MissManaged

Chapter Eight

Tobin

Her third rule was a calculated risk I chose to take based on her reactions to me all morning. I knew I was pushing her boundaries and it could completely backfire and ruin everything, but I had to try. When she caught me staring at her, I didn’t hide my feelings, and if her little blush was a clue, she returned the sentiment.

“Do you have any questions about the rules?” I asked when she finished writing.

“Is this all of them? Only three?” Her utter confusion made me wish her father was standing in front of me so I could take my rage out on him.

“Yes, I think that’s enough,” I replied firmly. “How about we get some lunch? I’m starving.”

It took her a minute to catch up to my change in subject, and for a second, she looked about to argue, but then she closed the notebook and gave me an impish grin.

“Lunch really isn’t in my budget this week, Tobin.”

“You’re a funny little fairy,” I said, tweaking her nose. Which earned me a tiny little growl. “I’m buying.”

“Fine. But I’m eating a lot. Accounting makes me hungry.” She stood up and put the laptop and the now fully paid bills on a little shelf next to her television but left the notebook on the table. “I’m going to get changed out of my sweats. I’ll be right back.”

When Charlotte left the room, I took a moment to breathe deeply and digest the last few hours. From the moment she’d smacked me on the back, I’d operated mostly on instinct, only tempering my reactions when she told me about her family. I couldn’t imagine ever treating my wife and daughters like that, but it explained so much about Charlotte’s fears of being controlled by a man.

Her past should have dissuaded me. Should have made me rethink pursuing the type of relationship I wanted with her. But instead, it made me more determined to show her that loving guidance was not the same as control. That my goal was to help her succeed, not to bully her and make her do what I wanted for my own benefit.

Less than five minutes after she left, Charlotte returned, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater that made her look even more petite than she normally did. Which made my rage at her father flare again. I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could berate and verbally beat down my little fairy. Especially not her own father.

“Ready?” she asked, oblivious to my internal struggle. I promised myself, right then, that Charlotte would never hear my voice raised in anger at her, and never feel anything less than cared for, even if she found herself in trouble.

“Yep. What are you in the mood for?” I asked, standing and pushing in my chair. “We could go to Ellicottville and try that new Mediterranean place, if you like that kind of food?”

“Ohhh, I could go for some hummus and a souvlaki salad,” she said, excitement lighting up her face.

“You’re extra pretty when you’re happy, little fairy.” The compliment made her blush and look down at where she was digging through her purse. “It’s good to know that food is the secret to making you look like that.”

She located her keys and looked up at me, serious now. “I know you’re teasing, but a good meal and spending time with friends really does make me very happy.” She paused and took a deep breath, like she was preparing herself for something, and I worried I wouldn’t like whatever was about to come out of her mouth. “And I’m glad you think I’m pretty.”

Relief and anticipation rushed through me. I was breaking down her walls and, hopefully, building her back up again.

“Let’s go feed you so I can see more of that smile then.” I smiled like a fool the entire time it took to lead the way to the door and wait while she locked up.

The next threeweeks flew by. Charlotte and I finished the farm’s website and the marketing campaign for our cheese. Requests for samples kept my mother busy and when the orders soon followed, the entire family was thrilled.

Now that we weren’t working together as much, Charlotte and I scheduled weekly meetings to go over her finances and make sure she was on track with her budget. She’d spoken to Kenny about her project and they now had a contract for a new website for Kenny’s goat-milk bath products and the goat-yoga studio. Another local farm reached out to Charlotte after seeing what she did with my website, so that job was in the works, too. I was confident that there was plenty of business for her in and around Walker’s Grove.

Besides our weekly business meeting, we also got together at least once a week to do something, but we kept things casual and friendly. We got lunch and went on a hike one day. Another time we drove to Olean to do some shopping at the bigger stores there. I wanted to see her more, daily even, but I forced myself to be patient. Charlotte needed time and care. And I needed to learn to accept that and compromise.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t rushing in and acting like an entitled fool, demanding what I wanted be given to me. I accepted that my relationship with Charlotte might look different from what I’d envisioned for myself, and that was okay with me. There would still be rules and discipline, but Charlotte needed a gentler hand. Someone who could lead her without being overbearing. I needed to earn her trust and submission; I couldn’t just demand she obey.

Today, we were going to Kenny’s farm to take pictures for the website. I hadn’t been there in years and was looking forward to seeing what she’d done with her family’s property. Like me, Kenny’s family had been in Walker’s Grove for generations. Unfortunately, her parents died when she was in her late teens, and she’d taken over the farm by herself since her brother had a life in New York City and no interest in farming. Kenny had found solace in her goats. What started as a hobby in high school morphed into a way to deal with her grief and soon turned into a profitable business that she was still expanding.

We pulled down the drive and the old farmhouse appeared after we came around a curve. It looked the same as when I’d been here for the end-of-year bonfire her parents had hosted for the whole high school. She’d been a junior when I was a freshman, but the school was so small everyone knew everyone even if we weren’t all best friends.

“Go around the house and park next to the green building,” Charlotte directed, pointing towards the signs along the gravel drive that pointed the way to the yoga studio and soap shop.

I followed the path away from the house and toward the old barn, which actually looked brand new with a fresh coat of red paint with crisp white trim. That’s where the similarities with my memories of the property ended. Set at the opposite end of the fenced pasture next to the barn sat a decently sized green-sided building with a black-tin roof.

A covered porch extended along the front and large windows looked out over the fields. Behind this building was another that matched it in size and color and seemed to be connected by a walkway.

I pulled into one of about twenty parking spots, each one marked with a painted sign of a goat. We got out, and I followed Charlotte down a path of pavers lined by flower beds to the first green building. She pulled open one of the glass double doors and entered liked she’d done so many times before.

“Kenny, we’re here,” Charlotte called out as we walked into the space.

I paused just past the entryway to take it all in.

We were in the shop portion of the building which was separated from the yoga portion by a half wall with a swinging door. The air was fragrant with a mix of scents from the soaps and lotions that lined the shop shelves, some herby, some flowery, but somehow not overpowering. The walls were a muted green in contrast to the rich colors of the area rugs scattered around the room. Soft lighting highlighted the tasteful and classy decorations hung around the room.

It felt like we’d stepped into a high-end boutique, not a farm store in the middle of nowhere.

“Wow.”

I had no other words. Charlotte tried to explain to me what Kenny was doing, but once I’d heard “goat yoga,” I’d kind of written the venture off. Both because I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do yoga with goats, and because I couldn’t imagine that the rough and tough farm girl I knew from school would know a thing about selling fancy soaps and lotions. Even though Charlotte had explained how popular Kenny’s products were in Ellicottville.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Charlotte said from right beside me. “She’s decorated a bit more since I was here last, so it looks even better.”

“Hey, Toby. How have you been?” Kenny asked as she approached from a hall on the other side of the yoga space.

“I’m good, Kenny,” I replied. “I don’t think I have to ask how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, things are going pretty good.” She turned and looked around, squinting as she searched for something.

“Stop inspecting everything, Kenny. It looks perfect,” Charlotte said, and I had to agree. Not that I knew much about decorating, but if I was going to do yoga with a goat, this looked like the type of place I’d like to be.

Kenny took another slow look around the room and let out a sigh. “I guess it’ll do.”

“Let me get my camera out and get situated and we can get started. I’m just going to put my bag in the back room,” Charlotte said before heading to the hall that Kenny had come from. Her departure left me alone with Kenny, who was studying me like I was a strange insect she’d never seen before.