Tired

Alex

My feet felt like I had cement blocks attached to the bottom of my boots. I was dog tired. Dead. Dog. Tired. I couldn’t remember ever working so hard. It felt good and awful at the same time. Wayne’s farm had been in desperate need of serious attention. I hadn’t stopped working since I had shown up two weeks ago. My body felt it.

“Knock, knock,” I called, opening the screen door and going into the house. I was staying in a spare bedroom in the house. With the early mornings and late nights, it made sense to sleep at the farm. It allowed me an extra hour of sleep each night by not having to drive out to the farm from town.

“In the kitchen,” Wayne called back.

“I’m hitting the shower,” I hollered.

“I’ve got dinner almost done,” he answered.

I smiled, shaking my head. Instead of going down the hall to my room, I went into the kitchen. “Wayne, you don’t have to cook me dinner.”

“I’m cooking me dinner and I just happen to have plenty for the both of us,” he said with a laugh.

He’d bee