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“Never. Think…dingy bars and clubs where the police were called after fights broke out.”
“Did you have groupies? Like you do now?”
She was teasing again, but I had to admit I liked it. “There were a few girls who might have been considered regulars at our shows, but they weren’t interested in me.”
“Poor thing.”
“They weren’t my type.” I frowned. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure they were anyone’s type.”
She smiled, flashing dimples I hadn’t noticed before. “So…if you’re not in a band and you don’t perform much, what is it that you actually do?”
Naturally I said, “My family owns a farm.”
She swept her eyes over me. “You don’t look like a farmer.”
“That’s because I’m not wearing my overalls and straw hat.”
She gave that rumbling belly laugh again, and I realized how much I liked the sound of it. “What do you grow on your farm?” As I described our seasonal crops and who we sold them to, she pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, flashing her immaculate red toenail polish. “I only buy cage-free organic eggs,” she remarked, nodding. “I feel bad for chickens who spend their whole life inside a tiny cage. But tobacco causes cancer.”
“Cigarettes cause cancer. All I do is grow a green leafy plant, and then I prime and cure the leaves before selling them.”
“Are those farming terms?”
“Priming means picking the leaves, and curing means allowing them to dry.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that instead?”
“Because I like to sound professional.”
She fluttered her long, dark lashes and shot me an indulgent smile. “Okay, Professor…what’s an heirloom tomato? I mean, I know they come in funky shapes and colors, but how are they different from regular tomatoes?”
“Most of the tomatoes you find in stores are hybrids, which means their DNA has been manipulated, usually so they won’t spoil while being transported. The downside is that hybrids taste kind of bland. Heirloom tomatoes aren’t hybrids, so each variety has its own unique flavor.”
There was a lot more to it—whether or not open pollination was used, whether seeds were purchased from vendors or harvested individually, the soil’s effect on flavor, climate—but only people who had to grow them cared about those sorts of details.
“That’s very cool,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a farmer before.”
“There’s a rumor we can almost pass for human.”
“Ha ha.”
I smiled, feeling a buzz that had nothing to do with the beer. “What about you? How long are you staying?”
“We leave a week from tomorrow. We just got in yesterday. Not long before you saw us on the beach, in fact.”
“You didn’t think about renting a house?”
“I doubt the idea even occurred to my parents. Besides, I have a lot of nostalgic feelings for the Don.” She made a wry face. “Plus, none of us really likes to cook.”
“I guess you were on the meal plan at school.”
“Yeah, but this is also supposed to be a vacation.”
I smiled. “I don’t think I saw you or your friends at the show last night.”
“We didn’t get there until the last fifteen minutes or so. It was pretty crowded, so we stood out on the beach.”
“Friday nights,” I offered. “People wanting to start their weekend, I guess.” Because my beer was now warm, I dumped the contents into the sand. “Would you like a bottle of water?”
