Ridiculous.
And just a little bit true.[HN28][KW29]
‘Hannah, Amethyst, take a seat. Dinner’s nearly ready.’ Sylvia fluttered around them, pulling out chairs and ushering the girls to sit down, which they did with thanks and smiles.
Grey glanced over at Duncan and Peter. Relief relaxed his muscles a touch as he saw they were sitting as straight-backed as he was. The colour on their cheeks warmer than usual. He wasn’t the only nervous one at the table.
Hannah caught his gaze[HN30], her brows raised and a twinkle appeared in her eyes.
Why did he have a feeling she was about to take the mickey out of them?
‘My God, you’d think you men had never been around a woman before. Look at your cheeks all pinked up and pretty. Have you been playing in my makeup?’
And there it was. The mickey. On the table. Laid out bare for all to see.
‘Hannah.’ Amethyst elbowed her, light censure in her tone. ‘You don’t make things less awkward by teasing people.’
Hannah shrugged unrepentantly. ‘They’re family. If I can’t tease them who can I tease?’ Despite her remorseless words, her teeth sunk into her lower lip and she shrunk a little in her chair.
Grey was surprised to see the small act of contrition. He’d come to believe – had told himself repeatedly – that Hannah didn’t care about anyone, she only did what Hannah wanted to do. The thought hadn’t eased the ache in his heart when she’d first left, but it had been a step in helping him get over her.
Between the small show of shame and her desire to apologise the other day, he could feel the foundation of his thoughts about her shake a little. He took a breath in and reminded himself that two small acts of humility didn’t a changed person make.
‘I know!’ Amethyst did a drum roll with the flat of her hands on the table. ‘Why don’t we go round the table and talk about something embarrassing we’ve done in order to break the ice? That way you can see I’m normal?’ Her head angled to the side as she waited for their agreement.
Just like that Grey found his nerves settled and his feelings for Amethyst transformed from apprehensive to appreciative. She could’ve left them to be embarrassed but instead she’d swooped in and saved them, while putting Hannah gently in her place.
Sylvia set a bottle of rosé and a bottle of white wine on the table. ‘I farted in front of Peter’s parents, loud and proud and completely by accident, when we first met. It was a stinker too. Absolutely rotten. I thought they would warn me off him, but instead they laughed and said it would be nice for Peter to have a partner whose farts could compete with his.’ She clapped her hands together with a quick nod. ‘There, that’s my embarrassing story. As loud and proud as my pop-off was all those years ago.’
Peter pulled out the chair next to him for Sylvia and poured her a glass of wine. ‘I knew right then and there that you were the woman for me.’
Sylvia turned to face him, consternation deepening the creases between her brows. ‘You mean you didn’t already know? We weren’t love at first sight? I’ve been living a lie. Is it too late to divorce?’ Her glare was erased by a grin. She leaned over and kissed Peter on the cheek, then turned her attention to the rest of the table. ‘Don’t leave me hanging here with my embarrassing confession. Fess[HN31] up.’
‘I once spent the day picking strawberries with my bum hanging out for all to see. Hadn’t realised there was a rip in the seat of my pants. And I’d been a bit lazy that morning, also known as running late, so hadn’t bothered with underpants.’ Peter poured himself a glass of wine, then offered the bottle to the rest of the table.
‘Lucky people. You have a fine bottom.’ Sylvia patted his bicep then looked over at her son, a smirk appearing on her lips. ‘Duncan? Do I need to talk about…’ She raised her brows.
Duncan flushed a deep red. ‘Mum, I am not talking about that. And if you do then I’ll…’
‘You’ll what?’ Sylvia’s brows rose higher. ‘Chuck your poor mother out of the house? Force her to sleep in the shed? Who’ll feed you? Do your washing? Run around after you like you’re still my baby boy, incapable of doing anything for himself?’
Duncan’s chest hefted up then lowered as he shook his head in despair. ‘Sometimes I think Hannah did the right think in running away. Staying on the farm’s filled with great things, but having those you love ready to spill your most embarrassing secrets, or reminding you of your shortcomings in the housework department, is not.’
An awkward silence fell over the table. Grey pressed his lips together and focused his attention on his lap, unsure what to say, what to do. Duncan rarely mentioned Hannah’s leaving, certainly never joked about it. If anything he’d been under the impression it hurt too much for Duncan to talk about, which is why on the odd occasion he did talk about it he tended to be short. To the point. Bordering – understandably – on harsh.
Grey flicked his gaze in Hannah’s direction to see how she was taking Duncan’s comment. Her head was dipped low, her expression hidden, but there was a stillness about her that made him think she was disconcerted. Didn’t know how to take her father’s words, and – knowing Hannah – afraid if she looked up at her father she’d see a disapproving glance and take what was meant to be a light-hearted comment as further reprehension.
Duncan coughed into his fisted hand, bringing the attention of the table back to himself. ‘Fine. If I must tell my tale, I will. The most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done is to be hauled home in the middle of the night after being found drunkenly reciting Shakespeare outside Jill’s bedroom window.’
A delighted squeak came from Hannah’s direction. Grey looked up to see her hand covering her mouth. Her shoulders shaking. Any air of uncertainty dissipating with her father’s admission.
Her hair, its natural wave back, jiggled over her shoulders with every fresh burst of silent laughter. Her cheeks were flushed with amusement. Her eyes twinkled with merriment. And, for a second, he felt like he’d been transported back ten years in time and was seeing the girl he’d fallen in love with.
Spirited. Delighted. Sweet. Positive. And full of life. Full of love.
Hannah may not have had the classic good looks of Amethyst, but she was every bit as beautiful. More so.
More so? Really, Grey? He pushed his chair back, angry with himself for romanticising her, went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He twisted the cap off and sunk half the bottle in three long gulps.
What was he doing looking at Hannah like that? Seeing Hannah like that? He’d let his guard down, and that could only lead him down a hard and painful path. One he wasn’t willing to walk down a second time.
He took another sip of beer, pulled out a second bottle from the fridge for good measure, and made his way back to his seat.
‘The embarrassing part wasn’t that I was reciting a drunken sonnet, but that I was doing it at the wrong bedroom window. At the wrong cottage. My drunk bearings sending me right to your cottage, Grey, instead of left to what was once staff quarters and now is the farm shop.’ Duncan dropped his head into his hands. ‘Your mother, while impressed that I could quote Shakespeare, was not so impressed that I would wake her up in the middle of the night to do it. Her mother and father, your grandparents, less so since their room was right next to hers.’ Duncan rubbed the top of his ear. ‘I still feel the pain of being hauled home by my ear. Safe to say it was the first and last time I ever let my heart leave my chest and attach itself to my sleeve.’
‘Dad, I can’t believe you were such a romantic.’ Hannah clutched her hands to her heart. ‘I’d love it if a man recited well… anything romantic under my bedroom window.’
‘The most romantic overtures I get are dick pics sent to my Instagram account.’ Amethyst’s eyes widened as she mouthed a silent ‘oh my God’. ‘I’m so sorry. That was rude of me. Shall I see myself out?’
She made a show of going to leave the table, but was stopped by a chorus of ‘no’s and hands waving at her to sit back down.
‘We’re farmers, not fancy types.’ Duncan’s eyes watered with laughter. ‘Although, apparently younger me was trying his hardest to be a fancy man.’
‘Well, it worked. Eventually. Although it might’ve worked far more quickly if you’d managed to get all romance-heavy at the right window. At least now I know why you avoid anything Shakespeare like the plague.’
All heads turned at the table to see Jill in the doorway. A waif wrapped up in a swathe of purple, fluffy bathrobe that looked three sizes too big. On closer inspection, Grey could see there was a hint of colour in her cheeks, perhaps a slight plumping, like the last few days had given her life. Was that her healing, or the effect of having her daughter home? A bit of both?
Grey made to jump up and help her to a seat, but was beaten by Duncan who was already halfway across the room.
‘My love, come, sit. Should you be up?’ He wrapped one arm around her waist, took her hand and led her to the seat beside his. ‘Can I get you a glass of water? Tea? Juice?’
‘You can get me a whole lot of “stop fussing”. I’m fine. I just heard all the laughter down here and had a case of… What do you young people call it? Something mo.’ She glanced over at Hannah.
‘FOMO? Fear of missing out?’
Jill nodded. ‘That’s it. I was upstairs FOMOing.’
Duncan shifted his chair so he was closer to Jill. Thigh-to-thigh. Elbow-to-elbow.
Grey’s heart squeezed tight. Weighed heavy in his chest. What would it be like to love someone that much? To be so close that as close as you could get wasn’t close enough?
Jill placed her hand on top of Duncan’s and patted it.
The ropes around Grey’s heart further constricted. What would it be like to have someone who cared for you, who comforted you, even when they were the one who was sick? A team. A unit. Bound by love.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hannah watching her parents. Her face a mix of emotions. Proud, sad, worried, happy. And something else… Something that looked a lot like the desolation, like the emptiness that Grey felt inside.
His heart went to go out to her and he lassoed it back in. He was in danger of letting her get to him. Big time. More than ever he had to look out for himself. Avoid drama. Keep out of conflict. Keep himself, and his heart, safe.
Jill broke the quiet that had fallen over the table. ‘So what’s had you laughing so much for so long?’
Sylvia stood and went to the oven. ‘Embarrassing moments in our lives. Peter’s bum hanging out for all and sundry to see. Duncan’s predilection for drunken sonnets.’
Jill laughed, then covered her mouth as it morphed into a hard, racking cough.
Sylvia waited for it to pass. ‘It was started by Amethyst here. Though she’s not actually told us hers…’
Opening the oven door, Sylvia pulled out a large pan of lasagne and set it on the stovetop to cool down.
Grey got up once more and went to stand beside her. ‘I’ll get the plates and cutlery.’
Sylvia eyed him speculatively. ‘Ants in your pants?’ Her tone was kept low, so the others wouldn’t overhear. ‘Our guest making you uncomfortable?’
‘Something like that.’ Grey accepted Sylvia’s brief hug and her whispered ‘you’ll be fine’, then busied himself setting the table, half-listening to Amethyst tell a tale that involved walking up to a store mannequin thinking it was a shop assistant, only for it to be caught on camera by a fan, then splashed all over the internet.
‘Suffice to say I got over my vanity, booked myself in to see an optometrist and now I can see everything that’s going on right in front of me.’
For a second Grey thought Amethyst’s ending to the tale had a double meaning. That it was somehow directed at him. That she could see through his unsettled behaviour for what it was. Much like Sylvia had. Or thought she had.
Sylvia had been off in her assessment, though. She’d thought his discomfort was caused by Amethyst, but she had the wrong ‘guest’.
It was the person who was a guest in her own home that had Grey fluffing around like an out-of-sorts duckling. The girl who’d become a woman, whose finger was circling the rim of her wine glass in a slow, steady way. Whose lips were parted in a gentle laugh. Whose jawline had become more refined, more delicate with age. Her manner, her essence, still sweet and spirited, but also more sophisticated and… somehow sensual.
He set the last knife and fork down, sank back into his chair, brought his beer to his lips and closed his eyes to the woman across from him as he took another long swig.
If only he could close his eyes forever to the feelings she stirred in him. To the memories of the past.
To the hopes he’d once held for their future.
CHAPTER NINE
Hannah leaned her head against the cool glass of the farm truck as it wound its way through the lane. She closed her eyes as the headache that had been niggling away began to pound.
Tension headache. It had to be.
She peeked through her lashes at Grey whose own gaze was firmly on the road before them.
He was probably angry that, after all but begging, her father had let her go in his place to help Grey deliver the day’s pickings to their local suppliers. Hannah had dangled the carrot of her father spending time with her mother, and after a long pause he’d taken her up on the offer.
She closed her eyes tighter as the sun struck her face. What had gone through her father’s mind during that pause, she didn’t know. Probably all the things Hannah could do wrong. Still, at least he’d let her go, and in doing so gave her the opportunity to spend time with Grey. Time she’d intended on using to try and ease the tension between them; that was until the stress of being back at the farm, being on her best behaviour, trying to be a good host to Amethyst and keeping on top of work emails and appointment requests had caused her temples to pulse and her brain to grow too tight for her skull.
‘You okay, Han?’
The concern in Grey’s voice surprised Hannah. Nearly as much as his calling her ‘Han’. A shortening of her name reserved for close family and friends. People who liked her. She wasn’t sure Grey fell into that category anymore[HN32].
Wasn’t sure? She knew she didn’t fall into that category.
She opened her eyes and kept her attention on the road, afraid if she looked at him she’d break whatever spell had seen him say her name like he had a million times in the good old days.
Good old days? The phrase took her by surprise. Was that how she saw things? Did that make the years she’d spent forging a career for herself as a makeup artist not good? She mentally shook herself. Her gran’s home baking, the sweetness of the air and the abundant sunshine were getting to her.
‘I’m okay. Just a bit of a headache. Probably too much wine last night.’
‘You had two glasses. Hardly what I’d call too much.’
He’d noticed how much she’d been drinking? Had been paying that much attention? Did that mean there was the slightest chance she could repair things with Grey naturally? That there’d be no need to enact the Amethyst/Grey love match that she’d not been able to bring herself to work on since first conceiving it?
Hope tinged with relief saw the headache retreat a touch.
‘Must be the fresh air, then. Not used to it.’ Hannah squeezed her eyes shut once more. Stopped short of face-palming herself. Good one. Just remind him that you left, that country air isn’t your choice of air. That you’re a city air kind of girl.
‘Don’t know how you deal with that city air.’ Grey’s tone held no censure, just a hint of curiosity. ‘Whenever I see shots of the big smoke on the telly the air looks so… dense. Like you’d be walking through it rather than just being in it, if that makes sense…’
Hannah turned to Grey, surprise erasing her self-directed irritation. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never been in the city? Any city? Ever?’
Grey shrugged. ‘We’re not all destined to run off.’
H
is words stung. So much for hitting the defrost button on their relationship. So much for being called ‘Han’.
‘Not that I haven’t [HN33]left our hamlet. I’ll go to the next village. The one over from that. I’ve even made it as far as Penzance. Bit big for me though.’
His tone had softened, like he’d realised how harsh he’d sounded. Hannah allowed herself to relax into the seat. Maybe she was so wound up she was imagining slights when there were none?
‘But what do you do with your spare time? On your holidays? Spend your time doing jigsaws?’ Hannah bit down on her tongue. What was she doing making jokes like that? Talking to Grey as she’d done back in the days when they were young, when they were friends. More than friends. When she could tease him, and he her, knowing it was in jest.
‘I gave up on the jigsaws. Could never get the borders right. I always stumble at the sky.’
Grey’s tone was flat, even. Was he joking? Or had he really taken up puzzling?
‘I took up cross-stitch soon after, but kept stabbing myself with the needle. Waste of holiday that short-lived hobby was.’
‘You rotter.’ Hannah’s fist shot out and shoved Grey lightly before she could stop herself. ‘You’re having me on.’
‘Call it payback for giving me grief about loving my little patch of the Cornish countryside.’
A silence that wasn’t entirely easy but nor was it so thick you could run a chainsaw through it fell over them. The invisible pressure that had sat hard and uncomfortable between them eased back, like the bright sun streaming in through the windows had begun to melt it away.
‘Amethyst seems like an okay girl.’ Grey’s fingers tapped out a soundless tune on the steering wheel. ‘She’s not what I expected.’
‘Okay girl? That’s high praise coming from you.’ Hannah’s lips twitched up into a small smile. ‘You’re right though: she’s the opposite of what people expect. It’s why I like her. She should have her head up her arse, or in the clouds – both. Instead she’s grounded. Real. Too good for most of the people she has to deal with.’
Sunrise at Strawberry Farm: As delightfully delicious as strawberries and cream, this is the perfect summer romance to read in 2020. Page 8
