I nod.

He steps forward and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Night, Viv.” He smirks at my startled expression before ducking out of the room and closing the door.

I change out of the jeans and sweater I’ve been wearing most of the day into a t-shirt and sleep shorts. A soft knock sounds on the door. I open it to reveal Mrs. Dawson. She hands me a stack of white fluffy towels.

“Let me know if you need anything else. See you in the morning.”

I thank her, then walk down the hallway into the white tiled bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way back into the hallway. The house is completely silent. The only light comes from the thin beam cast through my half-open door. I hurry inside and shut the door behind me, turning out the light and slipping between the soft flannel sheets. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, I immediately feel myself drift toward unconsciousness as I burrow under the warm blankets.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I wake up to the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. I climb out of bed, wincing when my feet hit cold hardwood, and head down the hallway to use the bathroom.

Once I’ve freshened up, I return to my room and face the dilemma of what to wear. I study the many options I brought. I have no idea what one wears on a working farm or what I’ll spend the day doing. The safest option is jeans and a sweater.

I head back out into the hallway, this time walking in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. I enter it to find Mrs. Dawson standing at the farm sink washing dishes.

She turns when she hears me enter. “Morning, Vivienne,” she greets me with a wide smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Daw—I mean, Ellen.” I correct myself mid-sentence.

“Grab some coffee, if you’d like. I just brewed a fresh pot and I have some muffins in the oven for breakfast.”

I grab one of the mugs sitting out on the table and fill it with hot liquid.

Ellen finishes rinsing the dish she’s holding and sets it in the drain rack before taking a sip from her own mug. “You ready for that tour?” she asks, turning to face me. “I’ve got about twenty minutes before these muffins will be ready.”

“Sure,” I reply, following her out of the kitchen.

We walk back through the living room and pause by the front door. Jace’s mom grabs a fleece jacket and pulls on a pair of rubber boots.

“You should be warm enough in that.” She nods to my heavy sweater. “But you might want to wear a pair of these.” She hands me a pair of boots, and I pull them on over my jeans. We head outside.

The air is chilly, but tempered by the bright sunshine as we descend from the porch steps and cross the front yard, passing Jace’s truck.