For nearly a year, Lainey Davis, Liz Alden, Karen Grey, Erin Mallon, and Ember Leigh met weekly via Zoom to create a ridiculous, wonderful world: Fork Lick, New York. Each book in the Farm 2 Forking series represents a collaborative effort of forced extroversion, shared goat memes, and hot farrier TikTok analysis. Nothing has ever been more fun! Karen and Erin brought their theater backgrounds into the virtual writing room, while Lainey, Liz and Ember learned new ways to meld minds. They hope these books make you snort laugh, or at least take up knitting.

CHAPTER 1DIANE

I knew it was a bad idea to eat in the hotel bar, but the adjoining restaurant had a half-hour wait, and I didn’t feel like driving around looking for another place in the pouring rain. When the hostess pointed at an empty barstool and my stomach grumbled, I grabbed the spot.

Now, I wish I’d gotten my meal to go. Everything had been fine when I’d ordered dinner, but the moment the bartender set it in front of me, this creep slid into the open seat next to me. A man with no sense of personal space, who will not let me eat in peace.

“I said, no thank you,” I repeat when he offers to buy me a drink. Again. My beer is only half-empty, and my appetite is gone. Where the hell did that bartender go? If I could just settle up, I could get out of here. Of course, then the guy might follow me to the elevator.

“You too good for me, is that it?” he asks, leaning even closer.

Wondering if I could get the hostess to help me out, I do my best to keep my voice even. “I’m not sur⁠—”

“So sorry I’m late, honey,” a warm, masculine voice says from behind me. “Who’s your friend?”

Those rich tones would have me turning towards him like a flower to the sun even if there weren’t a whiny asshole bothering me. When I do, I wish he were my honey. Thick, dark hair, chisel-cut cheekbones. Unruly brows, dark-rimmed glasses, pale blue eyes. So much like Henry Cavill’s Clark Kent I’m wondering if he’s got a superhero outfit under his tailored suit.

His eyes aren’t just beautiful, they speak volumes. They’re all guard-dog protective, until I arch a brow at him. When I get a glint of humor too, I decide to play along.

“I tried to save your seat, sweetums.” My tone treacly sweet, I gesture at the man I’ve been saying no to in every way I know how for the past fifteen minutes. “But this man took it. And he won’t leave me alone.”

I swear Superman grows several inches in height as he slips between me and Won’t Take No For An Answer Dude. “Are you bothering my wife, sir?”

Dude shrinks into his stool. “No, no, I was just, uh, making sure she was taken care of, you know.”

“Kind of you, but as you can see, I’ve got it covered.” Superman waits a beat and then tips his chin. “May I have my seat back?”

I swear the other guy goes boneless as he slithers off the bar stool. “It’s all yours, my man.”

“Thanks for keeping it warm for me,” my hero says, the growl in his tone overriding the polite words.

Now more Clark Kent, my suited savior slips onto the vacated seat with the grace and agility of an athlete, eyes tracking the other man until he’s well and truly gone. When he finally turns back to me, even his grimace is attractive. “Sorry if that was presumptive, but if you were my sister, I’d have done the same.”

As the words leave his mouth, he seems to realize what he’s said, and he adjusts his glasses, almost nervously. “That sounded weird, huh?”

I nod slowly, hiding my amusement. What is it with him? I should be pissed that he stepped in, assuming that I’d need his help. Instead, I want to grab him by the lapels of his fancy suit and kiss him silly.

“It’s just,” he continues, his cheeks flushing pink. “I do have a sister—a twin—and I get super protective, especially when she gets that look on her face.”

“The wide-eyed save-me look?”

“Exactly.” He grimaces slightly. “Do you forgive me?”

I tip my head to the side as if I’m trying to decide. “I will if you tell me your name.”

Relief has twin dimples appearing in his cheeks, and he holds out his hand to shake. “Samuel. Or Sam.”

“Diane.” His hand engulfs mine, and I have to force myself to release it. “I not only forgive you, I’m grateful. That guy would not go away.”

The bartender finally returns, but instead of settling up and heading back to my room as planned, I offer to buy Samuel-Sam a drink. “What’re you having?”

He tips his head to the side. “What were you having?”

I lift the half-full pint glass. “Chatham Farmer’s Daughter. It’s a local IPA. ‘Spicy, fresh, and a little sassy’ according to the menu.”

“Sounds like my kind of girl.” He nods to the bartender. “I’ll take a Farmer’s Daughter too.”

Before I can ask if he indeed has a farmer’s daughter—I mean, I don’t see a ring on his finger, but you never know—another man in a suit steps up behind us. “Sam, you forgot your portfolio.”

Sam groans as he takes it and sets it down on the bar. “Thanks, John. As my grandma would say, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

John’s gaze immediately zeroes in on my breasts. “Who do we have⁠—”

Before he can finish, Sam slaps him on the shoulder so hard that John stumbles slightly. “Thanks again. See you next week.”

With a sleazy grin, John backs up. “Yeah, sure man. Got it. You got here first.”

I swear Sam growls as he watches the man walk away, and when he turns back to me, he’s frowning. “Can I just apologize for me and every other male out there?”

Laughing, I say, “Anytime.”

He gestures at my half-finished meal. “Please, don’t mind me. Eat.”

I slump back in my seat. “I think I’m done.”

“Which jerk ruined your appetite?”

“It’s not them. This always happens with pasta at a restaurant. I can never get to the bottom of it. Plus, I’m a little nervous about a presentation I have to make tomorrow.”

“Well, if you’re not going to finish it, I will.”

“Do you want a menu?”

“Nah.” He hooks a thumb in the direction of the restaurant. “I had a work dinner, but I grew up with four siblings on my grandparents’ farm. Hate to see food go to waste.”

I slide the plate over and pepper him with questions about the farm. As he eats, I learn that they grow soybeans in the Catskills, and the farm’s been in the family for generations.

“Do you work in agriculture?” he asks. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I do.” The reason I’m in this bar instead of holing up in my hotel room rears its head again. “I really don’t feel like talking about work, though.”

He lifts his beer. “Amen to that.”

As the bartender refills his water glass, Sam asks for extra ice. I should ask for the check and head back to my room, but I’ve never been one to do what’s expected of me. “How about a game instead? I’m obsessed with this new trivia app I found.”

He narrows his eyes at me, and for the first time, I can’t quite read him. “Which app?”