Stirred: A Love Story (2 page)

Garrett Rye was up before the sun and happy the holidays were over. He loved the tradition of it all, but there wasn’t much downtime on the farm, and juggling schedules throughout November and December was always a hassle. With only four more days until he could flip the office calendar to the new year, he welcomed a return to routine. After breakfast and feeding Jack, Garrett hopped into his truck, Jack riding shotgun as usual. It was Monday morning, and he had a meeting in the office with a new company that wanted to provide recycled bands for the farm’s lettuce and kale. Their bands contained “no wire” which meant “less of a footprint,” or so they’d said on the phone last week. When Garrett had asked if they actually worked, he was told they held together better than the ones he was currently using. He would believe it when he saw it. He’d spent his entire life farming, striking a balance between need and rejuvenation. Lately, it felt like a dear friend had suddenly become a celebrity. The environment was big business now. Garrett still found it difficult to catch up with the latest do and don’t list. Only last week, his niece informed him that recycling his paper bags from the market wasn’t enough. He needed to buy cloth bags. Garrett had bought the damn things but never remembered to take them out of his truck when he went shopping. Paige had told him he was a “work in progress.” Garrett laughed, thinking about his niece, or as he liked to call her, “your highness.”

The thought of an hour-long meeting talking about bands made his head hurt. Someone had to take care of this shit, but he often wished it didn’t have to be him. “Eh, quit your whining and focus on all the things going right,” he could hear his father’s voice in his head as he pulled over to check the newly installed drip system on the south field. Jack jumped across his lap as soon as the truck door opened and was off between the rows of newly planted radishes and carrots.

The sun was starting to make its way up the horizon. Garrett crouched down and grabbed some soil, rubbing it between his fingers. It was moist, perfect actually. He looked toward the horizon and found that most things were going right. Despite the fact that he had to wear a starched button-down shirt today instead of his preferred long-sleeve T-shirt, despite his list of “have tos” waiting for him on his calendar today, most of which had nothing to do with this sunrise or this soil, Garrett was right where he wanted to be. The good outweighed the bad when he put his hands to earth or when he thought about his family or looked out and saw Jack running around, ears cocked and stub of a tail wagging. This was his center, and even though he was now responsible for so many other things, it was all part of the effort to keep things as they were.

He grabbed another handful of soil and brought it to his nose before returning it to the neatly laid-out row. Whistling for Jack, he glanced over at the south barn as the guys were opening the doors, starting up the motors. He missed it, that work, he missed it every day, but his father needed him where he was, and Garrett was never one to complain.

He pulled his truck into its usual spot in front of the old assembly building, which was now the administrative offices of Ryeland Farms, and waved to George, who was unlocking the door, a thermos of coffee dangling from one finger.

“Did you bring any more of those tamales for lunch?” Garrett asked, grabbing a folder off his dash and closing the door behind Jack.

George shook his head and flicked on the lights, holding the glass door open. “Nah, they were gone yesterday morning. Next year, man.” He patted Garrett on the back and followed him into his office.

“I saw the guys getting started out there. Checked the latest section of the drip system. Everything looks good. Anything I’m not seeing?” Garrett asked as Jack curled up on his bed under the window.

“No, things are pretty much what you saw. They lay the rest of the drip lines today and the guys will be finished planting right behind them. That part went off without a hitch.” He leaned forward and knocked on the wood of Garrett’s desk.

George shared his coffee with Garrett, as he did most mornings, while they talked about the day ahead and things that might come up. When Garrett had worked the land himself, he’d used his instincts—smells, texture, or a feeling—but since taking over, things had changed. The risk had grown from simply losing a crop to losing everything, so he had learned to use schedules and calendars; his plans had backup plans, but he still had instinct. He needed it for the unexpected, and there was always something unexpected.

He and George were wrapping things up before Garrett’s meeting when George pulled out his phone. They flipped through pictures of their Christmas Eve dinner and as they laughed, Garrett remembered why he spent Christmas Eve with George and his family.

As lead farm manager, George and the rest of the Gomez family hosted a dinner for anyone who wanted the world’s best tamales or, more importantly, couldn’t get home for the holiday. George and his wife Angela knew how to have a good time, and Garrett went every year. Christmas Eve potluck was a tradition that dated several generations back in the Rye family. Herbert, Garrett’s father, usually attended, but once his granddaughter was born, Herb had “no intention of missing a holiday with my princess,” so he abdicated the responsibility to his oldest son. Garrett didn’t mind. In fact, he looked forward to it every year. Logan, his brother the chef, gave him pickled carrots and jalapenos from his garden to bring, while Kenna, his sister, bought and wrapped all the presents. Garrett was the chosen ambassador, but it was a family effort.

The people who ran Ryeland Farms, the folks who woke up early and put in the work, were important. They worked as hard as Garrett did, sometimes harder, and it was part of his job to make sure they always knew they were valued. When he’d taken over most of the operational responsibilities, his father had told him, “People need to feel they are a part of something more than a paycheck.”

George and Angela lived with their teenage daughter on the farm. Their house used to be Garrett’s grandparents’, before the main house, where his father lived now, was built. Ryeland Farms was barely shy of fifty-five acres complete with three barns, the newly converted offices, a four-bay garage, an orchard, beehives, and a large pond with ducks. The main house was where they were all raised and where Garrett had lived until he was about twenty-five. That was when he moved out to the house he’d designed and helped build toward the edge of the property, near the apple trees. His house was small, but it was uniquely suited to him, and it felt like home. Growing up, Logan and Kenna had left for lives of their own, still connected, but away from the farm. Garrett had always known he would work with his dad and eventually take over. He loved what he did, but there was a sense of blending into the background that he’d only recently started to notice. He’d become a fixture, like Gracie the goat. He coexisted with the image of their childhood, Ryeland Farms, as a whole. He didn’t cook like his brother or have a child like his sister. Both of them ran something separate from their shared past, and Garrett had stayed behind.

As they thumbed through the last of the pictures, Garrett wondered if his life would always be this way. Would he spend every Christmas Eve with George or his family and their spouses and children? If that’s how it was all meant to play out, he was happy with that. It was all he needed. Garrett would always take “same old, same old” over disruption and uncertainty. The last time he’d been uncertain, he was nine. He’d gone to school one morning and returned to a very different life. Since that day, after the initial “what now?” moment, Garrett had created a solid foundation for his family, steeped in hard work, chores, and keeping things steady. They counted on it, or at least they did growing up.

Walking George to his office and then greeting the sales guys waiting for him by the front door, Garrett knew his family wasn’t going anywhere. Both his brother and sister were getting married, but that didn’t mean anything needed to change. He and his father ran the farm, and that would always be. By the time he closed the conference room door, he’d answered his own wonderings—yes, his life
would
always be exactly as it was.

Chapter Two

“W
ait, is that the actual name of the book?” Kenna asked that morning while she and Sage were rolling silverware and sharing holiday stories.

Sage nodded, and Kenna took the Kindle out of Sage’s purse. After flipping through a few pages, she snorted a laugh. “Wow. Well, according to this, I need to work on my naughty too.”

“It is pretty. . . comprehensive. Hollis always loves to challenge.”

“Huh, well, this isn’t you. I’m sure you’ll have a good laugh with your sister and then you can delete that thing right—”

“I’ve read the first three chapters, so I think I’ll try out step one and maybe two at the New Year’s Eve party on Friday.”

Kenna looked like she might laugh again but instead furrowed her brow and continued flipping pages. “Step one, let’s see here. Are you referring to the Dress Like You Were Just—” Now came the laughter. “Holy hell, Sage. Do you even know what that looks like? I mean, I’m not saying you’re a prude, because you’re not. Except when you wear that one corduroy skirt and those Catholic schoolgirl-looking shoes, because no one will ever get laid in that outfit. But other than that, you’re middle of the road, right? Not exactly—”

“Just fucked?” Sage leaned over and said quietly, realizing that the need to whisper those words in a closed bar, speaking only with her best friend, meant she had a long way to go toward naughty. “I know, but there are pictures in the book. It’s all about heels and showing skin and pouty lips. Oh, and messy hair. Which I’ve actually mastered already.” She ran her fingers through her short brown hair.

Kenna found the pictures on the Kindle. “I. . . Wow. Okay, well this is. . .”

“A challenge. I haven’t had one in a while, and my sister’s right. I am a bartender in a big city.”

“Will you stop saying that? You hiked Mount Whitney a few months back. That was a challenge. You’re the queen of pushing yourself. But this? I think you should pass on this one.”

“Why?”

“Because being naughty isn’t like cutting your hair short or learning to play the cello.”

“Hey, don’t bring up the cello. I’m still upset about that. Who knew I was tone deaf, right? Sorry, go ahead.”

“My point is we all have certain character things we’re born with. Like, I’m. . .”

“Pig-headed, crass?”

“Blunt, I was going to say blunt. I am not pig-headed. I’m not even sure what that means. Shouldn’t that term stay on the farm?”

“Maybe I’m a closet farm girl.”

Kenna laughed. “You wish. Anyway, being blunt is part of who I am and unless I want to change everything else, I can’t change something that big. You know?”

Sage thought she understood, but she’d done so many things, learned so much in the last few years, that she wasn’t sure why this was any different. There were steps, a guide to naughty, and she would master them.

“You’re not naughty, Sage. You’re kind and completely unaware of how smart and beautiful you are.”

“Aww.”

“I’m serious. What if you change that part of yourself in the name of some challenge and you lose all the rest?”

“Have you been watching Oprah with your dad again?”

Kenna shook her head.

“I think you’re making a big deal out of this. I have a book, a blueprint. This is going to be fun, and maybe I’ll learn some things about myself.”

“Like what?”

“Like. . . I. . . like being naughty.”

“Don’t you think you would have figured that out when what’s-his-face, your last boyfriend before you moved here, wanted to break out the blindfold?”

“That was a long time ago and different.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“It was. I’m doing this and you are my friend, so you have to be supportive.” Sage snatched the Kindle from Kenna’s hand and slipped it back into her purse. “I have some naughty clothes, and New Year’s Eve is the perfect time to throw caution to the wind and see what happens. Besides, I’ll be here, around people I know, so it’s like a baby step. Not like I’m heading to Vegas without panties on or anything.”

They both laughed, and Sage stood to get more coffee.

“Garrett is babysitting Paige,” Kenna said, wincing as if she was almost afraid to say her brother’s name.

“You see?” Sage whipped around as the coffee sloshed in the cups. “Another reason why this is important. You assume the only reason I want to be naughty is to get his attention.”

Kenna tilted her head and remained quiet.

“Fine. I clearly have it bad for him, but that’s why this is a good idea. I’m giving myself a reboot. None of my efforts will be directed at Mr. Dear-Lord-You’re-Perfect-And-So-Hot-In-Those—”

“Sage.”

“Right, sorry. None of my usual sad, pathetic pining. This could be so empowering. Remember when you wanted to date after the Travis dream?”

Kenna nodded.

“Well, there was a reason I wanted to date too. Garrett and I are not going to have the same happy ending as you two do, but I’d like one, so I need to change things up. There are other men out there, and this book is going to help me learn to have fun. I’ve never been good with, you know—” Sage set the coffee down, pushed her boobs together, and made an exaggerated pouty face.

Kenna shook her head, laughing.

“What? Too much?”

“Nothing. You’re pretty cute, you know. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Sage exhaled. “Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, what about hot-guy-from-the-plane? Maybe you could try out some of your moves on him.”

“He hasn’t called. I may have blown that one with my weirdness. See, if I’d had the steps down I could have tried out Chapter Five—‘Tease Me, Please Me’ or Chapter Six—‘Talk Dirty to Me’ on him while we were stuck on the plane.”

Both of them laughed.

“Those titles are. . . something else.” Kenna said, stacking the rolled silverware into the three empty baskets.

“I know.” Sage shook her head and went behind the bar to turn on some music.