Lovelight Farms by B.K. Borison EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: B.K. Borison
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
“LUKA, LISTEN,” I lean backward in my chair and fumble for the stack of
papers on the file cabinet behind me, cursing under my breath when my
fingertips barely glance the corner edge and it goes cascading to the floor in a
flurry of white. “Listen, I need you to stop talking about pizza for a second.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “I was just getting to the
good part.”
What he means is he was just getting to the part where he talks at length
about homemade cheese, and I don’t think I can handle him talking about
mozzarella with that level of detail right now. As a data analyst, Luka is
ridiculously thorough in all things. Especially cheese. I rub at the ache
between my eyebrows. “I know you were, I’m sorry, but I’ve got something
else to talk to you about.”
“Everything okay?” There’s a honk in the background, Luka’s muffled
curse, and the steady click of his turn light as he merges into another lane.
“Everything is … fine.” I peek down at the budget spreadsheets littering
my floor and wince. “It’s good. Okay, I mean. I just – “ The fleeting
confidence I entered this conversation with leaves me and I slouch down in
my chair. Every time I’ve called Luka this week or Luka has called me, I’ve
chickened out. I don’t think this time is going to be any different.
“I actually have to go. One of my vendors is calling.” I frown at myself in
the reflection of my computer screen. I have bags under my eyes, my full
bottom lip is bright red from nervous chewing, and my mass of dark hair is
twisted up into a bun that looks better suited to a haunted Victorian doll.
I look every bit as rough as our budget sheets.
“One of your vendors is not calling you, but I’ll play for now.” Luka
sounds amused. “Call me when you’re done working, okay? We can talk
about whatever you’ve been running circles around all week.”
Reflection me frowns deeper. “Maybe.”
He laughs. “Talk soon.”
I hang up my phone and resist the urge to toss it clear across the room.
Luka has a knack for cracking me right open, and I don’t want that right now.
I don’t want it ever, to be honest, afraid of what he’ll find when he starts
connecting all the data points.
My phone buzzes in my palm with an incoming text and I flip it face
down on top of a stack of invoices. It buzzes again and I pinch the bridge of
my nose.
With our finances the way they are, I’m quickly running out of options. I
had thought – I guess I thought owning a Christmas tree farm would be
romantic.
I had big dreams of a holiday season filled with magic. Kids weaving
their way through the trees. Parents stealing kisses over hot chocolate. The
stuff Christmas songs are written about. Young couples getting caught
beneath the mistletoe. Low hanging lights and oversized stockings. Wood
railings painted red and white. Gingerbread cookies. Peppermint sticks.
And at first, it was great. Our opening season was as magical as it gets.
But since then, it’s been one thing after another.
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