Page 8 of While the Sun Shines

“One made out of drywall and the entire length of the house, please!” Penny shouts from the top of the stairs.

“Penny, I love you,” Cooper yells to her.

Drew lifts his eyes toward the ceiling. “Farm regulation seventy-three point six, we’re going to have to instill an upper noise limit for the two of them. Hey, have you seen the shear bolts?”

Whit shakes his head and turns the coffeepot on as Drew sifts through the pile of mail on the table, Cooper’s work gloves on top of a hammer and three screws, and—oh shit, that’s right, the scrawled note Drew left for himself with the latest cheese order.

He’s still too used to filling orders small enough he can just remember them. At some point soon, he’s going to need an actual system for keeping track of what cheese is going where, and how much of it. Something more reliable than scribbling on whatever scraps of paper he happens to have in his pocket, and then scrambling to finish all his work each week, pretending he’s as on top of things as Whit and Cooper are.

Because he is. Mostly. Just if no one—including him—looks too closely.

But no, he’s got this. And without needing Whit and Cooper to come clean up his messes. He smooths out the note, reading it over again. What a delightful difference from last year, when he’d stared at the shelves of aging cheese, certain he’d have to just eat all the wheels himself. He’d been so sure that the end of summer would come and he’d be packing up this very kitchen, nearly unchanged since that photo of him and Penny. Wooden beams crossing the ceiling, the old warped doors that swell in the humidity each summer and then loosen in their jambs come winter, Sadie’s dog bed next to the woodstove, and cups and plates he’s eaten from since as long as he can remember sitting in their places on the shelves.

How awful it would’ve been to wrap up each one of them and set them in a box. To wipe the nicked and chipped counters one last time, close and lock the door behind himself. To usher Sadie from the only home either of them had ever known, a For Sale sign pounded into the front lawn.

Still here, he thinks. Thank fucking God. And really, thanks to Cooper and Whit, after Drew had taken over the farm from his uncle and sent it into a goddamn tailspin.

“Shear bolts,” he says as Cooper comes in, his mouth open wide on a yawn. “You seen them?”

“Morning, sunshine.” Cooper reaches for the coffee carafe that’s only half full. “No, I haven’t.”

Whit gently pulls Cooper’s hand away. “I think you’re getting yourself in enough trouble with our wonderful roommates without ruining the coffee by taking a mug before it’s fully brewed.”

“To be fair, Drew’s our illustrious landlord, and to be fairer, all of you are too taken with my endless charm to ever stay mad at me.” Cooper smacks Whit’s butt before pulling open the fridge. “What’s the plan today, boss-man Drew?”

“Shear bolts,” Drew says again. “I just picked some up. Did I leave them in the truck? Have you two seen—Cooper, what the hell are you doing?”

Cooper tosses a package of bacon onto the counter like it’s a lazy winter morning and they have hours to while away over a full, cooked breakfast. “I just told you: charm.”

“And I’ll tell you, eat some cereal. We gotta charm the sheep onto the pasture. We have a busy day. We don’t have time for bacon.”

“Nah, it takes you like three tries at minimum to get your list ready every morning. Whit might sit attentively like the nerdy teacher’s pet he is, but I prefer to use my time wisely.”

“There’s some extra bolts in the shop,” Whit says.

“Used them, broke them.” Cooper sets a cast-iron pan on the stove and flicks the burner on. “You’re welcome, ’cause it’s break a shear bolt or break the baler, am I right?”

“I really don’t want to have to go back to the store today,” Drew says.

“See? Add it to the to-do list,” Cooper says. “First item on mine is to avoid murder by roommate.”

“No judge would convict me,” Penny calls, the stairs squeaking as she jogs down.

“First is getting the sheep out on pasture,” Drew says.

“First is feeding our lovely lady here,” Cooper says. “I need to—how should I put it? Butt-er her up.”

“I’m going to vomit on your pillow,” Penny says.

Cooper holds his arms out wide, an egg in one hand and a spatula in the other. “Hug it out, Miss Penny, my best friend in the entire world?”

“Pen, please don’t maim him until he’s cleaned up his laundry,” Whit says.

“And until I’ve finished making you this fabulous breakfast,” Cooper says.

When Cooper sets Penny’s plate down on the table, he does so with a flourish, topping up her coffee and even folding a paper towel into a neat little triangle beneath her fork. “I’m sorry, my butt is sorry, Drew is sorry for not having the world’s most opaque shower curtain, and Whit is sorry, not because he did anything wrong, but he’s just a good dude.”

“Thank you,” Whit says.