Page 6 of Hope After Loss

“For such a progressive chemist-slash-farmer, you have an archaic way of running the business end of things,” I say.

He looks around the office and back at me and grins. “Yeah, I guess this part really isn’t my thing.”

“You’d better send your mother flowers.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh, yes, because she sent me to you. I know you have no idea how much you needed me,” I muse.

“I’ll do that.”

“Okay, well, you go do whatever it is farmers do because I need to get to work,” I say as I wave him away from my desk.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He exits the office, and I roll up my sleeves and get to work. The first order of business is getting an online accounting system that can be integrated with the bank account and business credit cards and linked to the farm’s accountant’s office.

I work steadily, rearranging my desk, moving files, and scanning what I can into the computer library system so we can shred some paper to make a little room in the overstuffed cabinets.

Before I know it, Weston reappears and informs me it’s past five o’clock.

“Oh no. I have to go. I told the sitter I’d be home by five thirty,” I say as I jump to my feet and start searching for my bag.

“Calm down. I’m sure Leona will be fine if you’re a few minutes late,” he soothes.

“That’s not the point. I hate being late. I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of her kindness.”

“You know, you’re more than welcome to bring the little one here with you,” he offers.

I stop and stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said it.”

“She’s not even a year old.”

He grins. “I know how old Kaela is, Anna.”

“Right.”

“Look, the only people who work in this building are you and me, and honestly, I’m out most of the time. You’re welcome to bring a portable crib or baby-cage playpen thingy and set it up. There’s plenty of room. I’m sure it would be easier for you than trying to arrange for someone to keep her every day.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I like kids. Having one running around here will liven the place up.”

He thinks that now. Just wait.

“If you’re sure, I’ll bring her, and we’ll test it out, but you have to promise me that if it becomes too much or her being here bothers you at all, you’ll tell me,” I insist.

“I promise,” he says.

Then, he walks over to the closet he gave me and retrieves my bag.

He hands it to me.

“Thank you. For everything,” I say, trying not to get weepy.

“You’re welcome. Now, get out of here. I’ll see you in the morning.”