ISAIAH

“Good morning, Mr. Rhodes,” I heard as I stepped into the kitchen. The greeting came from someone on my housekeeping staff who was exiting as I entered. 

CORI

“Oh,” I said behind Noelle as I dragged the plastic tip of a bottle of Crown & Coil’s Root Revival Scalp Oil between two of her large cornrows. “You removed your wedding rings.”

ISAIAH

The rooster crowing out on the farm woke me, like it did every morning.

I inhaled a deep breath and blindly reached for the button at the side of my night table, pressing it and hearing the familiar soft whoosh of the floor-to-ceiling curtains slide open in front of me.

The moment I opened my eyes, I caught sight of Morgansville in the morning. More specifically, Rhodes Estate.

Didn’t take long before I was out of bed, my arms stretching high as I approached my tall windows. From my view, I could see my farmhands were already at work before day could break.

It was 5 a.m., and it was time for me to start my day, too.

And, surprisingly, twenty-four hours later… she was still on my mind.

The woman I found on my estate two days ago. A woman who thought I had a boss here, and I was so struck by her beauty, I didn’t bother to correct her.

I turned on my heels and padded to my en suite, the lights turning on as soon as my bare feet touched the marble tile.

I moved through my morning routine. Cleaning this and moisturizing that before pulling on a black tee and jeans. All things I’d done for the last nine years at my own pace. It was therapeutic, having a slow morning like this. A norm I needed after the life I left in New York City.

“Good morning, Mr. Rhodes,” Cheryl, my personal chef, greeted as I entered my kitchen downstairs. She slid a plate of breakfast my way the moment I took a seat on the stool at the kitchen’s island.

The rest of my house staff moved about the space, as they usually did during the day.

“Good morning, Cheryl,” I said, rubbing my hands together, eager to dig in. “Food looks good, as always.”

She smiled. “Always good to hear. Any idea what you’d like for dinner tonight? We harvested some kale and rhubarb, and I know you said you wanted to up your protein in time for winter.”

“Mmm-hmm…” I took a sip of the freshly pressed orange juice. “You know I trust your judgment. You haven’t let me down once, so please, make whatever.”

“As you wish.” She gestured at my plate. “Enjoy.”

“I’m sure I will.”

With her out of view, I scanned my industrial-sized kitchen, taking in the large fridge and steel stove as I took a bite out of my toast.

Voices traveled around me as I got lost in my thoughts. Usually, those thoughts were centered on the activities of the day.

In about two hours, I would be out at the barn, feeding my livestock and checking their water. By mid-morning, I’d have a brief chat with my farm manager where we’d go over the business side of the farm that consisted of her telling me what would be harvested today and what would be going out to local markets and markets in the city.

And in my time here, over breakfast, I’d be thinking about all the things I’d need to complete before sunset.

But all I could think about was the woman I found on my farm two days ago.

She seemed clipped out of my old life.

Beautiful, chatty… beautiful.

Did I mention she was beautiful?

She clearly wasn’t from around here, and I’d been kicking myself for not doing better with figuring out who she was and how she’d gotten here. And while I’ve had a few people wander onto this farm, despite the large iron gate up front that was supposed to keep them out, they’d never left me with a lasting first impression like that woman.

Who was she?

After breakfast, I made my way outside while the estate was still quiet, with blue-gray light stretching across the fields. The air was crisp, like always. Still. The kind of quiet that never felt empty to me. Just undisturbed. The way I loved my mornings to greet me.

I chose this. Boots on gravel. Open air. The smell of earth and life in rhythm.

This was a sharp contrast from what I left behind at 33. Because at 42, I was the owner of Rhodes Farm and Estate, and despite all the things I’d accomplished in my life, this was what made me the proudest.

“Good morning, Mr. Rhodes,” greetings came at me throughout my morning as I checked in on the animals, spoke with the farmhands, and took a walk down my apple orchard, observing the gala apples that would need to be harvested today. I picked one and brought the fruit close to my nose, inhaling its crisp scent, then taking a bite out of it, moaning at its fresh, sweet taste.

I used to love picking these up at the gourmet market next to my penthouse in Manhattan. Picking up apples used to be my nervous system reset several years ago when my existence as a financier was taxing and eliminating years off my life. And now I grew them and could pick and eat them at will.

I made a lot of money back in New York City, too much to know what to do with. And while that kind of abundance was what a lot of people strived and sacrificed for, I couldn’t wait to get away from it before it killed me.

Which it almost did.

“Mr. Rhodes,” I heard over my shoulder the second I left the orchard. “Good morning. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, now you’ve found me,” I said to Tamira, my farm manager of seven years. In her arms was a binder, a clipboard, and a ballpoint pen with the farm’s logo, ready to start writing. “How are you this morning, Tamira?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “Yourself?”

“Same, and ready for the check-in,” I said, taking another bite out of my apple. “What do you have for me today?”

She giggled. “We have three deliveries scheduled to go out in the next hour.”

“Where are they going?”

“One market on Main Street. The other two in the city.”

“I can take the delivery for Main Street.”

She nodded, her eyes lowering to her clipboard. “Of course you will. I’d already put you down for that one when I saw it on the ledger.”

I smiled, then finished my apple. “What other updates do you have for me? How are the crops looking?”

It wasn’t a priority for me to be as hands-on with my farm the way I often chose to be. But doing so kept me grounded. And any reason to drive out to Main Street here in Morgansville was something I always took, just so I could be amongst the community.

I moved to Morgansville stressed and defeated, with only a plan and vision to buy land. But since I’ve been here, this place has become my source of solace and a place to build my worth more than my wealth… although the latter has happened as a result of loving this town so deeply.

My farm supplied produce to two of their markets on Main Street, including the major one most of the community shopped at. In addition to markets, I sent fruits, vegetables, and animal products to soup kitchens and charities, to places and people who mattered, which was a far cry from what my efforts were in the city.

Morgansville was one of the oldest and likely last few surviving majority Black towns in upstate New York. It was where Black family-owned businesses thrived and maintained a thriving community. Greene Gardens was coming up not far from here, and talks had been good about the new community developing there. From what I’ve heard, billionaire Bryant Greene had financed the building of the town to combat what corporate bigwigs were trying to do with Morgansville, which was to buy out Black farmers to use the land to slowly gentrify the area.

Rumor has it, Mr. Greene almost contributed to the destruction of Morgansville and had developed Greene Gardens instead, but those had only been rumors.

Main Street had been the first place those corporate bigwigs had tried to make their mark. They’d bought out some storefronts owned by struggling Black business owners, knocked those buildings down, and built a couple of mixed-use buildings. But thanks to the efforts of the town’s people and my knowledge in investment, we were able to stop it at four mixed-use buildings in the area. And thankfully, the people who rent those spaces have respected what Morgansville stands for and have helped to maintain the town’s integrity.

This town was a town of farms, and we’ve done well to keep it that way.

An hour after my talk with Tamira, I was pulling up alongside Main Street’s largest market. I could have brought a couple of farmhands with me to assist with unloading the produce from the truck I’d driven out here, but I needed the workout.

I was out of the truck, lifting the back of it and moving crates, handing them off to the market’s unloaders, having small conversations as we worked.

My muscles flexed and burned as I worked and as I enjoyed a hearty laugh with them.

When I was done, closing the liftgate on the truck, I heard, “Mr. Rhodes.”

I turned to glance over my shoulder to see an older Black woman wearing a warm smile. I instantly recognized her as the market’s owner, Penelope Willer.

“I told my manager that the next time you were in town making deliveries to let me know so I could speak with you.”

I smiled. “About good things, I hope.”

She laughed. “Always good things, Mr. Rhodes. Always. It’s not all the time we get the farm’s owners out here doing deliveries themselves. Which is why you are truly one of the best.”

“Aw, Mrs. Willer.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “You’re too kind.”

We chopped it up about the produce and how pleased she’d been with it, wanting to increase the amount of produce she ordered in her next order, which I was happy to oblige.

I’d spent a little more time than I would have liked speaking with her, but like I said, I loved Morgansville and the people who called this place home, so I didn’t mind it too much.

I’m a believer in that everything happens for a reason.

And that became abundantly clear as I was making my way through the market’s front entrance, headed to my truck, when I spotted a familiar face.

And like the last time, she looked so out of place.

She was making her way down the block, her eyes down on her phone, which was so not a Morgansville thing. She wore the same crisp white Converses as the other day, this time paired with white jeans and a white top. She was dressed in all white, like an angel. Just as captivating as one too.

She was the kind of woman you couldn’t help but notice, but you couldn’t understand why. Because even though she wore what looked to be designer this and that, she was modest with it, but not subtle enough.

Her beauty wasn’t loud, it just looked settled in. Lived in. Like she’d been like this all her life.

I was staring for too long because when she stopped in front of her sleek silver foreign sedan, she turned just to check the area around her before climbing in, and her eyes landed on mine. And she caught me with my eyes all over her. There was no mistaking that.

Couldn’t help but realize in that moment that I hadn’t looked at anyone the way I looked at her in a long time.

CORI

“What the hell is that smell?” Noelle, my older sister, asked over my shoulder.

What the hell was that smell?

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