She hands the hay bale towards me and without thinking I swing it onto one shoulder, leaving the other arm free, and support it with my hand. I might not have eaten but I've kept up with my body and I've kept it strong. "I'd like to meet him. That would be nice. And I'd like to eat, if I may?"

I'm trying to be mature about this, not give into my usual tarquinesque panic about being social or accepting things. I also want to meet the man. He looks nice.