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Page 15 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)

Fifi

I found Sienna exactly where I figured she’d be—by the goats, acting like she hadn’t single-handedly orchestrated one of the most embarrassing moments of my adult life.

She was tossing handfuls of hay into the trough, humming some upbeat folk song like she hadn’t just tossed me into an accidental fake date with a grumpy, gorgeous guest who now probably thought I was certifiably unhinged.

One of the goats bleated as I approached. Probably in warning. Or possibly solidarity.

Sienna didn’t look up. “Afternoon, sunshine.”

I crossed my arms. “Do not sunshine me right now.”

She blinked innocently. “What? I’m just feeding Gerald.”

Gerald, our oldest goat, headbutted the trough with dramatic flair. I liked to think he was protesting on my behalf.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You told me Ben called the lodge and asked for company.”

She finally turned, wide-eyed, playing dumb like it was an Olympic sport. “Did I?”

“Yes. You did. And then I got out there, thinking I was meeting him halfway on a trail hangout he requested, and guess who was genuinely shocked to see me?”

Sienna bit her lip. “Ben?”

“Yes. Ben. The man who did not ask me to come. The man who looked like he’d seen a ghost. The man who was already halfway into his what-the-hell-is-going-on face.”

Sienna laughed and tossed more hay. “Okay, yes, that was technically a surprise for both of you. But you’re welcome.”

I stared at her. “You’re not even pretending to be sorry?”

“Why would I be?” She shrugged. “It worked.”

“ Worked? How in the world did it work ?”

“You two had coffee, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and I wanted to crawl into a compost bin afterward. That’s not a win, Sienna. That’s mortification. I never want to show my face around him again.”

Sienna snorted. “You say that, but Millie called me an hour ago.”

My stomach flipped. “Millie what ?”

“She called. Wanted to let me know she saw you two at Buttercup Java, and she’s absolutely certain, and I quote, he’s smitten with Fifi, dear. ”

I groaned, dropping my forehead against the fence rail.

Sienna chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

I lifted my head, frowning. “Is that supposed to make me feel better ?”

She grinned. “Well, you’re standing upright and not sobbing, so I’ll take it as progress.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Debatable.”

I lunged toward the hose resting in the grass and turned on the spigot without thinking.

Sienna’s eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”

I raised the nozzle as if it were a sword. “Apologize, traitor.”

She started backing away, hands raised. “Okay, okay—truce! Think of the goats!”

“They’re rooting for me.”

I sprayed a quick arc of water, catching her on the sleeve. She squealed and darted behind the feed bin.

“This is abuse!” she shouted through laughter.

“This is justice! ” I called, giving chase, spraying a mist in her direction.

We darted around the paddock, giggling like we were eight again, our laughter tangling with the warm afternoon air. The sun caught the water droplets, casting rainbows through the spray. Gerald bleated his approval, or maybe indignation, but neither of us cared.

My heart pounded, but it wasn’t from anger anymore. It was light, loose, and free.

For the first time all day, the weird buzzing in my chest quieted.

I stopped near the fence, breathless, hair damp around my face, and grinned at my soaking-wet sister. “I should drown you in the duck pond.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

“Oh, I will.”

She leaned against the fence, wiping her face with her sleeve. “You needed that.”

“I needed to murder you.”

“But in a fun way.”

I was about to retort, some clever, cutting, thoroughly justified insult, when I heard it.

Crunch.

The unmistakable sound of tires on gravel.

I froze.

So did Sienna.

Slowly, I turned toward the parking lot.

A car had just pulled in.

My heart thudded, too loud, too fast.

I couldn’t see the driver yet, but something in me knew.

“Sienna,” I hissed. “If that’s who I think it is…”

She raised her eyebrows, backing up slowly. “Then I’m going to go… see if Gerald needs more hay.”

“Coward.”

“Smart coward,” she corrected, and vanished behind the barn.

I stood there, damp and disheveled, hose still in hand, with a wild crown of hair and probably bits of hay stuck to my pants. My shirt clung to my back, and my cheeks were flushed from running and laughing like a ghoul.

I looked like a mess, and if Ben stepped out of that car, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to sink into the ground or just laugh at how much worse this day could possibly get.

Because I’d just spent the last hour ranting about how mortified I was, and now fate had apparently decided to double down.

I waited, hose still dripping, pulse skipping like it had no sense of rhythm.

And the car door opened.

I should’ve heard the crunch of gravel and run.

Instead, I froze, soaked, breathless, and holding a half-wild garden hose like it was a weapon and not the cause of my current state of public humiliation.

Because, of course, it was Ben.

He stepped out of the car like he wasn’t the reason my internal organs had short-circuited at least once a day for the past week.

Navy tee exposing his biceps, jeans like they were personally tailored to ruin my concentration, and that familiar cloud of don’t talk to me energy that could clear a town square.

His eyes scanned the chaos, me, the goats, the puddle, and landed on me.

And not in the melty gaze, swept away by your beauty kind of way.

No.

It was a mix of stoic confusion and mild disapproval. A frown tugged at the edge of his mouth like it lived there permanently.

I braced for sarcasm.

Instead, he said, “This a normal day for you?”

I turned off the hose with a dramatic flourish. “Only on days ending in ‘Y.’”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, and didn’t even twitch.

Alright. Challenge accepted.

I took a few soggy steps toward him, brushing damp hair from my face.

“Don’t worry, Gerald didn’t mean to headbutt the water spigot. He just has strong feelings about hydration.”

Still nothing.

If anything, his frown deepened.

“I know I look like I lost a fight with a garden hose and a goat, but you should see the other guy,” I said brightly.

His eyebrow ticked up, but his mouth remained a firm, horizontal line of stoicism and emotional repression.

Was this man immune to charm?

I turned toward the barn where Sienna had vanished. “And my sister’s a coward, in case you were wondering. She set me up for this and then fled like she was avoiding jury duty.”

Ben crossed his arms. “That’s the second time you’ve blamed her for something today.”

“Second this hour, probably.”

He exhaled through his nose with not quite a sigh and not quite amusement.

“Look,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. “I know you didn’t come back to the lodge hoping to see your hostess drenched in hose water and goat hair, but this is me. Real, chaotic, occasionally muddy. And you keep showing up, so either you’re a masochist or you secretly find me adorable.”

Still stone-faced.

And yet, I could feel something shift, not in his expression, but in the air between us.

He hadn’t walked away, and that counted for something.

I gave him a quick once-over, then squinted at his face. “You know you’re allowed to smile, right? The muscles won’t break.”

“I don’t smile on command.”

“Oh, so you’re a rebel. ” I tapped my chin. “Or a secret agent. Wait—no. A misunderstood poet. That’s it. You’ve been secretly composing dramatic free verse about pine trees.”

Ben stared at me like I’d grown antlers.

A goat bleated somewhere behind me, like it agreed with Ben.

I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “Fine. You win. Remain frowny. I’ll just be over here, plotting ways to turn your scowl upside down before your checkout date.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Why do you care?”

It wasn’t accusing. Just… honest. Cautious.

I blinked.

He really didn’t get it.

“Because,” I said softly, “you look like you’ve forgotten how.”

His jaw flexed.

For a second, I thought maybe I’d gone too far, but then his gaze dropped, like he didn’t know how to answer.

So, I didn’t press.

Instead, I changed the subject, tugging at my damp T-shirt. “I’m going to smell like a petting zoo for the rest of the day.”

“You already do,” he said, voice dry as kindling.

And that tiny flicker of sarcasm? That was the crack in the armor I’d been looking for.

I grinned. “Ah, so he can be funny.”

Ben gave me a look that could probably wither crops, but he didn’t leave. He didn’t retreat. He stood there, watching me like he was trying to decode an unfamiliar language written in lavender and lemons and stubborn cheer.

I took a step closer. “You came back.”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, gruffly, “I needed a break.”

“From Millie?”

That earned me the tiniest quirk of his lips. Not a smile. But his face definitely did something. I wanted to throw confetti.

“From myself,” he said finally.

That quieted me.

The hose, the goats, the teasing, it all slipped into the background as I looked at him.

Ben Jensen wasn’t mean or cold; he was just tired.

Tired in a way I recognized in my bones, and maybe that’s why I couldn’t help myself.

Why I was standing in the sun, damp and ridiculous, still trying to make this man laugh.

Because if anyone needed a reminder that the world could be light and silly and good, it was him.

“Do you want to help me feed the ducks?” I asked, gently now. “They’re only mildly judgmental.”

He stared at me, and for the first time since he arrived at the lodge, I saw it.

A flicker, a glimmer, and the memory of a smile.

“Sure,” he said.

Just like that.

One word.

And I felt it settle deep in my chest.

He didn’t say much, and he still didn’t laugh, and still looked at me like I was made of glitter and chaos.

But he was here.

And I had a mission.

Operation: Turn Grumpypants into a Grinning Human was officially underway.