A black and brown spotted goat is trying to climb my leg, jump into my arms, and otherwise love me unconditionally. Or at least only conditional on petting her. I bend down a little, scratching behind her ears.
“That’s Baarbara. She’s mostly friendly, most of the time. Well, occasionally—NO! Don’t let her get your ponytail! She’ll chew the ends right off!”
I shake my head and feel a little tug as Baarbara loses her tasty snack. A twist of my ponytail puts my hair up into a bun at my nape and out of nibbling range. I hope. Brody moves close, fingering the ends of my hair in a move that feels ridiculously intimate. The air charges between us, and for a moment, I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.
“These are Shay’s goats. She uses their milk to make her soaps,” Brody says, cracking the tension and stepping away as another wave of attack-goats approaches. He goes on to tell me how she started small, selling at the farmers market where I met her the first time, and later, expanding into the operation she has now with a website, international shipping, resort orders, and specialty holiday scents. “She did the same thing with her canning and baking stuff. Started out with just smashed pumpkin puree in the fall, but now she has a rotation of items she makes each season. She’s always looking for new recipes and her, Brutal, and Bobby figure out what they can plant and when it’ll be ready so she can start advertising. She’s turned into quite the entrepreneur.”
The pride he feels at his sister’s success is obvious and vaguely parental. “I haven’t tried her soaps, but if they’re anything like the jelly or the cake I had, they’re amazing. I’ll definitely have to stock up at the next farmers market.”
Brody nods, humming under his breath. He does this sometimes when he’s thinking or figuring out how to say something. Every word out of his mouth is deliberate and intentional, nearly the opposite of my tendency to pop off. I breathe and let him speak when he’s ready without jumping in to start the conversation, whatever it is.
He picks up a small baby goat and my ovaries nearly explode. I have no desire for kids, not yet, anyway, but a hungover-vulnerable Brody gently holding a tiny animal, spindly legs dangling over his forearm, is about the cutest-slash-sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and instantly makes me think of Brody as a father. He’d be an excellent one—by all reports, he raised Shayanne pretty damn well.
Finally, he speaks low and slow, like he’s scared I’m going to go nuclear again. “Can I explain?” I nod, still not sure where he’s going but readying myself for just about anything. “Shay is why I said you should talk to your dad about racing.”
I open my mouth to argue, and he lifts one brow to glare at me from under his hat. Slowly, I shut my mouth for once. It’s harder than it should be.
“Thank you.” He acknowledges how hard that was for me. “We grew up happy, and Mom and Dad were good together. But when she died, Dad was gutted and never right again. I picked up the slack and took as much of his anger as I could, but he was . . .” He pauses, looking for the word. “Stuck, I guess? After that, Dad would never let Shay grow. He kept her small, though I don’t think he meant to. She was just a kid to him, to me, to all of us. She still is sometimes, though these days, she won’t let us forget that she’s not. But she’s just so damn good. I wish Dad had seen her succeed, not for his sake because fuck him, but for hers. For the longest time, she had a soft spot for Dad, and it would’ve meant the world to her to prove herself to him.” He’s quiet, scratching behind the goat’s ears and seemingly lost in the past.
“That’s why I said what I said. I think it would mean something to you to show your dad what an amazing mechanic you are, especially with all the custom shit you’re doing. It’s your art, and I can see how it’s wearing on you to hold back a part of yourself from everyone. That’s all I meant, but it’s your call. Always.” He sets the goat down, dark eyes focused on me, imploring me to understand that his heart was in the right place.
Words fail me, so I strut right up to him and grab a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to me. He comes willingly, our lips crashing together. I apologize again without words, make promises across our shared breath, and taste his good intentions upon his tongue.