of raised vegetable beds along the back fence, with a grassy open space leftover for the roaming chickens.
Birdie waited at the foot of the stairs while Mia grabbed her overnight bag from the car. Both the house and the garage were painted an unattractive salmon pink with dingy white trim that was peeling in a few places. It had looked much nicer online, but it also wasn’t as if there had been many choices. The Crowder real estate market wasn’t exactly expansive.
Girding herself for the worst, Mia followed Birdie upstairs to her new apartment. It was as small as she’d expected but nicer than she’d feared. The interior was impeccably clean and smelled of fresh paint. The kitchen appeared to have been recently renovated with new white ceramic tile and gleaming silver fixtures. Both the stove and fridge looked relatively new, and the hardwood floors were in excellent condition.
“You like it?” Birdie asked, looking around proudly. “I had it fixed up a few years back so I could rent it out. Before that it was just storage.”
“It’s great,” Mia said, feeling more optimistic.
“Good. Here’s your key and the clicker for the garage. I’ll leave you to get settled in.” Birdie handed Mia a garage door opener and a freshly cut house key on a keychain in the shape of Texas. “You said you’ve got movers coming this afternoon?”
“Between one and three, allegedly.”
Birdie nodded as she started for the door. “I’ll keep an eye out for them. You let me know if there’s anything you need. My back door’s always open.”
Mia wasn’t sure if she meant that figuratively, as in visitors were always welcome, or literally, as in she didn’t bother to lock her door. Either way, Mia wouldn’t be letting herself into Birdie’s house without knocking, and she’d be keeping her own door locked.
Once Birdie was gone, Mia set herself to the task of unloading her car. It took her the better part of an hour, and by the time she was done she was a sweaty mess, and her calves were aching from trudging up and down the stairs.
While she was unpacking her toiletries in the bathroom, there was a knock at her door. She went to answer it, hoping the movers had shown up early, and instead found Birdie holding a tote bag and a tray covered with a dish towel.
“I made you a little lunch,” she said, bustling inside.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” Mia said, although her stomach rumbled at the mere mention of food. It occurred to her she hadn’t eaten anything since the Egg McMuffin she’d wolfed down that morning in Fort Stockton.
“It’s just some snacks to tide you over until you can get yourself to a grocery store. I hope you like cheese.” Birdie whipped the towel off the tray and Mia’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
Birdie’s version of “some snacks” was a full-fledged charcuterie board featuring a selection of hard and soft cheeses, crackers, cherry tomatoes, and assorted pickled vegetables.
“Wow. This is amazing.” Mia gaped at the mouthwatering selection of cheese, which happened to be her favorite food. “Thank you so much.”
Birdie waved her hand as if it was nothing. “Most of the veggies are from my garden, and the cheese is from my nephew’s goat farm.”
“Your nephew has a goat farm?” Mia recalled the handsome cowboy she’d encountered on the way to her interview and wondered how many goat farmers there were around Crowder.
“Redbud Farm belonged to his parents,” Birdie said as she carried her tote bag over to the fridge. “Josh took it over when my sister and her husband retired to Maine a few years ago.” She began transferring bottles of water from her bag into Mia’s fridge. “This should keep you hydrated through the afternoon. It’s supposed to break a hundred again today, so make sure you drink plenty of water. Heat exhaustion can sneak up on you.”
“Thank you,” Mia mumbled around a mouthful of the most incredible feta she’d ever tasted. “That’s so thoughtful.”
“I also left some of the herb chèvre and a jar of goat milk yogurt in there for you.” Birdie moved to the counter and proceeded to pull several more jars from her bag, which seemed to be bottomless and possibly of magical origin. “And here’s some of my homemade pickled okra and a jar of honey. Did you know neighborhood honey is the best thing in the world for hay fever? Arlo who lives next door, he keeps bees, and