‘And yet she puts up with you.’
Hannah searched for a hint of meanness in the comment, but found none. Grey was teasing her. Again. Like old times.
Warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the heat of the day or the truck’s lack of air conditioning. If she didn’t say the wrong thing, if she kept her tongue in check, she and Grey might end up being all right[HN34]. Better than all right. And that was more than all right with her.
‘Yeah, well, someone has to.’ She shot Grey a self-effacing grin as they pulled up to a local shop.
Hannah opened the truck’s door and attempted to get out elegantly. Impossible when she had to all but take a flying leap to get to the ground. Holding on to the inside handle she set one foot on the truck’s ledge, then hopped down…
An ‘ow’ pierced the air as her ankle rolled. She collapsed to the ground, then leaned over and checked her ankle for damage or signs of swelling.
Its side was red and grazed where she’d scraped it on the ground, but there was no puffiness, and the pain was already easing off.
Large, warm, capable hands swallowed the area. She glanced up to see Grey kneeling beside her, his concentration on her ankle as his thumb and forefinger gently massaged the area.
‘Is it okay?’ His gaze met hers. Concern weighed heavy in his green eyes.
She’d forgotten how beautiful they were. Like the sea when it was churned up on a stormy day.
‘It’s okay.’ Hannah forced herself to look away, to not fall into their depths, and circled her ankle one way then the other. ‘Nothing that a few extra inches of height wouldn’t fix.’ She rolled her eyes, then pushed herself up before Grey could offer his hand.
The ankle massage had sent delicate, delicious shimmers spilling through her. A reaction to his touch that, even now after all these years, after so much time apart, was still as heart-flutteringly strong. [HN35]Stupid chemistry. Or pheromones. Or whatever it was that made bodies react to each other.
‘Next time swallow your pride and ask me to help you down. You and farm trucks never were particularly good for each other.’ Grey made his way to the back of the truck, opened it and grabbed three trays of strawberries.
The weight of the trays caused Grey’s already apparent biceps to become even more defined as the cotton of his grey-marle T-shirt strained against his muscles.
Hannah grabbed her bottle of water from the truck’s drink holder and took a long swig. Hoped it would settle the heat that had risen through her body.
Grey waited for her to put the bottle back in the car and shut the door. ‘Can you carry the last tray?’
‘Sure thing.’ Hannah hurried to the back of the truck and grabbed the tray.
Grey hadn’t noticed her noticing him? Good. The knots it her stomach released a little. The last thing she wanted was to amplify the awkwardness and angst that had only just begun to relax.
She caught up with Grey at the shop’s back door [HN36]where he was chatting to an older woman.
‘Good strawberry season this year.’ The woman took the box from Hannah with a nod of thanks. ‘They’re sweeter than last. Although a touch smaller. No bad thing in my books.’
‘Agreed. I like them small and sweet.’ Grey’s cheeks pinked up. He raised a fisted hand and coughed into it. ‘The strawberries I mean.’
The woman’s gaze drifted between the two of them. ‘Yes. The strawberries. Indeed.’ Her tone dripped with amusement.
Did she think Grey was talking about her? The idea was laughable and Hannah had to bite her cheek not to do exactly that. Clearly the woman had no idea who she was, or the history she and Grey shared. While she was on the smaller side – there was no denying that – there was no way in a million years Grey would ever say she was sweet.
Horrible. Deceitful. Evil. Worst human being in the world bar none.
All of those descriptions would be apt. All she wouldn’t blame him for thinking or saying. But sweet? Not likely. Not these days.
‘You’re Jill and Duncan’s girl, right?’ The woman angled her body towards Hannah, her gleam intensifying.
Hannah instinctively crossed her arms, a barrier to the knowing looks, the raised brows that said ‘you broke your parents’ hearts’ and the hands that were held up to mouths as local gossip was whispered from ear-to-ear.
‘I remember you helping your dad when you were just a wee thing. He’d let you carry a punnet or two in all by yourself. You’d have the biggest grin on your face. So proud to be doing your bit for the farm. Happy wee thing that you were.’ She turned her attention back to Grey, and the two began to chat about the weather and how the rest of the season was shaping up.
‘Were’. Was that how people saw Hannah. Once happy, now no longer happy?
She waited for Grey and the woman to finish their conversation, then said a cheery goodbye combined with a brighter-than-usual smile, and ensured there was a skip in her step as she followed Grey back to the truck.
Hannah hauled herself into the passenger seat, flipped down the visor and checked her appearance in the mirror.
Did she look miserable? Sad? Unhappy?
She inspected her face. Dark shadows had made their home in the shallow valleys under her eyes. The late nights chatting to her gran and the early starts taking their toll. Despite this, her skin glowed in a way it hadn’t in years. Probably due to spending hours outside in the sun. That, and breathing in loads of fresh air. She took a moment to look at herself. Really look at herself. And she saw what the shop owner had seen. There was a guardedness in her eyes. A distance. Like she wasn’t all there. Wasn’t truly present. Like she was keeping something back.
Which, of course, she was.
Herself.
Her whole self.
The prospect of returning to Strawberry Farm for three weeks had scared her, now after a few days home she was plain terrified. She’d spent her adult life proving to those in the cosmetics and entertainment industry that she was good at her job. Fought hard to up her skills, to be the one makeup artist people were desperate to work with, and she’d succeeded. Overwhelmingly so. But back home she was no one. Nothing. The girl who left. The girl who wasn’t cut out for farming.
Here she had everything to prove, when she shouldn’t have to prove anything at all.
And yet she wanted to. The urge to show her father she could’ve run the farm, to prove him wrong, pulsed in her veins. It was why she was first up in the mornings. Why she picked harder and faster than anyone else. Why she ensured every customer in the store was warmly greeted and made to feel special. Why when her gran told her she was free to go she served another person. When her grandfather tried to shoo her away from strawberry inspection in the shed she dug in.
Physically she was putting her all in. But emotionally? Emotionally she was holding back, afraid to trust what fleeting signs of appreciation, of opening up, she’d seen from her father – such as his tongue-in-cheek joking last night or his entrusting deliveries to her today – in case the worst thing she could imagine came true…
That instead of returning to London, she chose to stay.
Which was ridiculous. Three weeks on the farm. That’s what she’d promised herself.
Three weeks and she’d be back home living the life she’d created, a life where her heart, filled with cracks from years of rejection, could not be shattered into smithereens by one final sharp-worded blow.
No, there was no way she was putting faith in the few kindnesses she’d seen from her father that a return home would mean a lifetime of happiness. A few kindnesses didn’t mean she was truly wanted, more that she was being put up with for the time being. That her help was better than no help. Soon enough her mother would be fine, and they’d no longer need her. She needed to remember that, keep it close.
Grey started the truck and began to reverse out of the driveway. ‘Don’t let what Pam said get to you.’
Hannah flicked the visor back up and turned to Grey. ‘What do you me
an, “don’t let what Pam said get to you”? Who said she’s getting to me?’
Grey chuckled, deep and rumbling and so warm Hannah wanted to wrap herself in his laugh. To let it ease the cold that had wormed it way into her heart at the realisation that even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t. There was no place here for her long term.
‘I know you, Hannah. You care what people think of you. Their opinions mean a lot. Which is why back there when Pam said you were happy when you were younger, I know you’d have taken it to heart. Heard the “were” and wondered if you aren’t happy anymore. If it was obvious to the world that you’ve changed.’
‘You think I’ve changed? That I’m not happy?’ Defensiveness prickled over Hannah’s skin. Her heart rate elevated, ready to fight, because taking flight was not an option. She was stuck in the truck, stuck at the farm, stuck with Grey for the foreseeable future. ‘Because I’m happy. I’m good. Fine. Great, even.’
Grey’s laugh filled the cab once more. ‘Someone’s pants are on fire and those pants don’t belong to me.’
Hannah bristled at the inference she was lying. ‘I’m exactly who I’ve always been. And I’m happy. More than happy. The happiest. I have a successful career. I own my own flat. I’m fine.’
‘Fine?’ Grey’s brows rose. ‘Just fine? That’s a downgrade from happy if ever I heard one.’
Hannah’s chest rose in frustration.
‘And I sense a huff coming in three… two…’
Hannah glanced over at Grey whose unsmiling gaze was firmly on the road.
Dammit, he did know her, even after all these years apart. He knew her and he wasn’t about to pull his punches.
She pursed her lips together and, softly as she could, blew out the huff.
‘I heard that.’
‘No you didn’t,’ retorted Hannah, unable to stop a smile spreading.
‘I was right though, wasn’t I? You were worrying about what Pam said?’
‘Shush.’ Hannah knew her lack of definitive answer revealed the truth, but she wasn’t in the mood for giving Grey the truth. Or the satisfaction of knowing he’d landed bang on said truth.
This was the trouble with home. Away you could reinvent yourself. Convince people of a new you. Of a true you. At home? They saw through the layers. Through the hair and the makeup and the clothes right to the core of who you were.
No one more than Grey. It was a great part of why she’d loved him with everything she had. Adored the ground he walked on. He’d seen through her brave face, her attempts at squaring her shoulders, keeping calm and carrying on whenever her father’s curt words had daggered her heart, her soul.
If only he could have acknowledged her pain when she confessed the reasons behind it, instead of dismissing it. Dismissing her.
Hannah dropped her head into her hands and pressed her palms into her eyes as regret rolled through her. If only she could have done right by her father her life could have been so different. So filled with the kind and sweet Grey who’d held her hands and waited as pain spilled in the form of words from her mouth. Who held her tight as she wondered why she wasn’t good enough. Why she couldn’t make her father proud. Who’d done his best to make it okay by telling her she was wrong, that her father did love her, that she did make her father proud. That she was worrying about nothing.
Except his words, designed to soothe, had only pushed her away. Left her feeling more alone than ever. More misunderstood.
She drew her hands down and stared out over the rolling, green hills dotted with caramel-coloured Jersey cows, and black and white Friesians.
Worrying about nothing?
A harsh ‘huh’ left her lips.
If she’d thought she had a chance of doing her dad proud she’d have stuck around, dug in, for sure. But with every ‘no, Hannah, it’s like this’ or ‘that’s not how we do it, Hannah’, with every rejection of every idea to help enhance the farm, the whisper that had started in the back of her mind telling her to leave grew louder. A whisper she’d ignored until hearing her father voice his concerns to her grandfather pushed her to bite the bullet and go. Leave Grey to it. For he never got the hard word from her father. He got the claps on the shoulder. The ‘nice one, son’.
Not that she begrudged Grey the good words, the small acknowledgements [HN37]of appreciation from her father. Grey was a natural on the farm. Always had been. It was like he was born to be part of their family. Part of their land.
More than that, Hannah saw how Grey flourished under her father’s advice and kind words. How Grey looked up to him. Saw him as a father figure. A replacement for the one he never had.
She didn’t hate that Grey had a good relationship with her father, but over time – and even now – she’d come to resent it. Resent the impact it had on her relationship with Grey. If only he’d stood up for her in the face of her father’s criticism. Stood by her. Fought on her behalf when her own retaliation got her nowhere.
Hannah shook her head as the headache that had backed off returned and intensified. That was the past; this was now. At the end of the day she was all she had. She just had to keep remembering that.
‘I suppose we should get started on the banner for the festival, this evening?’ Grey sounded like he’d rather have his toenails pulled out one by one.
‘We should.’ Hannah offered up a weak smile, then pressed the side of her head against the glass. ‘We’ll have it done in no time.’
‘That’s what I figured. You being the artistic type and all that. Get it done, sort the rest of the festival, and you’ll be home before you know it.’
His lips were a straight line, and Hannah couldn’t tell if her leaving made him happy, sad, or if he didn’t care either way. The latter, she suspected.
‘Yeah, exactly. Two and a bit more weeks and you’ll be rid of me.’ Hannah closed her eyes to Grey, to the farmland, to the place she’d once called home. The artistic one. The one who left. Was that who she was? Was that all others saw her as?
Who else was she? Who else could she be?
Hannah the long-lost daughter.
Hannah the erstwhile daughter.
Hannah the strawberry farmer.
Hannah who’d changed.
Hannah who, despite reinventing herself, was still the same. Still longed for kind words, for acknowledgement, to be entrusted with the family’s most precious possession.
She began to nod off. The rumble of the engine and the sun on her body serving as a sedative and an escape from the stress of their earlier conversation.
The truth was, she didn’t know who she was. Not anymore.
And she didn’t know if she was prepared for the pain, the upheaval, of finding out.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Why have you been wasting your life painting faces when you could’ve been making squillions as a proper artist?’ Amethyst swung her feet up onto the olive-green velvet chaise longue and took a sip of wine, her eyebrows raised high, demanding an answer from Hannah.
Grey’s lips twitched as Hannah shook her head at her friend, exasperation arrowing from her eyes. In the short amount of time he’d spent with both Amethyst and Hannah he’d seen that their relationship wasn’t so much client and employee as old friend and old friend, verging on the kind of familial relationship he’d shared with his brothers where you went from laughing to fighting in the blink of an eye.
‘Are you saying being a makeup artist isn’t proper?’ Hannah set her paintbrush down on the edge of a plate she was using as a palette and folded her arms. ‘Or that you don’t pay me enough and should pay me more?’
Amethyst laughed her bawdy laugh that lit up a room and turned all the heads, one he’d heard so often in her movies.
Not for the first time Grey found himself in disbelief. To think he was in the presence of an actual movie star. One who was living under his roof and was incapable of shutting the cap on the toothpaste. It was madness mixed with a goodly dash of normal.
He didn’t know wh
at he’d expected from Amethyst. Diva-ish demands? Foot stomping? An expectation that he’d wait on her hand and foot? He’d been surprised by how easy-going she was. She’d gone out of her way to not upset his routine, asking him when he showered, what time he liked to eat, what shows he watched and when. And when she’d remembered how he had his coffee and had a cup ready and waiting for him in the kitchen when he got up before the crack of dawn, he’d been not just surprised, but blown away. Amethyst Jackson was a good sort. He might even miss her when she packed up and left.
He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone around. Someone to chat to. To laugh with. All work and no play had turned him into a recluse. Possibly even more of a grump than Sylvia and Jill teased him of being. And he hadn’t even realised it.
‘I’m just saying.’ Amethyst slid off the chaise and came to sit beside Hannah. ‘That you’re way more talented than even I realised. I’m very lucky to have you as my makeup artist, but if you ever decide to turn your talents to a canvas I’ll be your first and best customer.’
Hannah stared at the length of cotton in front of her that would soon be a banner welcoming all to the strawberry festival. Her eyes ever so slightly narrowed as her finger traced the border of strawberry plants she’d sketched. ‘The leaves need to be shaded using a deeper green to give more depth. The strawberries needed flecking to make the seeds more apparent. And the farmhouse looks like something a six-year-old would draw. At this point, Ams, I’m thinking if this is anything to go by you’ll be my only customer should I ever decide to give up makeup artistry and channel my inner Manet.’
‘Not Picasso?’ The question was out before he could remind himself he was still angry with Hannah for leaving, for existing. And why was his brain having more and more of a hard time holding on to that thought?
He blamed their earlier conversation in the farm truck. The pain Hannah had been in, first with the headache, then after she’d fallen from the truck, and finally after Pam’s tossed-aside comment, which meant nothing to her but everything to Hannah, had caused him to want to protect her, push away her pain, as he’d tried to do so often back when they were young.
Sunrise at Strawberry Farm: As delightfully delicious as strawberries and cream, this is the perfect summer romance to read in 2020. Page 9
