Her hand comes to rest gently on my shoulder, squeezing it. “I was born and raised in a big city too, Beau. I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
“There’s nothing wrong with giving it some time to know for sure.”
Her hand squeezes my shoulder again before she lifts it, and starts walking away.
She pauses, turning back to look at me. “Sometimes you wait too long and lose an opportunity that you can’t ever get back.”
I’ve known Bess my whole life. That’s the most melancholy I’ve ever seen her. As far as I know, she’s never married, never had a long-term relationship. I don’t even know what brought her to the farm in the first place. Maybe someday she’ll share her story with me.
Watching her figure retreat, I can’t help but wonder if my caution toward making a move on Bethany is a mistake. What would be worse, never having a chance to ask her out or doing it too soon and pushing her away instead?
It’s a question I mull over quite a bit that day and into the next. I’m no closer to knowing what to do than when I started. The few female relationships I’ve had have been initiated on their side. My very first girlfriend was the cousin of the Jacksons, a family who still lived and worked on the farm.
She came out for a visit the summer I turned seventeen. Angel was nineteen, and looking back, was probably bored staying on the farm. She decided to fill up her free time with being my first everything. By the end of the summer, I was convinced I was in love with her. Unfortunately, that feeling was not mutual and she headed back to college without even looking back.
In my defense, I was still on the scrawny side back then. After her came my first local girlfriend, Sylvia. This time around, I was twenty and happy to practice all the things Angel had taught me. Again, I was sure I was in love. That was until Sylvia started talking about moving away together. I told her in no uncertain terms that I had no interest is living anywhere else.
She didn’t even tell me to my face she was moving; she just up and left one day. I had to find out from her mother when I was picking up fertilizer from the farm supply warehouse. The next girlfriend I had, like Bethany, moved out to the country for a change of pace. Her name was Josie and that change of pace only suited her eight months before she got bored and moved back to Atlanta.
Whatever woman I end up with, if I end up with someone, will have to understand that being a farmer is part of who I am. I enjoy waking up early, except for this morning after staying up too late reading. Most mornings, I’m the first one up and out the door. Being outdoors is where I am most comfortable. Walls, no matter how tall, always seem to close in after a while.
There’s a hope though, after spending time with Bethany and learning more about her, that maybe she’ll stick around long enough for me to take that chance. Once I’ve finished my work for the day, I head back to my cabin to shower before dinner at Bethany’s. I need a haircut, but otherwise, I clean up nice enough. I wasn’t able to finish the book; work of the farm and needing a good night of sleep took precedence over it.
Hopefully, that’s okay with Bethany. I’d hate for her to think I wasn’t interested in what she did. I did manage to make it to 68%, or at least that’s what the bar on the bottom of the eReader said. I still have plenty, book-wise, to talk about with her even though I’m not done. I change into a newer pair of jeans and a grey collared t-shirt. It had been a hot week seeing as how summer was fixin’ on moving in.
It won’t be too long before I’ll be taking evening dips in the pond out by my parents’ cabin to escape the heat. Hell, it might be fun to see if I can talk Bethany into swimming some night. More nervous than I thought I’d be, I leave to head over to her place. When I get there, I see she’s setting up supper outside.
She looks up as I park and waves. I suddenly feel underdressed in my jeans and t-shirt when I see her in a dress.
I pass the front door and head straight for the porch, smiling as she opens the door for me. “That’s some dress, Bethany. I feel like I should be taking you somewhere fancy.”
She looks away quickly, blushing. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
The table is already set, so I offer to help in the kitchen, but she refuses, telling me it’s all done. It feels foreign not helping her. I sit stiffly, wanting to help her as she starts bringing stuff out.
Finally, I give up and stand. “Sorry, I gotta help.”
She shakes her head at me, but doesn’t argue when I take the platter from her. She’s prepared lobster and crab legs. Seafood dishes appear to be her specialty. We don’t eat much seafood on the farm so it’s a nice change.