“That’s not what I—”
Hand in the air between us, I stop his words. “You don’t need to explain.”
And then I hustle inside.
I need to wash my hands after the encounter with the dog, but I also need a minute to catch my breath, so I slip through the screen door into the kitchen, past the pre-dinner chaos, and duck into the hall bathroom. There, I scrub my hands, wishing I could scrub my brain—and maybe even my vagina—splash water on my face and tell my girl parts to calm the heck down.
This is not a chance for a do-over, I tell myself firmly. That man just happens to be a member of the family I wish were mine. But his employer is evil incarnate and goes against everything I believe in and work for.
I enter the kitchen with an expression of surprise pre-applied to my face in preparation for pretending to meet Sam, but it’s quickly replaced by genuine astonishment. Instead of a warm welcome, everyone treats Sam like he’s the stranger, not me. Colleen punches him with what could be construed as affection, but his brothers frown at him while Ethel points a wooden spoon at each of the siblings in turn. “No fighting at the table, boys, physical or otherwise. We have guests.”
After they all mumble various versions of Yes ma’am, Ethel uses the spoon to point out the two WWOOFers she’s brought on since I was last here, introducing them all around. Jane, a freckle-faced blonde, and Hetty, a brunette with a warm, tawny complexion, each lift a pint of beer in salutation. Ethel pokes Colleen with the spoon. “Are you going to introduce your friend to your brother?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Diane.” An odd expression passes over Colleen’s face before she grabs Sam’s elbow and drags him around the kitchen island. “Diane, this is Sam. Sam, this is Diane.”
Ethel hoots. “Just like on Cheers!”
“You mean like on New Girl?” Jane asks.
“I never got past season one of that show,” Ethel says. “But on Cheers, Sam and Diane were the kind of couple that hated each other—total opposites—but you rooted for them anyway.”
“Huh,” Hetty says. “On New Girl, you didn’t really root for them as a couple. But they did end up together, I think.”
“Didn’t Diane end up moving to Paris to be a writer?” an unfamiliar male voice asks. “On Cheers?”
Sam’s head whips around. “Wait. You’re here too?”
“Too?” Ethan asks. “What do you mean too?”
“Uh… I-I don’t know,” Sam mumbles. “I just… I’m surprised Sunday dinner is so crowded all of a sudden.”
“To answer your question, your grandmother invited me. Remember?” The stranger waves at me from a spot in the corner. “I’m Carlos, Diane. Sam’s boss.”
Whaaat? This guy is not at all what I’d expect from a Congento executive. I mean, it’s the weekend, so I know he wouldn’t be in a three-piece suit. But a handlebar mustache? Shaggy salt-and-pepper hair that’d rival Einstein’s? A flannel shirt that’s seen better days?
Doesn’t seem like a C-suite type. At least not the ones I know.
A kitchen timer dings, biscuits are whisked from the oven, and then the whirl of activity is back until we’re all settled at the table for dinner. Sam manages to find a seat diagonally across and at the other end of the table from me, which suits me just fine. I don’t have to talk to him, but I can study him without being obvious.
Why does he have to be so damned attractive? He’s as sexy in dirt-covered work attire as he was in a perfectly pressed dress shirt. As scrumptious as he was naked.
Le sigh. I think naked might be my favorite.
“I hear you’ve got a YouTube channel focusing on seed preservation,” Carlos says, breaking into my estrogen-laced thoughts.
After fumbling my fork until it hits my plate with a clatter, I manage to catch it before it hits the floor.
“You okay there?” Sam asks.
“Fine. Just, you know, clumsy.” I hold up the fork like it’s a prize before spearing a chunk of chicken salad and stuffing it into my mouth.
This doesn’t deter Carlos, who just waits patiently.
Once I’ve chewed a long time, swallowed, and washed it down with water, I nod. “That’s right.”
“I’d love to hear more about it.” He butters his biscuit all casual, like he’s not pumping me for intel so he and his big guns at The Seed Alliance can try and take me down.
I shake my head. “I doubt you’d find it interesting.”
“She’s very talented,” Ethel says. “I couldn’t believe what all she did with my interview. Added all kinds of music and little cartoons and everything. Made me out like a superhero.”
“You and your club are heroes, Ethel,” I say, my passion for the subject overriding my well-founded wariness around the Congento boys. “In the United States alone, we’ve lost ninety percent of our fruit and vegetable varieties. You’re an essential part of the effort to protect what little crop diversity remains.”
Carlos, seemingly oblivious to the not-so-subtle digs I’m making at his company’s expense, continues to ask questions until I can’t take it anymore.
“What, total vertical integration isn’t enough for you? You’ve got to stamp out every tiny little effort to undermine Congento’s ever-growing control of our food supply?”
His brow wrinkles, and he tips his head to the side. “Congento?”
I point my fork at him and then at Sam. “Aren’t you his boss? At Congento?”
Sam clears his throat and then raises his brow to speak slowly. “I don’t work there anymore. I quit nine months ago.”
Wait. Sam and I met nine months ago.
“You quit? Nine months ago?” The phrase echoing in my head as well as my mouth, gravity wins, and my fork hits the floor.
“How did you know Sam worked at Congento?” Colleen asks, like she’s acting out a part.
