Page 9 of Fruit and Flash

“I mean, there’s always something to fix,” Hayes replied, and I sensed a note of bitterness. I was about to change the subject when he added, “I got a dog.”

“Oh-em-gee, I wanna see! What’s his name?” I squealed and made grabby hands like I was trying to pull the information from the air.

“He’s named Shadow,” Hayes answers and pulls his phone out to show my pictures. “Because he’s always following me.”

Pictures of a black and white dog fill the screen along with other animals. Hayes scrolls back to the first picture and I see Shadow as a bedraggled, underfed puppy. “Poor baby.”

“Pup was abandoned at the fruit stand a few months ago. He’s finally getting more trainable, now he’s passed six months old.”

“Some people don’t deserve animals,” I grumble, mad on behalf of the abandoned puppy on the screen. “I bet you spoil him.”

“I do not,” Hayes replies indignantly. “He’s a farm dog and he has to pull his weight.”

“Oh, yeah? Is he herding sheep or something?” I ask, pretty sure Hayes isn’t a sheep farmer.

“No, but he has good herding instincts,” Hayes insists in the air of a defensive father when his kid isn’t exceptional, but he thinks they are. It is adorable.

“So he’s a guard dog, barking at intruders on the farm at night?”

“Well, Opie the mini donkey is better at that,” Hayes concedes.

“You have a miniature donkey! This I have to see,” I reach for his phone and scroll to find pictures. There was in fact a donkey, taller than Shadow the dog, but only by a head. “This little dude guards the property?”

“Yep. Pretty well, too,” Hayes nods, looking proud. “He’s fifteen, now. My mom got him as a tiny thing right before she passed.”

His words cut off and I put a hand out to touch his bare forearm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hayes shrugged. “Like I said, fifteen years.”

We lapse into silence and I notice the world still going on around us. The group we’re with is doing their own thing and it’s like we have a little bubble.

“What have you been up to since…” Hayes trails off and he clears his throat. “Spring?”

So we aren’t going to talk about it. “Traveling for work. Portland, Seattle, Vancouver, back to Portland, and now here.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I’ve never even been on a plane.”

“My trip to California was my first time on a plane,” I admit. It’s part of why I chose to rent a car instead of flying. “Wasn’t a fan.”

“Bad flight?”

“Delays at the airport, turbulence, rude woman next to me, dismissive flight attendants, and then I had to use the bathroom,” I say and let him fill in the blanks. “Arriving at LAX is hellish. Zero stars. Do not recommend. I might have to take a cruise if I ever want to go back.”

“Damn, you’re really selling it,” Hayes laughs and I take him in. His facial hair and hat hides most of his face except for those hazel eyes, but when he smiles, it lights his whole being up. I’m still admiring when his expression turns serious. “But your travels haven’t been bad since then?”

“No, it’s been alright,” I shake my head, thinking back to a few times where places to sleep fell through and I ended up in the rental car. Or times when a photo shoot or collaboration fell through. “Not perfect, but I don’t regret anything.”

“Good. I worried about you.”

Hayes’ words sit in the air between us and I catch his eye. He’s admitting that he thought about me. Should I tell him the same? That I wished I could have called him up a time or two on the road?

Instead, I settle on, “I wish you had social media so I could have seen those pics.”

“But then what would we have to talk about now?” He asks, and I’m momentarily stumped.

It’s true. Half the time I meet up with people I know online and we just rehash things we saw posted on each other’s stories or things we’ve already messaged about. It leads to shallow conversations and friendships that don’t grow deeper.

“I’ve looked up some things about farming,” I tell him to distract from how his comment got to me. “Follow a few, now.”