Sunrise at Strawberry Farm: As delightfully delicious as strawberries and cream, this is the perfect summer romance to read in 2020.

by Kellie Hailes

  Good luck with that, Grey thought. Hannah clearly hadn’t been comfortable here before, he couldn’t see her getting comfortable now that she’d well and truly traded in farming for fashioning faces. The city more a part of her now than their little Cornish corner ever was.

  ‘I just think if we’re going to be working together we need to at least make an effort to try and be civil to each other. I’m willing if you are.’

  Grey forced himself not to shake his head, or groan, or guffaw. Of course she was willing to make an effort. She wasn’t the one who’d been left behind. Whose heart had been shrouded in anger in order to mask the pain. Who’d never been able to fully trust another woman since. Never been able to let another close.

  ‘Grey? Are you even listening to me? Or is your grand plan to deal with my being here to ignore me? To communicate through ESP or something? Because, I have to tell you, my mind reading is a little rusty.’

  Her joke fell flat in the face of his lack of laughter. Still, she had a point. He had no choice but to work with Hannah, and he wasn’t going to lose his job, as well as his heart, because of her.

  ‘Let’s make this clear, if I’m going to have to work with you – which I will because my loyalty is to this farm, your family…’ unlike your loyalty, which is only to yourself ‘…then we’re going to need some ground rules.’ He turned to face her, automatically folding his arms across his chest. A barrier. Indicating he was a no-go zone. That he was tolerating her presence, not accepting it. ‘First rule… You’re right, we need to keep things civil. But don’t mistake that for friendly. I’ll greet you if I see you, I won’t ask you how you are. We’ll keep conversation – and any email or text conversation – strictly business.’

  Hannah’s face remained impassive as she nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Second rule and the last rule, that I have anyway… I don’t want to talk about the past. If you even skirt the subject or look like you’re going to bring it up I will excuse myself.’

  ‘Okay.’ Hannah nodded. ‘That all sounds fine by me. All work. No play. No past. I can deal with that. It’s probably for the best anyway.’ She turned her attention to the window, where blush-pink climbing roses scraped against the glass in the breeze. ‘It’s only a few weeks.’

  Was that wistfulness in her voice? Or despondence? Did a few weeks feel like an eternity, a life sentence to Hannah? Or did she wish she could have more time at home with her family?

  He shoved the thought away. There was no way Hannah wanted to stick around. She’d spent her adult life only returning home when absolutely necessary. Staying at Strawberry Farm wasn’t something she was interested in doing. Not then. Not now. Not in the future.

  ‘That’s right. Just a few weeks until the peak of the season is over. By then your mum will have her strength back, we’ll be back to having the full team on board and you can be on your way.’

  The sharp ring of the shop phone startled them both.

  Grey went over and picked it up. Suspicion of who it was and what they wanted snaking through his gut.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Grey, Sylvia here. Just checking that you’ll be joining us for dinner?’

  He heard the usual lightness and friendliness in her tone, but there was something else there… something that sounded a little like hope and a lot like plotting.

  ‘I was thinking I’d go to the pub for dinner.’ He crossed his fingers. He’d had no intention of doing that. Instead he’d planned to cross the lane to his family home that he’d bought when his mother had passed two years back, open a tin of baked beans and eat it straight from the can, before watching a bit of telly [HN11]and heading to bed. That’s if he didn’t fall asleep on the couch first.

  ‘The pub? Oh no. We can’t have that. The food there is fine, but nowhere near as good as my roast chook. And I know how much you love my roast chook. You must come. I insist.’

  Grey kept his eyes trained on the rosebud-printed wallpaper, not wanting Hannah to see he was flustered.

  ‘I’m taking that silence as a yes.’ Sylvia’s voice was filled with satisfaction. ‘See you at six.’

  She rung off before he could muster another half-arsed excuse.

  ‘Bad news? You’ve gone all tense around your shoulders and your jaw’s jutting out like it used to when you had to do something you didn’t want to do.’

  Grey turned to face Hannah. ‘No talking about the past, remember?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘I remember, I was just checking you were okay.’

  ‘And no checking to see if I’m okay. I don’t need your interest in my wellbeing.’ Grey shook his head and strode to the storeroom door. He had to get out of here, had to go for a walk, get some air. Get some space. From the woman in front of him, if not the thoughts that had been swirling around his head since she’d arrived.

  He paused in the doorway. Turned. If she wasn’t going to pay attention to the rules he was going to have to get her to back off by making his feelings towards her clear.

  ‘What I am is none of your business. Who I am isn’t either. You don’t know me anymore. And I don’t want you to.’

  Hannah’s chin tilted upwards. Her eyes held his gaze. An act of bravery in the face of hurtful words.

  Guilt sat heavy in his gut, but he refused to back down. If anything, he had to double down on his stance. Keep Hannah at as much of a distance as was possible. Because letting her near, letting her in?

  Never again.

  He’d made that mistake once, and his heart was still paying the price.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hannah fiddled with the fork she was holding. Flipping it over, then over again. Tilting it to the left, then to the right. She studiously avoided eye contact with anyone at the table, afraid if she caught her father’s eye she’d see the disappointment in his eyes, or worse, if she caught her grandmother’s eye she’d see a mischievous look and start giggling at the absurdity of five people sitting around a table not saying a word to each other.

  Hannah pushed peas around her plate and wished the knots in her stomach would disappear so she could do her grandmother’s cooking justice. She’d gone to so much effort, but from the lack of knives scraping plates and the murmurs of ‘this is delicious, thank you’ that punctuated family dinners when she was growing up, it appeared she wasn’t the only one struggling to engage their appetite.

  ‘Pass the salt, please.’

  Grey’s stony tone matched his impassive face and straight-backed demeanour, which hadn’t once stuttered in the half hour since he’d arrived. Why her grandmother had invited him to dinner Hannah had no idea. Did she think it would make things easier? Hasten the process of getting along if they were forced to spend time together? Good luck with that. It was going to take more than roast dinners and a couple of hours in the same room to melt the ice that lay between them. So much so she suspected even an eternity wouldn’t be long enough.

  ‘Hannah? Can you pass the salt to Grey?’

  Her father’s voice shook her from her reverie.

  ‘Yes, of course, sorry. Didn’t realise it was in front of me.’

  She picked up the mint green stoneware salt shaker that had sat on the dining table in the farmhouse for as long as she could remember and passed it in Grey’s direction, keeping her eyes on her plate. She startled as her fingertips grazed Grey’s, sending a tingle of electricity racing through her hand, up her arm.

  Not a romantic, heart-fluttering bolt, but one that was short, sharp, almost painful. Reserved solely for the person who’d caused Grey hurt in the past.

  Hannah slouched in her seat, ducked her head further and hoped her tablemates didn’t see the heat washing through her cheeks. Prayed they didn’t notice how it raced down her neck. Further. A full-body flush.

  ‘Hot in here.’

  Sylvia’s comment was so dry, so obvious, it caused her grandfather to cough.

  ‘Isn’t it just,’ he replied.

  Hannah could hear the amusement i
n his voice and dared to look to the right, where he was sitting at the head of the table.

  ‘Warmer than usual for this time of year.’

  His lips tilted up in a secret smile, directed at her grandmother.

  Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. They thought her reaction was one of interest? Of a reignited girlish crush? Furthest thing from it. If she wanted to spend her life being shut down when trying to explain any feeling remotely negative, then Grey would be her man. But what could she do? Deny it? Look them all in the eye and say she wasn’t remotely interested in Grey? That his touch caused her pain not pleasure?

  Hurt Grey further with her honesty?

  Not likely. She’d just have to suck it up and let them think whatever they wanted.

  Hannah speared a strip of chicken, dragged it through the rich, brown gravy and popped it in her mouth, while attempting to look unperturbed by the amusement of those surrounding her.

  She could get through this meal, she could get through this stay, as long as she kept her cool, didn’t let them ruffle her feathers, and focused on why she was there: to help her family out, to be there for her mother, to finish out the strawberry season. Then leave.

  This wasn’t forever. It was for now.

  Hannah pulled her shoulders back and sat up. She was the reason the dinner table was an awkward place to be, so it was up to her to make it less so.

  ‘How’s the season been, Dad?’

  Duncan looked up from his slowly diminishing mountain of roast potatoes, his brows raised, like he hadn’t expected her to address him. Let alone ask after the farm.

  ‘Er. Good. Er. Thanks.’ He stuffed another potato into his mouth.

  Conversation with her father was out? That left three other people at the table to talk to. Even though her next target was sure to be as chat-happy as her father.

  ‘Grey, how are your brothers?’

  ‘Married. With kids. All of them.’ Grey stabbed a bean and placed it in his mouth without looking away from her.

  His subtle point that he too would have had a family and kids by now had she not upped and left, abandoning all the hopes and dreams they’d concocted, was unmissable. Except she wasn’t going to blame herself for his not meeting anyone else.

  It wasn’t like she’d led him on. Given him reason to believe she’d return one day for the happily ever after their innocent in-love teenage selves had assumed was a given. He’d had ten years to meet someone else, get married and have kids. Do the family thing. Except he’d chosen not to. Grey had very good reason to dislike her, and because of that Hannah was willing to take his animosity on the chin as best she could, but she refused to take the blame for him not moving on after all this time. That was squarely on him.

  She turned her attention to her grandparents. ‘How are the boys at the pub, Grandad?’

  Peter set his knife and fork down and anchored his elbows to the table.

  Relief surged, warm and comforting through Hannah. At least one of the men at the table was willing to have a conversation with her.

  ‘They’re good, Hannah. Old Bert’s got the gout. Swears drinking beer helps, and that his doctor, who keeps telling him to cut out the beer, knows nothing. Jonesy’s missus died a few months ago, so he’s in a bit of a tender state – not that he’ll admit it. Old Bert and I make sure one of us picks him up and takes him down to the pub each day so that he doesn’t become too down in the dumps.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Grandad.’ Hannah reached for the gravy boat and poured another goodly amount over her vegetables, then set it down again. ‘How’s whatshisname?’ She looked to the ceiling for the answer. ‘Tall man. Always smiling. Thin as one of these beans here. Used to always have a rock sweet stashed away in his pocket for me.’

  ‘You mean Charlie? He’s dead. Passed away at Christmas time. You’d have known that had you come home. Could’ve come to the funeral and paid your respects.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hannah’s appetite died with her grandfather’s words. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She dropped her gaze to her lap, placed her cutlery on her plate and clasped her hands together. So much for breaking the tension at the table, she’d just ramped it up. And proven once again what a letdown she was – in her family’s eyes anyway.

  A soft sigh came from Sylvia’s lips. ‘Really, Peter? Did you have to put it like that and then follow it up with a guilt trip? Hannah’s busy. She’s made something of her life. Something more than most people ever will. She’s found her place in the world and it’s a good, rewarding one.’

  Her grandmother’s kind words couldn’t bring even the most half-hearted of smiles to Hannah’s lips. Partly because she’d once believed her place in the world had been here on the farm, partly because she knew her efforts at making good with the male members of the family were futile. She just had to accept that this was how things were, and that no matter how hard she tried it would be how things remained.

  ‘It’s okay, Gran.’ Hannah slid her hands under her thighs and raised her head. Took in the table. Grey and her father were glowering. Her grandfather was po-faced as could be. Gran, as always, had a kind smile aimed in her direction. ‘Grandad’s right. Had I come home for Christmas I could have paid my respects. I’m sorry, Grandad. Work called. My most important client needed me on-hand for festive celebrations. She doesn’t like to be photographed at industry events looking anything less than perfect, and I’m the only person she trusts to help achieve the look she likes.’

  A beam of pride lit Hannah’s heart. Bugger it, she was sorry for missing Charlie’s funeral, but she couldn’t help it. She was doing her job. Doing what she was best at. Being there for people who needed her. Wanted her. Appreciated her. If the men in her family – and grumpy old Grey – couldn’t see that, then that was their problem.

  A tut of disgust came from His Royal Grumpiness.

  ‘What kind of person is that vain? And has that kind of money to spare? And would waste it like that?’

  Hannah refused to let Grey’s derision get to her. Not when she’d seen the pressures put on women to look a certain way, to maintain that look, in order to keep their careers – their image – intact.

  Being top of the fame chain didn’t mean you were immune to public speculation; if anything you became even more aware of it. Especially once your twenties became your thirties and then your forties, and fifties. Too old to play an ingénue, too young to play the wise old woman. If you didn’t have the money or the business acumen to start your own production company, to choose your roles, you had to fight harder than ever to get roles you could sink your teeth into. Sure, the movie and television industry was becoming more diverse – but much of the money was still held by men. The money. The decisions. Your fate. And it grated on Hannah that anyone would see the women she worked with as being vain, or wasteful, when they were anything but.

  ‘Amethyst Jackson is many things, an award-winning actress, a dedicated philanthropist, but what she is not is vain. Maintaining her looks and putting her best face forward is as big a part of her job as her talent, and it’s my job to help her.’

  Hannah sank back into her chair, satisfaction sending a smile to her face as three stubbled jaws dropped. She’d long suspected the menfolk in her family hadn’t followed her career all that closely – and she’d not expected Grey to have at all – and the proof was staring her in the face.

  ‘Amethyst. Jackson.’ Duncan’s eyes narrowed, matching the suspicion, the doubt, in his eyes. ‘As in the movie star? America’s sweetheart?’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘She doesn’t like the term America’s sweetheart. Says there’s about three other actresses who deserve the title more than her, and that it creates too much pressure to be perfect all the time. But other than that. Yes. Amethyst Jackson, the movie star. We’ve been working together for five years now.’

  ‘And you’re just telling us this now?’ Peter’s bushy, grey brows drew together. ‘Like it’s no big deal.’

  ‘Actually, dear,�
� Sylvia chimed in. ‘She’s told us a good three times that I can remember.’ She raised her hand and lifted one finger[HN12][KW13]. ‘When she first had the opportunity to work with Amethyst.’ Another finger lifted. ‘When Amethyst asked her to be her permanent makeup artist.’ The last finger lifted. ‘And when she couldn’t make Christmas last year and apologised profusely because Amethyst had begged her to fly over. Frankly, Hannah, I’m amazed you’ve been as restrained as you’ve been. I’d have been singing it from the rooftops.’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to look like a show-off to be honest, Gran. That and I also don’t want to expose Amethyst’s life any more than it already is. She lives a quiet life as much as possible, prefers it.’

  Grey spoke up. ‘Then why is she an actress?’

  For the first time since she’d returned home he wasn’t filled with hostility. Just curiosity. Not that she could blame him. When she’d first started working with actors, models and high-profile influencers, she’d been as curious as he was to see how those with a spotlight on them lived. If what they projected was who they were.

  Sometimes she’d been disappointed. Discovered that behind the welcoming demeanours and sunny smiles were horribly entitled people who thought the world owed them everything. Other times, such as the case with Amethyst, she’d been surprised and delighted to discover people who were as nice and kind as they were passionate about what they were doing. People whose talent meant the spotlight was thrust upon them, and dealing with it was just part of the job.

  ‘The work means more than the fame for Amethyst. The fame is just a by-product of what she does. I mean, it’s no different to how we get to eat as many strawberries as we want for free because we own a strawberry farm.’

  ‘Interesting use of “we”.’ Duncan raised his eyebrows.

  Heat hit Hannah’s cheeks. Her father’s point was evident – she didn’t work the farm; the farm wasn’t hers. She had made it obvious that she didn’t want it – even if once upon a time it was all she’d wanted, until it became patently clear that she would never be good enough in her father’s eyes to take it over.