Chapter 187: Got a Diner Date To Catch

I tossed another heavy bundle of hay onto the stack, the fresh scent of dried grass filling the warm barn air. Working with the pitchfork was surprisingly solid exercise, and it didn’t take long before I paused, resting my hands on the wooden handle. I pulled the collar of my shirt down and wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my forearm.

Ruby glanced over from her stool by the milk bucket, stopping mid-milking to look at me. Her eyes lingered for a second, catching the sunlight glinting off my skin.

"Damn," she giggled, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "You look hot."

I wiped another bead of sweat off my chin, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I am. The weather out here is no joke."

Ruby froze for a split second, then buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she let out a muffled laugh. She had clearly meant "handsome-hot," not "temperature-hot," and my completely literal answer had caught her totally off guard.

"What?" I smirked, leaning on the pitchfork as I watched her blush get even deeper.

"Nothing!" she squeaked, ducking her head down to hide her burning cheeks as she pretended to focus intensely on her milking bucket. "Just... finish your hay, farmer boy!"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head, and went right back to work, enjoying the quiet moment away from the rest of the world.

I tossed the pitchfork back against the wall, wiping the last bit of sweat from my forehead. The midday sun was beating down hard on the barn roof, casting long shadows across the dusty floor.

"Alright, farm hand," I said, offering Ruby a hand to help her up from her stool. "It’s way past noon. Let’s go back to the cabin, wash off all this hay and dust, and take a proper shower."

"Deal," Ruby sighed happily, stretching her arms above her head. "My dress smells like cows, but honestly? Best morning I’ve had in years."

As we brushed the straw off our clothes and headed toward the barn door, Mrs. Gable stepped out from her office, holding a fresh jar of cold lemonade.

"You two did wonders out there today," the old woman beamed, looking between us. "Listen, I sponsor a little local roadside diner just down the turnpike—best cherry pie and home-cooked ribs in the county. You folks ought to let me treat you to lunch!"

"Oh, no thanks, ma’am, we really should—" I started, already calculating the risk of sitting in a public diner, even in a small country town.

"We would love to!" Ruby chipped in immediately, practically jumping in front of me with a dazzling smile before I could finish my sentence.

I cut my eyes over at her, raising an eyebrow.

Ruby just hit me with a subtle nudge of her elbow, looking up at me with wide, pleading eyes. "Come on, Ethan. Local country diner? You can’t say no to cherry pie after a full morning of bailin’ hay."

I let out a quiet, defeated laugh, shaking my head. "Looks like we’re going to the diner first."

Mrs. Gable handed us two mason jars filled with cold, freshly squeezed lemonade. We took a seat on the shade of the porch steps, the condensation trickling down the glass as we sipped.

For a few minutes, it was just the quiet sound of the wind rustling through the trees. I took a slow drink, leaned back against the wooden pillar, and turned to look at her.

"Ruby," I said, keeping my voice low and calm. "Talk to me about the music. Are your managers pushing you too hard?"

Ruby’s bright expression softened, the cheerful farm girl facade fading into something tired and real. She ran a finger over the icy rim of her glass, staring into the lemon slices floating inside.

"To be completely honest?" she sighed softly, her voice carrying a rare, raw weight. "Yes. They’re exhausting me, Ethan. It’s endless. Endless singles, endless press, tours, brand deals, social content... every single second of my life is mapped out by people who just see a clock ticking."

I nodded slowly, understanding the suffocating machine she was trapped in.

"Listen to me," I said, looking her straight in the eye. "Making yourself scarce is how you preserve your value. If you jump every time your managers or your fans demand something from you, you’re just going to break yourself into pieces until there’s nothing left of you to give."

Ruby looked up, her soft brown eyes searching mine as my words sank in. A quiet stillness settled over her.

"Scarcity breeds value..." she whispered, a subtle, thoughtful smile finally appearing on her lips. "I like that. Nobody ever told me I was allowed to just... not be available."

"Well, you are," I smirked, tapping my mason jar against hers with a soft clink. "Now drink your lemonade, superstar. We’ve got a diner date to catch."

We walked into the roadside diner, welcomed by the warm smell of fried chicken, sizzling burgers, and fresh cherry pie. The place had a rustic, homey feel with red vinyl booths and neon sign lights reflected against the wood-paneled walls. A handful of locals were scattered around, eating and chatting quietly over their meals.

At the far end of the diner sat a small wooden podium, set up as a humble little stage with a single microphone and an acoustic guitar resting on a stand. It was clearly the spot for local open-mic nights or small evening performances.

Mrs. Gable came over to drop off our menus and immediately started gushing about the stage. She told us all about how local singers, country bands, and young indie artists from neighboring towns would stop by in the evenings to play intimate sets for the diner crowd.

I glanced over at Ruby. Her eyes were completely lit up, staring at that modest little stage with pure, genuine curiosity. There were no flashing stadium lights, no thousands of screaming fans, no managers whispering in her ear—just raw, unpolished passion. I had to admit, seeing what kind of local talent would step up on a stage like that excited me too.

"Looks like someone wants to take notes," I teased softly, sliding into the booth across from her.

"Shut up," she giggled, resting her chin on her hands and scanning the room. "It’s just cute, okay? Real music happens in places like this."

We ordered a heavy spread of home-cooked ribs, fries, and a massive slice of warm cherry pie to share. As the food arrived, we dug in, enjoying the meal and keeping an eye on the stage, waiting to see who would step up to play next.