“I tried scrubbing it this morning, but it’s permanent ink.”
“Sorry.” I wasn’t, really. “It should wear off in a few days.”
“Maybe. Or I’ll just grab some nail polish remover from the drugstore. That usually works.”
Gesturing with the spatula, I asked, “That happen often?”
“More than you’d think.”
Silence grew as he watched me cook the bacon and plate it, then went to make the scrambled eggs in a clean pan.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” Owen added, sounding more impressed than anything. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before.
“There is a lot of things about me you probably don’t know.” Quiet for a moment, I pushed around the egg mixture in the hot pan. “I’m assuming you want some breakfast?”
“I wouldn’t turn it down.”
“Think you can make some toast? The bread is in the bread box over there on the counter.” I pointed to the wooden box that had been in my family for generations, then told him where to find the toaster.
He dropped four slices into the appliance and moved back toward me. “You know, I used to cook breakfast for me and my mom growing up.”
“Really?” I murmured in surprise.
“Yeah. Sometimes…,” he began, then paused, running his hand along the back of his neck. “There were times she didn’t come join me, so I’d leave the plate outside her door.”
The words he didn’t say filled the room with heartbreak. I knew exactly what he was implying, even though he had no idea I knew the extent of what he and his mother endured.
“Owen….” His name was nothing more than a sigh, but its weight felt like an elephant sitting on my chest.
Suddenly, the toaster snapped, and the four slices popped up from their slots.
“Where can I find the plates?”
My mom answered as she entered the kitchen area. “The cabinet to the right of the sink. It’s nice to see you two getting along. Your mother and I hoped it would happen one of these days.
“Aspen, we’re off to the bed-and-breakfast. We’ll be back around lunchtime. Maybe find something to do in town? I don’t think Owen’s had a chance to see all the new stores and restaurants.”
“See you later, Mom. I’ve got data to run for the Ram—” I stopped suddenly and corrected my words before I let it spill that we bought his family’s land. “For the robot.”
Thankfully, my mother seemed to pick up on my blunder and played along. “Owen, it was nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger. Unless your plans include releasing a bunch of crickets in her backpack again. I still have nightmares about that.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Easterly.”
“You can call me Marisol. And I’m sure you’ve grown out of that phase of terrorizing just like Aspen has.”
Little did she know, there was a reign of terror we were considering unleashing on the entire town. A friendship between Owen and me.
My dad joined my mother and said goodbye to Owen with a hearty handshake just as I scooped the eggs onto the plates Owen had been setting out on the kitchen island. Grabbing the plate of bacon, I added it to the counter, then followed that with two glasses of water. When I returned, Owen was already seated at the island, buttering his toast.
“Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled as I sat down.
As I snatched a piece of bacon, Owen lifted his forkful of eggs to his mouth. We ate quietly, both of us enjoying the meal as if his moans of gratitude with each bite were enough of a conversation. I stared out the window above the kitchen sink, watching the large oak tree sway in the fall breeze.
“What time did you get out there this morning?” he asked as he reached for his glass of water.
“I was up at 4:30 and did a few chores around the farm, then ran some soil samples with our testing robot.”
“Wow. Okay, two questions. One, what is a testing robot? Two, why did you willingly wake up at the crack of dawn? It’s Sunday.”
Heaving a sigh, I described the robot and what data it’s capable of collecting, explaining its primary function was for analytics. I was surprised as Owen hung on every word, but then I remembered him excelling in our technology course in high school. Him meeting Nate would probably be a dream come true.
“And I was up early, because chores wait for no one. Animals have to be fed. Pens and stalls mucked. The typically day-to-day at the farm.”
“Don’t you pay people to do that? What exactly do you get? Do you get paid for all this?”
“I get free housing and food, and my parents pay me a small amount.”
It was more like an allowance, but I didn’t want to call it that. They valued my hard work. I was a big part of the farm's function, and I took over a lot of the menial tasks my dad used to perform.
“Not enough, if you ask me. None of that equates to a healthy lifestyle.”
It wasn’t worth arguing with Owen, since his comment was the same one that had been running through my head since he laid out his proposition last night.
“So…” Owen prompted, as he helped me carry our empty plates to the sink. “Have you given my proposal any more thought?”
I shrugged as if I hadn’t and turned on the faucet to wash the dishes. Owen brought over the two pans without being asked, then gently nudged me aside as he poured soap into the sink and grabbed the sponge.
