Page 8 of Where I Should’ve Been

“Okay, Tad. Who just so happens to be a farmer.”

Randy laughs, but Tad laughs even harder. “Breezy Bishop, the linguistic gymnast.”

I grin. “At your service.”

“You know, you should come to Red Bridge more often,” he says. “Hell, you should move here!”

It’s my turn to crack up. “I don’t think I’m small-town material.”

“I think you’re the kind of pretty that can fit in anywhere.”

Is it just me, or is Farmer Tad flirting with me?

“Leave her alone, Tad,” Randy mutters. “Pretty sure she’s had to deal with enough bullshit tonight.”

“Relax, Rando.” Tad holds up both hands like he’s being arrested. “I’m just being hospitable.”

“Pretty sure you’re being a pain in her ass,” Randy retorts.

“Don’t mind him,” Tad attempts to whisper to me, but there’s no doubt that Randy can hear him. “He’s mad at me ’cause he had to pick me up from the bar. I like to have fun. Randy likes to be a buzzkill.”

“I’m mad because you told Maybelline Ross I’d give her a ride home, and she lives five goddamn miles outside of town.”

“Now it’s making sense why you guys were on the road tonight,” I say, and Randy nods.

“Guess it all worked out, though. I wouldn’t have wanted you stuck out there like that.”

“The Maybelline Ross thing wasn’t my fault,” Tad interjects on a sigh. “She was asking to stay at my place, and you know I’m not down for that bullshit.”

Randy snorts and rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, brother.”

I’ve heard enough of Farmer Tad’s lore to know all the single ladies in Red Bridge want a piece of him. Hell, Josie says there are women from Molene—a town that’s about thirty minutes away—who come to her husband Clay’s bar just to see Tad Hanson. He’s apparently quite the hot commodity out here in small-town Vermont.

Though, on all my visits to Red Bridge, I’ve never actually seen him with anyone. Maybe he’s just a one-night-stand kind of guy? I don’t know.

It’s a slippery journey, and by the time we pull into the long gravel drive of Tad’s farmhouse, the time on the clock glows red with 1:30 a.m.

Shit.

That’s about four hours too late to be barging into Bennett’s house where his not-even-two-year-old toddler, Autumn, is asleep, and up until now, I was too busy worrying over the snow to realize. But I can’t go in there. I’d rather die of hypothermia than risk waking a sleeping baby, to be honest.

“Home sweet home!” Tad exclaims as he hops out of the truck and holds out a hand for me to follow. I do, but my mind whirls as I try to figure out a plan for where I’m going to go until the sun comes up. “What an honor spending the evening with you.” He literally bows in front of me like I’m royalty. “Anytime you get stuck somewhere, give me a call, yeah? Day or night or afternoon.”

“Uh…thanks,” I say.

“You good?” Tad asks, weaving on his feet a little as he leans back into the truck. Evidently, even in his buzzed-up glory, he can see the hesitancy on my face.

“Yeah. Yes,” I say, but a sigh escapes my throat. “I just…I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Does Bennett know you’re coming?” Randy asks, leaning across the bench seat to meet my eyes, and I cringe a little.

“He knows I’m coming, but he might have been under the impression that I was coming tomorrow. Something about a snowstorm I should wait out before making the drive.”

“Oh! I know what you should do!” Tad exclaims with a giant grin on his face. “You should stay at your buddy Farmer Tad’s house!” He winks. “That’s me, by the way. I’m Farmer Tad.”

“I’m aware,” I answer, shaking my head as I do. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, Breezy. It’s a great idea. No use in you waking up Bennett and Norah and little Autumn. I’ve got plenty of beds here.”