Teddy


ME: Don't be late to breakfast. I've got lots to talk about.

RYLIE: Ooooh, is the gossip true then?

ME: Gossip? You mean the Anderson siblings? What are they saying?

RYLIE: I heard it through the Finn grapevine that the oldest brother finally manned up.

ME: Maybe. Maybe not. I am not confirming nor denying.

RYLIE: I'll be there in 5.

As I sip my coffee in the corner booth at the Cozy Corner Café waiting for my friend to show up for our usual Monday pre-work breakfast, I can't seem to wash the smile off my face. In fact, it's been glued on since my date yesterday.

Jensen may think we need a do-over, but I happened to love the date. It was perfectly imperfect. It had nature. It had Scout. It had food, at least before the dog destroyed it. It had Jensen. And steamy kisses. I'm here for all of that, please, especially the steamy kisses.

If Jensen gets his way, all we'll have is kisses for the foreseeable future.

That thought has me both groaning and grinning. The last thing I want to do is take it slow after the years of waiting, but the thought that he cares enough to slow down and take our time is very endearing.

"No need for confirmation. That smile says it all." Rylie slides into the seat across from me in a flourish. She reaches across the table to snag some of the bacon off my plate. Apparently, her own meal of an egg white scramble and fresh fruit isn't as appealing.

I hide my mouth behind my coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. Spill. Start with the blonde bimbo at Roxy's and end with whatever this is..." She waves her fork in front of my face.

"The blonde bimbo? Wait, what exactly is the gossip going around?"

"Please, Teddy. Nothing is sacred. You know this. The way Finn tells it, there was some blonde hair pulling (you) and some yelling (you at Jensen) and some shoving (also you) and some passionate parking lot dry humping (you and Jensen). I'm guessing only about half of that is true. Please, please, please tell me the blonde hair pulling is true. Please, for the love of God, let that be true."

Loretta, the middle-aged waitress, waltzes over just then to refill our coffees, drawing out the task and then dawdling at a nearby table with her body turned slightly toward us. With some major side-eye directed at the nosey waitress, I hiss at my friend to lower her voice. "Rylie, shhhh. I don't need the whole town knowing my business."

"Too late. Word is there's a bet going on at Paperback Riders that you'll either be knocked up by Christmas or move across the country to get away from Jensen after he breaks your heart. I put a twenty down on the knocked up side, so can we make sure this happens?"

I slam my hand down on the table, rattling the dishes. "Shut. Up. You're kidding, right? The Paperback Riders are betting on us? Oh, man. I know I should be upset by this, but is it bad that it kind of excites me? Do you think they'll let me in their book club now? I've been dying to be invited for years. Do you think I should drop hints to Marg that I have a good book recommendation? Maybe she'll finally see me as a worthy book clubber." 

I realize I forgot to blink and make up for it by blinking rapidly.

"Whoa, crazy eyes. Settle down. You do realize it's a book club with a lot of old bitties who pick steamy, smutty romance novels, right? The rumor is whoever hosts the monthly meeting has to make themed snacks, as in cocks and vajayjays and whatever else those old, horny witches can come up with."

Rylie plops a pineapple chunk into her mouth, swallowing down the juice as her words sink in. "Actually, back it up, we definitely need to get in on this exclusive club. We might be missing out. I think I could really do up some good themed snacks, come to think of it. I'd make a damn good smutty book club host."

Loretta, who never wandered far from our table, saunters over just then. "I have an in. I could help out. There are only a handful of invites per year, but Marg owes my granny a favor. How much is it worth to ya?" She cocks her hip, resting her hand against it. The other hand still holds the steaming coffee pot, seemingly forgotten.

Rylie sits back against the seat, throwing her napkin on her plate. "What do you want? Naming rights to Teddy and Jensen's firstborn? Done. Or..." She holds up a freshly manicured hand, the pink nails fanned out before her. "Maybe you bet against the couple and want them to stage a dramatic breakup?"

I consider what Rylie's offering, weighing it against what's at stake. Nodding, I agree to both terms. I point at my friend. "What she said."

With a laugh, Loretta slides into the seat next to Rylie. "I like you girls. I always said you'd make good additions to the Paperback Riders. I'll see what I can do. But, in the meantime, can you confirm if there was some blonde-bimbo hair pulling at Roxy's on Friday night, Teddy? I feel like knowing this info will garner me lots of sway with Marg."

"I'm starting to feel bad for this blonde chick," I say, stabbing my cold eggs with my fork. "And considering I did want to pull her stupid, perfectly styled blonde hair....Nope. Never mind. My sympathy was short-lived."

Rylie and Loretta bark out loud bursts of laughter. "I'm taking that as a no, then? No blonde-bimbo hair pulling?"

"Correct. But if you need to embellish the story more to Marg, feel free to say there was. I'm ok with this. It's for a good cause and all. Plus, it can't hurt for the whole female population of Lake Hope to think I'll resort to good old fashion hair pulling if someone so much as looks at Jensen in a flirty, horny, seductive way."

"Rawr." Rylie holds her hand up and claws the air. "Feisty Teddy came out to play."

When Loretta is flagged down by other café patrons, she pulls herself out of the booth and resumes her duties. The minute we're alone again, Rylie pounces on me. "Ok, girl. We've wasted all our time, so just skip right to the good stuff. Above or under clothes, or maybe sans clothes?"

Groaning, my face falls onto my arm on the table. "Barely above clothes." My voice is mumbled against my arm. I peek my head up to look desperately at my friend. "He wants to go slow."

"Shut. The. Front. Door. No." She slams a hand onto the table, disrupting the peace.

With my chin propped on my arm, I nod. "Yep. 'Fraid so."

"No."

"Yes."

"Well, that won't do."

"You're telling me."

Rylie throws some money onto the table and rises to her feet, gesturing for me to follow. "Project Seduce Jensen commences."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what that is," I say as I follow her out of the restaurant into the chilly morning air.

Cars slowly make their way along Main Street, headed to work or to run errands or wherever their Monday brings them, and a few people circle around us on the sidewalk where we stand face to face.

"Play hard to get. Beat him at his own game. I'm guessing you're coming on strong. I mean, who can blame you after decades of pining over the guy? The minute he throws you a bone, you're probably like a dog in heat humping his leg. But, I'm telling you, lay off. It'll reel him right in."

"But," I whine, pulling us toward our cars to avoid being even later than we already are. "If I do that, then won't I just be punishing myself? What's less of barely anything? Nothing. I'll be getting nothing then."

"Yeah, but not for long. Trust me, my Teddy Bear."

-

BY THE TIME WE PULL UP TO the Anderson Farm, we are a solid 20 minutes late. I watch as Rylie exits her car and leisurely saunters to the office building. She's dressed in a cute one-piece pant suit that is definitely not suited for farm work. I look down at my usual work wardrobe: hoodie and worn jeans. Since spring days in Minnesota tend to start chilly and then warm up as the day progresses, I'll lose the hoodie at some point.

I hear Scout before I see him. His barking precedes him out the apartment door of the office building. The minute he's set free, he sniffs the grass and then shoots right toward me, jumping on my legs. He's grown in the weeks since we rescued him and now reaches my knees while standing on his back legs. I pat his head a few times before shooing him away, dusting off the dirt he leaves behind.

When a shadow falls over me, I look up to see Jensen. We lock eyes for a few beats and then a slow smile breaks across his face. "Hi."

"Hi." I match his smile.

We step in close to each other. He runs a hand over my cheek and then under my hair to grip my neck, using his thumb to press my face up to meet his lips as he gives me a slow sensual kiss with one, two, three swipes of his tongue before placing one final closed mouth kiss on my lips and stepping away.

"Hi," he says again.

"Hi."

Then, as if reconsidering, he moves back into my space, presses a hand against my stomach and begins moving me backward. Before my back can hit the side of a building, I remember Rylie's plan, and I realize I have to stop him before he has me pinned and compromised.

"J, wait," I whisper, and then louder, "Wait, Jensen."

He halts his progress, his palm still flat against my stomach. "What? Why am I waiting?"

"Because we still work here. And you're still the boss. And this isn't appropriate work behavior," I explain, nodding my head as if confirming the words to myself.

He slides the hand on my stomach around to my back, hauling me closer to him. "Says who? It's my farm. I'm the boss. And I don't give a fuck."

"Well, I give a fuck. So it matters."

"Oh, that's how this works, huh?"

"That's how this works," I confirm.

Before he can argue, we're interrupted by Vivi. "Hey, guys. I see you're in the middle of something," she coughs, "inappropriate. But the school bus just rolled up. The field trip is here, Teddy."

Both Jensen and I turn to look at the big yellow bus parked in the lot. We untangle ourselves and step apart.

"Thanks, Vivi." I squeeze her arm as I walk by her. Jensen catches up to me as I walk toward the preschool class filing out of the bus. Their excitement chirps around us and it ignites my own cheerfulness. Field trips are one of my favorite parts of this job.

"Hi, everyone!" I greet the group. "Who's ready to meet some animals?"

It's a little too early in the season for much more than the petting zoo. Soon the farm will be a buzzing hub of activity with U-Pick berries and flowers, the weekly Farmer's Market, and the weekend Wood Fire Pizza Nights.

A tall woman with a blonde bob steps around the group of children. She isn't dressed for a morning at a farm. Instead of sensible shoes to walk across the soggy grass, she's wearing beige booties with a heel. The short, fitted skirt bares her long legs; and the top looks almost painted on it's so tight, showing her ample cleavage.

The outfit doesn't scream preschool teacher, but who am I to judge? My own clothes definitely describe my job to a T; and the sudden realization of my appearance in comparison to hers makes me irritatingly self-conscious.

That probably has a lot to do with the fact that she completely side-steps me to stand in front of Jensen, running her perfectly manicured hand along his bicep.

"Hi, Jensen," she drawls. "I was hoping you'd be leading the field trip today."

Jensen takes a step back causing her hand to drop awkwardly between them. "Morning, Shelby. Nice to see you again."

My head shoots up to gawk at him open-mouthed. How does he know her? The way she's eyeing him like he's a tasty snack raises my suspicions. We never outright discussed our romantic relationships in the past, but I know he wasn't a monk. His siblings were good at ruining that delusional hope with the way they constantly rib each other. I've discovered far too many of Jensen's dating details at Roxy's from one sibling or another giving him a hard time. I'm guessing this woman must be the teacher they teased him about in the not-so-distant past.

"Actually," I interrupt whatever subliminal message Shelby is trying to convey with her body language and eye contact, "I'll be the one leading the field trip. Jensen here rarely gets his pretty little hands dirty these days."

"Hmmm, not the way I remember him," Shelby purrs, yet again running a hand along his arm.

"Ok," Jensen says, clapping his hands together. He steps away from the teacher again, knocking into me. He steadies me by wrapping an arm around my shoulder and shoots me a knowing grin, like he can hear my inner dialogue cataloging all the things I want to do to Shelby, starting with dirtying up her stupid beige booties.

"I'm not qualified to tour the petting zoo since the animals kind of hate me, but they love this beautiful lady right here, who is definitely way more qualified than me."

He winks at me as he walks around behind me, pausing only long enough to whisper gruffly in my ear, "Jealously looks good on you, Chipmunk."

I glare at his retreating back. When he turns around to whistle for Scout, he catches my expression and lets out a chuckle, the low rumble infuriating even more.

When I turn back to the class, I discover Shelby staring after Jensen, too, but her focus is directed downward at the way the jeans hug his ass. After I destroy her shoes, I mentally plan, then I'll accidentally trip her right into a mud puddle. Oops.

Shaking my head to rid the negative thoughts, I address the students. "Who here has been to a petting zoo before?"

Most of the hands fly into the air, bobbing up and down excitedly.

"And what was your favorite part?"

Again, their hands fly up. I point to a short boy on the outside of the group who's waving his hand like a flag in the breeze. "What's your name?"

"Benjamin. But everyone calls me Benji." He bounces up and down on his feet.

"Ok, Benji. What was your favorite part of the last petting zoo you went to?"

"Feeding the goats. Especially when one of the goats tried eating my mommy's dress. She screamed so loud. We all laughed so hard we almost pissed ourselves."

"Benjamin," Shelby scolds, "remember what we talked about? We use appropriate words in preschool."

"But, Miss Shelby, we ain't at school right now."

"Still applies, Benjamin." Shelby folds her arms over her cleavage, seemingly ok hiding it now that her intended audience disappeared.

After hiding my amused smile, I address the boy, "The goats can get kind of excited. Want to know a fun fact, though? Goats get a bad rap for eating anything, but they can actually be kind of picky. Although, they can also be known for chewing on some funny things since they like to explore lots of different tastes, like your mom's dress, for example."

All the kids snicker and I wait for them to quiet before asking, "Anyone else have a favorite thing they want to share?" I point to a girl in pigtails. "What's your name?"

"Abigail. But everyone calls me Abby," she copies her classmate's way of introducing himself. "My favorite thing of all time is the ponies. I got to go on a pony ride on the prettiest brown pony and ever since then I decided I'm going to be a cowgirl."

"Yes, ponies are definitely fun. We have one here, but we won't be riding her today. Just petting her. Ok," I segue to the next order of business, "Today we are going to see a bunch of different animals, but before we get started, I need to go over some really important rules. It's important we pay attention so we know how to treat the animals like our friends, ok?"

After I go over the rules, I lead them through the farm to the area designated for the petting zoo. When I notice my boots glisten from the dewy grass, I glance at Shelby's and snicker under my breath with satisfaction.

As soon as we round the corner where the animal pens are, we're greeted by a grunting Cleo, the runaway pig. The kids all exclaim their excitement in elated shouts, and I immediately put a finger to my lips to hush them.

"This here is Cleo. He's my pal. He breaks out of his pen every day to join me on my chores around the farm. He gets along with all the animals except the goats. They don't like each other for some reason. And that's actually where we will be starting, right here with the goats."

At that announcement, the goats bleat their greeting, stuffing their eager faces between the wooden fence slats. The kids immediately gather around the animals, petting their bristly fur. While they busy themselves loving on the goats, I spew out random facts. We follow this pattern around the farm, visiting bunnies, chickens, pigs, and ending on the pen with two miniature donkeys and a pony.

"Abby, I've saved the best for last," I announce at the final pen. Her eyes go wide, and she runs over to gawk at the brown and white pony.

Just then a barking dog lumbers over, excitedly greeting any kid willing to give him attention. Upon seeing Scout, I peer around looking for his owner. Jensen slowly ambles over to us, his hands stuffed into his jeans, wearing a sexy smile.

Shelby saunters away from the group of kids to meet Jensen as he approaches us, indiscreetly wiping off the dirt and grime from her clothes. "Well, hello there," she sings breezily.

Jensen nods at her before turning his attention to me. "Vivi sent me out here to tell you the snacks and crafts portion is ready."

Scout detaches himself from the small hands pawing at him and pounces at Shelby's boots, leaving a noticeable paw print. "Oooh, who's dog is this?" she asks, doing a terrible job at disguising her disgust for the creature.

"He's ours," I say, snapping my fingers at Scout to behave, but silently rewarding the dog for his artwork.

"Your dog?" Shelby asks, pointing between me and Jensen. "Or the farm's dog?"

Jensen drapes an arm over my shoulders, drawing my body into his. "Our dog."

The brief look that graces her face right before she schools her expression is reward enough. I mentally cross off all the things on the list I wanted to covertly do to her before she left on the bus she rode in on. Jensen's claiming of me trumps all the items on the list.

I squeeze his hand on my shoulder before joining the kids to finish up my portion of the field trip.

"Who wants to know a fun fact about miniature donkeys?" I ask the kids, pausing only a moment before going on. "They don't like to be alone. You should always have at least two of them so they're happier. They are very social creatures and like to have a bestie. What about you guys? Do you like having a bestie?"

Jensen's hand shoots up from where he's leaning against the fence; and he winks at me.