“Um,” I stare at my boots, annoyed by my breathlessness, “I think you were about to lecture me on how to use a pitchfork.” His mouth tips up again. “Have you ever used one?” I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.” “Well, here’s a tip,” he nods at the pitchfork, “aim the pointy end at the straw.” My jaw drops. First a laugh, and now a joke? Should I check for a big cosmic event in play tonight? “Great. Very helpful. But yesterday, I thought you said I didn’t have to muck the stable out.” His shoulders lift. “I changed my mind.”
