Page 6 of Good Directions

Touché…

“No, I know I told you about this.” I think…maybe. Maybe not. “Remember how I accidentally became…friendly…with Cary Adler, the chief horticulturist for Hayes Industries, via email?”

“The guy you very nerd-ily emailed, basically fangirling over a piece he wrote in some journal and he responded?”

That was not how it went down. Not even close. I don’t bother correcting Eliza though. Because despite how many times I’ve told her the story, it always gets summed up like this. The fact that I reached out to Dr. Adler asking if he would like to contribute to the State of Georgia’s Agricultural Department’s annual review with an article on what Hayes was working on—and happened to include a personal note about how much I enjoyed his paper on crop rotation in the Journal of Agriculture and Food Research—is not quite the same as “fangirling.” At least in my mind.

Fangirling, however, might have been what happened when he wrote back, not only accepting the invitation to contribute to the annual review, but continuing the conversation I’d started regarding his paper. And then kept the conversation going, the two of us building a rapport over the last two years.

He is the chief horticulturist for Hayes Industries, after all. I might be the state’s leading research expert in all things soil for the state of Georgia, but there’s still a lot a girl can learn from a company like Hayes Industries.

“Yes, that one,” I acquiesce. “So, fun fact for you, thanks to a hard freeze back in April, this is the worst peach season since 1954. Like, farmers are getting a fraction of their normal crop. I sent Dr. Adler an email asking how their harvest was going and what their yield was looking like, since I’m working on this soil regeneration project, and he invited me to come down and spend some time working with Hayes. Gives me a chance to test out some of my theories and collect some data in a real-life environment, plus it gives Hayes access to some state resources.”

“Holy shit, Sawyer! That’s huge!”

I nod, gripping the wheel tighter, trying to keep my excitement at bay. It is huge. So huge. Maybe bigger than huge. Like, career changing huge.

“I’m hoping it’s what I need to tip the scales in my favor for…” I pause, considering for a second if I should say it out loud. As if uttering the words would put a jinx on it, like some Harry Potter spell. You know what? Screw it. “I’m hoping it’s what I need to be named Lead Soil Research and Development Manager.”

Because damn, do I want that job.

So bad I can taste it.

The thing is, so does Will Nedens, the other senior researcher in my department. What I’m not supposed to know is that, as far as internal candidates go, it’s down to the two of us. And the head of R&D has said he would prefer to hire an internal candidate.

Both of us are perfectly qualified for the position and have been working for the state for years. On paper, we’re about as neck and neck as can be. With one exception— Will has experience in the field. I’m basically a lab rat.

“And this could do it?” Eliza asks.

“I think so. It certainly won’t hurt. Experience not only in the field, but with one of the largest ag firms in the state? That stands out on the resume. So off to Hickory Hills I go!”

“Wait, did you say Hickory Hills?!” Her voice is shrill, like she’s a cat and someone just yanked on her tail. I snicker, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “As in, home of Dustin Wild?”

Because yes, this itty-bitty little town in the middle of nowhere Georgia is not only home to one of the biggest ag firms slash Fortune 500 companies in this state, but is also home to one of the biggest country stars in the world.

And somehow, GPS still doesn’t work around here.

Keeping my eyes peeled, I look around, wondering how much farther said town is. Based on the directions I was given, it shouldn’t be too much longer. Although this long and winding road doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to end—or lead anywhere.

“I packed the few things I have, just in case I happen upon him,” I tell her, my voice even, trying to keep her calm.

It’s no use though. Eliza’s excitement is palpable, even hundreds of miles away and over a cell phone connection. I did just say the magic words—Dustin Wild. Or well, she said the magic words. I simply named his hometown.

Eliza is possibly his biggest fan. Made even more potent by the fact that Dustin was discovered while singing karaoke at Wall Bangers, the bar her grandfather owns, during a spring break trip to Hurricane Shoals. They went from obscure hole-in-the-wall to classy dive bar thanks to all the new attention they received after Dustin name-dropped them during an interview with Rolling Stone a couple of years ago.

“Do you have the Rolling Stone cover? Both of them, actually?” she asks, and I can practically hear her heart beating in her voice. “Where are you staying? I’ll ship you some. I have this whole idea of how I want to frame them for behind the karaoke stage and⁠—”

“Liza, I don’t even know if I’ll see him. I’m here for less than two months, and doesn’t he have some big summer tour?”

“His wife is the town librarian.”

She says it so matter-of-factly she might as well be telling me that the sky is blue or the grass is green. As if I’m going to march my ass right into the library and ask a woman I’ve never met if her country star husband will autograph a bunch of items for the bar he was discovered in. Because that’s not rude.

Or completely out of character for me.

In order to be able to pull something like that off, one has to be a people person. And I am not a people person.

That might be the other area where Will has a one-up on me. He is most definitely a people person. Annoyingly so.