Page 52 of The Romantic Agenda

“You’re thinking I’m right, aren’t you?”

“Sixty-five percent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not prying. We’re having a conversation!”

“Reading my face is cheating.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he says with another smile, slightly mocking, mostly a challenge. His smile last night had notes of sunshine after a rainstorm—warm and welcome but all too fleeting. “You have this way of looking at people. It’s pretty intense, like you’re searching for something important.”

“People,” she repeats, skeptically. “I look atpeoplelike that?”

Fox is trying so hard not to stretch that smile into a grin. Joy can’t help but see that as a challenge on her life and namesake.

Any time she can assert her comedic prowess, Joy takes the chance. She likes to live up to her name because she thinks it’s funny in aher parents subjected her to a lifetime of ironykind of way. Trying to make Fox smile is quickly becoming her new favorite hobby. Getting that sentient grump to laugh satisfies her in a way she hadn’t really thought about before.

“No,” he admits.

“It’s like I said, I want to know you. You have my full attention. For better or for worse.”

“In sickness and in health.”

Joy’s comedic heart stammered in her chest. That’sexactlywhere she was going with that. Yesterday, she made a quip about a proposal. This morning, she said rules of engagement and what comes after that? Marriage.

“You have no idea how refreshing it is to be around someone who gets my terrible jokes. Malcolm just sighs at me like he’s dying.”

“That’s why I like them,” he says. “Because you know they’re terrible and you say them anyway.”

“Because—”

“Because they bring you joy. Yes, I know.”

Joy laughs. “You betterstopthat before you give me a heart attack.”

The Barn Hall is a massive one-level structure. It’s painted dark green and has professionally shot portraits of the blue-ribbon animals mounted out front. There are two entrances, one on each side, and they enter from the right.

Joy says, “I love the smell of a barn in the morning.”

Fox raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a joke. It smells foul as hell, but the cows are adorable. I heard they like to be petted. I probably shouldn’t try.”

“Probably. You can’t exactly ask them for permission. Like how with a dog, you can put your hand out to let them decide. I don’t think that works with cows.”

“That’s an excellent point.” She stares at him, considering his response. “You’ve thought about that before, haven’t you?”

“I have,” he says with grave sincerity. “I wanted a cow when I was younger, but my parents wouldn’t go for it.”

Joy makes her way down the line of pigs, saying hello to each one. If they seem friendly and interested in her, she takes a picture with them. “Did you grow up on a farm?” she asks Fox, who’s trailing her.

He shakes his head. “We just had a lot of animals. Dogs, cats, chickens, a couple of goats.”

“And where was this? Hmm?” She snaps a photo with a bright pink potbellied pig who keeps sniffing her sweater.

“Virginia.”

“That’s where you’re from originally?”