Page 73 of Cattle Stop

The market is all modern glass and polished counters. Cooper wants to check the soles of his shoes for mats of hay and manure, as if a drive and a train ride and the subway isn’t enough travel from the farm to wipe him clean.

Hot farmer look, Penny had called it once, when they’d sat on the tailgate of the truck at a farmers’ market, swinging their legs and watching the vendors and customers. Canvas work pants, sun-bleached T-shirts, and scuffed leather boots, and yeah, Penny wasn’t wrong that it’s a damn nice style.

Now, he just feels as out of place as he did when he was a teenager, back in the city again after weeks on the farm, wishing for rolling pastures and the call of birdsong. Though, at least he’s not balking like Whit is. Cooper grabs Whit’s wrist and drags him to the market that Brad had described—white walls and industrial light fixtures and displays full of cheeses and cured meats and baked goods.

Catching the eye of the woman behind the counter, Cooper puts on a smile and steps forward. “Hi,” he says, “can I get one of those cupcakes to go? Boxed up, please, it’s gotta survive a train trip. And while I’ve got you, we’re here from Two Pines Farm. We’re looking for Myra.”

“You found her.”

“Well, hi there.” Cooper sticks his hand out to shake hers. “Brad sent us down to talk with you.”

“Brad?”

“Works for Elaina, at your upstate location? He said he’d been chatting with you about a position as a purchaser here? Great guy, knows his stuff, and look at him already sending folks your way.” Cooper slips the bag of cheese out of Whit’s hand and sets it on the counter. Maybe Brad really will move to the city, and Cooper won’t have to hear the crack of his gum ever again. “I’ve got some samples here. Pasture-raised, Jersey cow milk, all from our own herd. The farm owner, Andrew Madison, he makes it himself.”

Cooper sets out the wheel of Brie, the wedge of Parmesan, and the block of cheddar. The mozzarella, ricotta, and burrata all survived the trip in their plastic containers, and he stacks those, too. Gorgonzola, Gouda—he fishes under the ice packs and draws out the final small box of cheese curds.

“Almost ate those on the way down,” Cooper says with a smile and a wink. “They go fast.”

Myra turns the Parmesan over in her hand. “Do you do any cultured butters?”

“We certainly could.”

“We have a lot of suppliers already,” she says. “And I’m not sure I see anything here that we don’t already carry.”

“But how much of your cheese comes from dairies within the state, like ours?” Cooper asks. “We’re making all our products from the milk we produce ourselves. We’re farmers you can put a name and a face to, cows that we raise from calves, and an operation we oversee every step of the way.”

Myra taps the Parmesan against the counter. “Such a small farm. You could keep up with demand?”

“No problem at all. We’d rather have a great relationship with one or two stores. Get to know what you guys want and need.” Cooper elbows Whit a step forward. “And this guy here is super organized. I’m really just a pretty face.”

Finally, a smile for that. Myra sets the Parmesan down and picks up the block of cheddar. “You came down all this way?”

“What can I say, the good people of New York City deserve this deliciousness.” Cooper points toward the cheddar. “You open that up, eat a slice, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I’m not opposed to giving it a try.”

“Perfect.” Cooper slaps his palm gently on the counter. “This is your card? How about we just give you a call once you’ve had a chance to enjoy your samples and we can go from there?”

Cooper leaves with his cupcake and an empty bag, Whit trailing behind him, and once he’s out of sight of the window, pumps a fist into the air. “And that, my man, is how it’s fucking done.”

Whit lets out a long breath. “Do we really have enough milk for all this cheese?”

“If we’re careful with production, sure. But if this works? Yeah, might need some more.”

“Keep back some calves, are you thinking?”

“Probably. It’d be cheaper than trying to buy new cows.”

“It’d take some time before we could breed and milk them,” Whit says.

“Are you already arguing with this plan, before it’s even gotten started?” Just a pretty face, Cooper’d said to Myra. “I’m sure you and Drew can figure it out. Aren’t you the brains of the whole operation?”

“No, I meant—thank you.” Whit’s fingers brush Cooper’s elbow. “I’d have never done anything like this.”

“Yeah, you’d still be asking directions to the green train,” Cooper says.

“I’m serious. You—you said I always just do what I’ve always done, and you’re right. When the farmers’ market closed, I was trying to think of others we could sign up for, definitely nothing on this scale.”