Hailey shook her head. “You lost me.”
Grant raised his eyebrow. “The thirty-first president of the United States, preceded by Coolidge and succeeded by Roosevelt. I take it you’ve heard of the Great Depression?”
“I’m choosing to ignore you right now,” Hailey declared as she opened the refrigerator door.
“Good, because you’re annoying me,” Grant shot back.
“Cock-a-doodle-do!” Hailey sang out, without looking back, her head buried in the refrigerator, searching out the missing orange juice carton. “Is that annoying enough for you?”
Grant smiled as his eyes wandered from Hailey’s perfectly molded calves to the two enticing dimples in the small of her back. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but one perfect tendril of curls fell down over her sculpted, yet feminine, shoulder.
Hailey spun around and eyed the glass in Grant’s hand. “Who said you could have the last of the orange juice?” she snapped as she grabbed for the empty carton on the table.
“Grumpy in the mornings, are you?” Grant smiled. “I’ll make a note of that.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Hailey stomped. “I just like to have a sip of orange juice before my morning run. That’s all.”
Grant took a big gulp from his glass. “Do you want the rest?” he offered.
“Gross, I don’t want to drink after you!” Hailey insisted.
Grant winked at her. “It’s a little late at this point to worry about swapping spit, wouldn’t you say?”
“Gross!” Hailey squirmed uncomfortably.
“Funny,” Grant smirked. “If I recall correctly, your previous descriptive of choice was…”
“You don’t know when to shut up,” Hailey interrupted.
“As in shut up and kiss me?” Grant shrugged.
Hailey eyed Grant hatefully. “You’ve been here for two days already,” she sighed. “I guess it’s about time we have this conversation.”
There was a long silence, during which Hailey stared at the floor and hoped Grant would come up with a clever way to change the subject.
Just as Hailey began to speak, Grant cut her off. “Did you know that in German, the onomatopoeia for the sound a rooster makes is kikeriki?”
“Roosters in Germany really speak a different language than roosters in America?” Hailey exclaimed.
Grant smiled broadly. “Yes, Hailey, roosters tend to pick up the native tongue of their country.” Hailey just looked at him. “No,” Grant laughed. “An onomatopoeia is just an imitation of a sound. The rooster sounds the same; the way they interpret it sounds differently.”
“Onomatopoeia is a strange word,” Hailey declared. “How does someone even come up with something like that?”
Grant sat his glass of orange juice aside. “Well, it actually comes from the Greek words…”
“You lead a double life as someone who walks around with taped up glasses, suspenders and a pocket protector, don’t you?” Hailey laughed.
Grant smiled wryly. “I recently traded in my most stylin’ suspenders and my favorite pocket protector for overalls and a pitchfork.”
“You know what?” Hailey grumbled, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. She reached for this glass and took a quick swig of orange juice. “As lovely as this conversation has been, I’m going for a run now, and you’re gonna stay out of my way. Got it?”
Grant lifted his fingers to salute as he followed Hailey out the back door to the carport.
Doing her best to ignore Grant, Hailey started to jog down the driveway.
“What are you doing?” Grant called as he bent over and scooped up two basketballs.
Hailey stopped and turned back. “You’re a smart boy, what does it look like I’m doing?” she yelled.
“Wasting your time,” Grant said as he tossed her a ball. “You’re a point guard, not a track star; nobody cares how long or how fast you can go if you can’t do it dribbling a basketball.”
“It’s just my morning jog,” Hailey argued. “I’m focusing on cardio; I’m not working on my game right now.”
“Well,” Grant shrugged, “have it your way. If you don’t want to be the best, what do I care?”
“Fine,” Hailey groaned. “Let’s go! I bet I can out run you, out last you, and out dribble you.”
Grant smiled as he slapped Hailey’s ball away.
“Hey! Not fair!” Hailey hollered as Grant jogged backwards, waiting for her to catch up.
There was an easy, October breeze in the air as Hailey and Grant ran along a dirt path that stretched past a huge pasture. Hailey dribbled with one hand while using the other to point out introductions to Connie the spotted cow, Betsy the potbellied pig and Fred, a mangy looking horse, who snarled when they ran by. Half an hour passed as they jogged in silence, each taking in the scenery and contemplating the company.
Hailey grinned, silently and repeatedly reminding herself that it was probably not a good idea to keep stealing glances of Grant’s chiseled chest muscles, even if the glisten of sweat that shimmered ever so slightly in the morning sun was, despite her best efforts to convince herself otherwise, the sexiest thing she had ever seen. When their eyes met, Hailey offered a shy smile. “I probably should have warned you that red shorts might not have been the way to go, considering this route takes us right past the Mason Farm, home of the meanest bull in town.”
Hailey admired the ease with which Grant shrugged off the joke. “I’ve always wanted to run with the bulls,” he laughed. “If not in Pamplona, why not Hope Hull?”
