t even make sense.” He sighs. “Will you stop walking? This is dangerous, and I’m not certain it’s even legal to drive around with a goat in the passenger seat.”
“Why would I stop?” I say, giving him the once-over. “I feel like I’ve heard enough.”
“I have an idea, okay?” Jake says. “Just… please stop. Hear me out.”
“Your idea better not be as stupid as setting the goats free into the wild,” I tell him. I do stop, though.
That’s when Jake parks the car and gets out. He comes around the side, ignoring Farmer John as she bleats out of the window.
“Sutton, you know I think you’re creative and passionate and bold and—”
“Brave,” I fill in for him.
“Braver than anyone I’ve ever met,” he says. “But I also think that you need help. You’ve built this amazing business from the ground up. But it’s not enough to just wing it. You need a business plan. And contracts. And a new barn. Someone to fix the fence so these goats stop escaping. Capital to expand.”
I stare at him. Does he think he’s complimenting me here?
“You need help,” he says, as if I didn’t hear him the first time. “And I think I’m just the guy to do it. Let me manage the Reindeer Falls Institute for Goatual Living for you.”
Is he serious? Is he really suggesting that we partner up?
“You might be worse with names than me. But I’m listening.”
“And it’s more than that,” he says, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer to me. “I know you could have your pick of men.”
He’s not entirely wrong. Even without the goats, I am a pretty good catch.
“And I know your beardy ex can build sheds while doing kegstands,” Jake continues, as if reading my mind. “But I can do paperwork like you’ve never seen. And I can charm Linda from planning.”
I laugh. Those shouldn’t be the turn-ons that they are, but sometimes, a girl can’t help but be into things like paperwork.
“I’d like to see where this goes with us,” he says, taking my hand. “You’re an adventure, Sutton. I want in on your adventure. On your life. If you feel the same, let’s see where it takes us.”
I. Wow.
That’s a lot to take in.
A snowflake lands on Jake’s head. And then another. And as the snow starts coming down around us, it feels right. Safe. A feeling I could burrow into and live in forever. I step forward, leaning up so that I can take in all of Jake as he watches me for my response.
“How are you going to do all that from whichever big city you dropped in from?” God, I don’t even know where he lives. But I know where he doesn’t live. Here. “You think Reindeer Falls is beneath you. You referred to us as a bunch of rubes!” The worst part about that is I didn’t even know what it meant. I had to Google it while I herded Sharon along the side of the road.
“Sutton,” Jake groans, shoving a hand into his hair to shake off the snow. “I love Reindeer Falls and I was already planning on moving back. I live in Detroit, but I can work remotely most of the week, drive in when I need to. That’s what you overheard. The guys in the office have been giving me shit about leaving the city for months, ever since I concocted the golf course plan when I learned I was inheriting the land.”
“Really?” I’m dubious.
“Really.”
“But if you’re letting me keep the farm, there is no golf course,” I point out, recalling his stupid blueprints and getting wound up all over again.
“We can do both,” he says. “There’s land available right next to us. I’ve already had it surveyed and there’s more than enough land to do what I want to do, with the added benefit of not needing to displace a single goat. It’s on the other side of the Cass river from our farm, but I was thinking we could build a bridge to connect the two properties so we could walk across.”