‘Such a flirt. I can’t believe Gran fell for it.’
Matt held his hands up, his eyes widened in innocent protest. ‘Oh, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s your gran who flirts with me. I’m just smart enough to enjoy the benefits.’
Hannah went to retort, but stopped as a shadow fell over them.
‘All that time in the city and you’ve forgotten our biggest rule, Hannah?’ Grey loomed over them. His brows so tense they were almost touching. His face a thundercloud marring a brilliant day.
Matt was right. Grey’s knickers were in a knot.
‘Less of this.’ Grey’s hand opened and closed in an approximation of a talkative mouth. ‘More of this.’ Then morphed into a plucking motion.
‘Roger that.’ Matt saluted Grey and got back to work, but not before catching Hannah’s eyes and rolling his own.
‘Sorry, Grey. Here.’ She offered up the box of trays. ‘They’re full. Will you do me a favour and take it to the shed for inspection?’
Grey paused, and Hannah got the feeling he was about to tell her to take it herself.
‘Fine.’ He picked the strawberries up and stalked off down the row.
‘God, he’s really packing a sad. It’s like someone’s playing with his favourite toy and he’s not allowed to take it back.’ A mischievous glint appeared in Matt’s eyes.
He thought Hannah was the toy? That Grey was annoyed that she and Matt had gravitated to each other, and were spending time together?
‘If you’re getting at what I think you’re getting at, you can get away with yourself. Grey and I…’ She pressed her lips together. Tried to find the words to describe their relationship.
‘If you’re about to say “it’s complicated”, I’m chucking this tray of strawberries at your head.’ Matt lifted the box up threateningly.
‘Then chuck away.’ Hannah stood and looked around for the piles of boxes. ‘But you’ll have to chuck fast because I’ve got work to do. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble with Mr Knotted Knickers again.’
Before Matt could lob a strawberry her way, before she got herself in more trouble, Hannah grabbed her trolley, turned tail and ran to the next row… And tried not to think about how much easier her life would be if she could bypass all the rows and just keep running… all the way to London.
All the way home.
CHAPTER SIX
The scratching of pen on paper was making his skin crawl. Every thump of a dotted ‘i’, every scratch of a crossed ‘t’ causing him to involuntarily cringe. Sending his already on-edge nerves into can-I-get-out-of-here-already alert.
‘Must you write so loudly?’ Grey sat back in the chair. Tried to get space from the irritating sound of note taking. Space from the intoxicating peach scent emanating from Hannah.
Hannah must’ve met him fresh from the shower. Her skin glowed and her cheeks were ruddy. Her hair had been scraped back into a stubby ponytail. Strands had fallen out on either side of her face, and he’d had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching across the farm shop’s small table to tuck it behind her ear, like he’d done a million times before.
Hannah shifted in her chair and her cut-off denim shorts rode up even higher on her already very bare thigh. Very bare, and very toned, and very much not for his eyes.
Grey focused on the pen, now tapping rat-a-tat-tat on the pad over and over.
‘Grey? Are you listening to a word I’ve been saying? What’s been the highlight of the last few festivals? What’s worth repeating? What’s not worth doing?’
Grey gave himself a mental shake. He had to get a grip. Had to get Hannah out of his head. A feat that verged on the impossible seeing as she was in his face for most of the day. Not to mention the evening, if he took Sylvia up on her open dinner invitation. Something he did once or twice a week as much to appease her as because he enjoyed spending time with the Beetys[HN17], although he was careful to keep it occasional, to not overstay his welcome… But maybe with the current situation it would be better if he didn’t go over to theirs for dinner at all for the next few weeks.
The less Hannah, the better.
‘At this rate nothing will be confirmed and the festival will be a flop. Dad will kill me. See it as just another failure on my behalf.’ Hannah slumped in her chair and expelled a long breath of frustrated air.
Only two days home and she was back to that old rant already? If he could’ve blocked his ears and started singing ‘la-la-la’ without looking like a petulant five-year-old, he would’ve.
If he’d been given a pound every time she’d started up about how her father couldn’t be pleased, he’d have been able to offer [HN18]to invest in the farm the day Hannah had left.
He says I don’t pick strawberries fast enough.
My smile’s not warm enough while serving in the shop.
The scones I made are good, but not great like Gran’s.
The harder I work the more holes he finds to pick. If he doesn’t want me around he should just say so.
He’d never been able to see where Hannah was coming from. He’d have loved to have grown up with a father like Duncan. One who cared enough to notice, who cared enough to stick around. Hearing Hannah’s complaints had been a reminder of everything he didn’t have. Everything he wanted. Everything it hurt not to have.
A shudder jolted Grey’s spine. There was no point rehashing the past. He’d done that enough. He just had to get on with the future, and that meant working with Hannah, then waving goodbye to her in a few weeks’ time.
‘The music is sorted. It’s a permanent booking.’ His hand curled around his mug of tea. The heat of the drink seeped into his skin as if it were attempting to warm the coldest parts of him. Good luck with that. His heart was ice. And nothing could break through it. He wouldn’t let it. ‘It’s the local folk band. The music’s harmless. Upbeat. Sunshine and laughter kind of stuff. Nothing offensive.’
‘Great. Excellent. Done.’ Hannah emphasised the point with an exuberant tick. ‘What about food?’
‘Usually it’s just your gran’s baking that we sell at the shop. Or people bring picnics. Nothing fancy.’ He shrugged.
‘Hmmmm.’ The tip of the pen tapped her chin, her gaze turning thoughtful. ‘We could do more. Get in some food trucks? Spice it up a bit?’
‘Do you really think you ought to be changing things up? Creating expectation only to not be able to follow up on that expectation?’ He let the silent accusation hang there, revelled in the stutter of chin-tapping, the hitch of Hannah’s chest. Did she really think she could just come back and act like nothing had happened? Like she suddenly cared about the farm? Her family?
‘I think…’ Her words were measured. Tight. ‘I think that I understand that this is a big deal, and that if I can help with that then I should. For my family. For Mum. I want to make her proud.’
Grey went to argue the point but couldn’t find the words. Who could argue against the truth? He knew Hannah adored her mother, knew they shared a bond he could never understand due to having had next to no relationship with his mother other than being ‘another mouth to feed’.
Hannah’s smile returned to her lips but didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Anyway, food trucks shouldn’t be hard to find. The last-minuteness of it all might make it difficult, but I’m sure I could make it work. People would love having options, and it’d add a cool vibe to the event.’ The pencil tapping restarted. ‘Hmmmm, would we need licences[HN19]? Or insurance of some sort? All that boring guff?’ Hannah gritted her teeth. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘Never mind, I’ll figure it out. I have an acquaintance who works in events. I’m sure he’ll be able to point me in the right direction.’
Grey dragged his hand over his eyes as wariness set in. Not caused by the early starts or the long days, but by being in such close proximity to the woman opposite. It was exhausting keeping his defences up. Doubly so when that sweet and spicy scent kept weaving its way around him.
He was tempted to try some deep b
reathing, but knew from the last few days’ experience it would do nothing.
His body had been wound tight since Sylvia had given him a heads-up that Hannah would be coming to help on the farm. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy for him to have Hannah close by. She’d seen him at his worst after Hannah had taken off the first time. Found him drunk as a skunk at the pub, swaying back and forth on the stool arguing with the landlord that he should be allowed another beer. Without a word, she’d taken him by the elbow and stayed patiently at his side, steering him in the right direction as he wobbled his way out to her car, where he’d slumped over in a huddle of angry tears.
They’d never spoken of that night. Of the drive where his shoulders shook, where his words raged, where he’d called Hannah names that no grandmother needed to hear. After she’d pulled up outside the cottage, she’d held him in a maternal hug for an age, gave him as much time as he needed to pull himself together, then told him to drink two pints of water and that she hoped he felt better in the morning, before sending him into his tiny cottage, to his small bunk bed in the little bedroom that he shared with two of his brothers.
He’d felt like death warmed up in the morning. The pallor of his skin matching his name. His pain hadn’t lifted, but it had lightened. Knowing that while his mother was too busy working to notice the drag of his feet let alone the ache of his heart, and his brothers too busy in their own lives to care, that he had people on his side. People who understood. People as confused and sad and angry as he was. People who couldn’t just move on in the same way Hannah had.
‘Other than music and food, I’m guessing we just need to hold a bunch of family-friendly mini-events – sack races, egg ’n’ spoon races, that sort of thing?’
Grey dropped his hand to his lap and nodded. If he was going to have to do this with Hannah he may as well be forthcoming. Move the meeting along. ‘Yeah, that’s the one. Sometimes some of the strawberry-picking crew volunteer their time and help us out with manning the games and whatnot. I tend to do the grunt work. Sort out tables. Move stuff around. Clear areas. Pitch signs.’
‘Excellent. You do what you do best.’ Hannah’s face brightened as she lifted her mug to her lips. ‘And I’ll see if I can get Matt to pull together a team of workers. He looks the type to dig in and help out.’
Irritation rose from nowhere and eddied low in his gut. The same way it had whenever he’d glanced over and seen Hannah and Matt sharing a joke or a laugh, or simply smiling at each other over the rows of strawberries. His gut instinctively clenched, tried to squeeze the unwanted emotion out.
He had no right to the irritation. Hannah wasn’t his. More importantly, he didn’t want Hannah to be his. She brought with her sunshine and smiles and an easy-going nature that had seen off his natural inclination to worry at thoughts and emotions until they were threadbare, but she also caused more pain and suffering than even he could ever imagine.
Pain and suffering that he had no intention of experiencing ever again.
‘Fine. Great. Talk to Matt. I’m sure he’ll be a great help.’
Hannah shot him a curious look. Unsurprising since his words had come out as tight and tense as his body felt.
He pressed the palms of his hands together in silent thanks as her phone began to vibrate and shuffle millimetre by millimetre across the table.
She flipped it over. A tiny line creased the area between her eyebrows as she read the name flashing up.
Amethyst. The actress.
Grey had been about to excuse himself, to use work as a reason to get away from Hannah and the uncomfortable emotions her close proximity created, but changed his mind.
That wasn’t just a friend calling Hannah. That was work. The kind that might see her leaving the farm sooner than expected. No bad thing in his eyes. Sure, her leaving would mean picking up the slack and getting even less sleep than he already was. But if sleep deprivation meant Hannah deprivation, he was all for it.
Hannah swiped the mobile and lifted it to her ear. ‘Amethyst, hi. How are you?’
Grey couldn’t make out the staccato babbling of words that followed, but there was no mistaking the urgent tone.
‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m at home.’ Hannah paused, her lips pursed then relaxed. ‘I’m at the strawberry farm my family own, helping out until my mum’s recovered. You know that. I told you before I left.’
Another rattle of words followed. Hannah’s chest rose and fell in a silent sigh. Her eyes closed and she massaged the area where the little frown line had formed.
‘Amethyst, honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s the country. You hate the country. And I’m busy with the end of season and a festival and…’
Hannah slumped forward onto the table at the next barrage of words. Her forehead pressed into the timber like she wished she could shove her head in it and be done with the world.
‘Okay. Great. Bye.’ Her words were flat. Emotionless. She set the mobile back on the table, it’s screen going dark. The call ended.
A pained groan floated into the air. Followed by another. Her hand fisted and she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.
‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ She shook her head. Her eyes distant. ‘Dad is going to hate it.’
She shook her head back and forth. Three times. Hard and fast. Her focus was sharp, a little manic, as she stood and began to pace up and down the small shop.
‘Amethyst is coming. She’s scheduled for a shoot and won’t do it without me. So they’re going to do it here. At the farm. She’s already arranged everything. Except for a place to stay. But where though?’ Hannah’s chin tilted up. She stared at the ceiling like it would have the answer she was looking for. ‘Can’t be one of the rooms above the pub. Too public. She’d be mobbed. There’s no room at ours. I mean, she could sleep on a blow-up bed in the sitting room, I guess.’ She shook her head. ‘No. Too disruptive. It needs to be private. Away from others. Where she can have her own room.’
Hannah stopped short and spun on her heel to face Grey.
‘You.’
Grey’s stomach went into free fall. He knew where this was heading and he didn’t want a bar of it. It wasn’t his job to make Hannah’s life easier. To help an old friend out. Old friend? Not even. Hannah was nothing to him. No one. Which meant he didn’t have to do what those blue eyes were pleading with him to do.
Her hands pressed together and angled in his direction. ‘Please, Grey. Pretty please. I know there’s no reason for you to help me. I know that you could walk out right now and leave me to figure this out. You could make my life harder, if you wanted. I wouldn’t blame you. But, I beg you. You have the room. You have the space. Your cottage is off the road and away from prying eyes. It’s the perfect place to store a celebrity for a day. Or two. I’m sure Amethyst would happily pay a grand sum of money to be there. You’d just have to put fresh sheets on a bed and, maybe, if you were so inclined, ensure there was fresh fruit, juice and sparkling water in the fridge. I’d shop and pay for it, of course.’
Grey’s head began to shake back and forth before he’d even instructed it to do so. ‘No way, Hannah. Uh-uh. I’m having no bar of this. I don’t want to cater to a celebrity. I don’t want the money. I just want to be left alone.’
He began to back up towards the door. To escape. Hannah ran towards him, sidestepped around him and shut the door before he could spin around and run.
She blockaded the door with her body, her legs and arms spread wide.
‘I could pick you up and move you. You know that, right?’ He folded his arms across his puffed-up chest. Hoped she’d take his threat as truth and get out of the way.
Hannah didn’t budge. ‘I know. I’m hoping you hate me enough that you don’t want to touch me, that you’d choose housing Amethyst for a night or two over laying a hand or two on me.’
Checkmate. Hannah had him exactly where she wanted him. And by the grin lifting her lips and lighting up her eyes, she knew i
t.
Hannah’s peach scent enveloped Grey. Even after all these years she still smelled the same. Warm. Welcoming. Delicious. For a mad second he was tempted to bury his nose in her neck and inhale, as he’d done hundreds of times before many, many years ago.
He held his breath and took a step back. He’d gotten too close, let Hannah get to him. No way. Not again.
He fished in his cargo shorts pocket for his keys as he turned around and made the three long strides in took to get to the shop’s front door. Key inserted, he turned the lock, opened the door, stepped outside, locked up and headed into the lane, towards his home.
Towards safety.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sylvia pulled back the curtain in the sitting room for the nine-hundredth-and-ninety-ninth time that day, her shoulders sagging as she released the flimsy fabric.
‘Honestly, you’d think your grandmother had never met a famous person before.’
Sylvia turned to face Peter, a scowl deepening the lines on her face. ‘That’s because I haven’t. Is the house tidy enough, pet? I’ve got the good china out for dinner. Does Amethyst eat meat? Pasta? I’ve got a lasagne prepped.’ A stricken look crossed her face. ‘Please don’t tell me she’s vegan, or that she avoids carbs[HN20][KW21]. Vegetarian food I can do, but I’m not sure I know how to cook anything that doesn’t have a good dollop of dairy or stodge.’
Hannah moved to stand beside her grandmother and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. ‘She eats pretty much everything. The only thing I’ve ever seen her turn her nose up is boiled Brussels sprouts, and she can hardly be blamed for not being fond of that particular dish.’
Sylvia’s face fell. ‘I bought Brussels sprouts for tomorrow night’s dinner. Do you think she’ll like them if I slice them thinly and cook them with bacon and cream, add salt and pepper? They really are quite palatable when done that way…’
Sunrise at Strawberry Farm: As delightfully delicious as strawberries and cream, this is the perfect summer romance to read in 2020. Page 6
