He eyed the window, letting in the smell of … barnyard. Ew, barnyard.

Zechariah was just starting to reach for the window when the blonde was back, and he promptly whirled to face her and not look like he was meddling.

He never would have bothered look innocent had he not come here for the explicit purpose of meddling.

“I will need,” he started, dragging out the last word as he eyeballed the number of eggs in said basket, “about two dozen more.”

He drew a handkerchief out, though passed it off to her rather than figuring it out himself.

“How much do I owe you, miss?”