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

by Kellie Hailes

  A mobile phone was shoved into his hands from a star-struck worker – one of the young girls from the village.

  Amethyst held a hand up, stopping Grey from taking the photo. ‘Promise me you won’t post it on social media until after I’ve left tomorrow morning? I don’t want this beautiful place to turn into a circus.’

  The girl placed her hands together in promise. ‘Absolutely. None of us will.’ She straightened up and gave the group a fierce look. ‘Will we?’

  When all heads were nodded in solemn vow, Amethyst settled in for a steady stream of pictures with her admirers, with Grey in charge of taking photos.

  ‘Your finger tired yet?’ Hannah whispered in his ear ten minutes later. ‘I can take over if you want?’

  Her breath, hot against his skin, set off a series of tingles that rippled over his body. Making him aware of just how close she was. How easy it would be for him to put the mobile he was holding down, to thread his fingers through her hair, to pull her towards him, to press his lips to hers. To feel. To taste. To experience.

  A tiny cough of impatience from a worker waiting for their photo forced his focus back to the job at hand. Holding the camera, getting the picture, giving the phone back. Rinse and repeat.

  ‘I’m fine thanks, Han. Nearly done.’ He took the next phone, tapped the screen, flicked the phone around for the picture’s approval, then handed it back. ‘There. Done. You’re a good sport, Ams, sitting still and smiling for all those people.’

  Amethyst’s fan-photo smile relaxed, settling her cheekbones and sending her shoulders into a slope. ‘Least I can do considering I outed myself.’ She began to massage her head. ‘Totally worth it to be rid of that horrid wig.’ She thumbed the statue behind her. ‘Looks far better on Mr Gnome over there than it did on me.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Matt nudged her. ‘I think you looked good.’

  ‘So you don’t like the way I look now?’ Amethyst’s brows rose in challenge.

  ‘Didn’t say that.’ Matt reached out and pinched a thick strand of Amethyst’s honey-coloured locks and twirled it around his fingers. ‘I could get used to this.’

  ‘If I let you.’ Amethyst shouldered him, good-naturedly.

  ‘And will you?’ Matt released her hair. ‘Let me?’

  Amethyst shot him a smile that promised nothing but alluded to everything.

  Grey envied their easy flirtation. With no past between them, no issues, no drama, they were free to get to know each other at a gentle pace, to discover each other’s quirks and foibles. To grow as a couple naturally – should that be where they were heading, which he was sure they were if their interlocked hands and adoring, infatuated glances were anything to go by.

  The tink-tink-tink of knife against glass pulled his attention to the head of the table, where Duncan was standing, one arm wrapped protectively around Jill’s waist, like he was afraid she’d fall. Or he was afraid he’d lose her if he let go.

  Grey’s heart grew for the two of them. They were his second family. Closer to him than his first, truth be told. Seeing Jill falter through illness had been hard to watch. Hard? More like impossible, which is why he’d thrown himself into work more than ever. Trying to make life easier for her immediate family. Even if that had meant working with their daughter when she returned.

  Even if it meant now – now that his feelings for her had returned – he was risking his sense of security. More than his security, his heart.

  ‘Another year. Another season. Another job well done.’ Duncan’s strong, solid voice carried with ease to the end of the table. ‘I won’t keep you from your food, your drink, your conversation, your shenanigans…’ He looked meaningfully over at Matt and Amethyst who giggled and leaned into each other. ‘But I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for returning or joining us here at Strawberry Farm, and wanted to let you know that our gates are always open.’ He raised his glass, which someone had slipped a strawberry onto the rim of, cocktail-style. ‘To you.’

  The table followed suit and raised their glasses in cheers.

  Grey glanced at Hannah. Her face was devoid of emotion, but her eyes were crestfallen. Had she been expecting to be singled out? To be thanked for organising the shed to be turned into a dining room and coming up with the idea to save the strawberries? Or to be applauded for stepping in and putting her own life on hold the last few weeks?

  Where once he’d have thought she ought to pull her head in, now he wanted to bring her to him, to hold her, to show his appreciation when her own father could not.

  ‘Now with that done…’ Jill wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. ‘Let’s party.’

  Within seconds the music was turned up, a table was pushed to the side and the mood transformed from relaxed fun into festive frivolity.

  Grey watched as Duncan swayed back and forth slightly out of time with Jill, whose cheek was pressed against his burly chest, a blissful expression on her face.

  ‘They’re so happy, aren’t they?’

  Han’s hand fell upon his knee and he jerked in surprise.

  She lifted it up, her face going scarlet. ‘God, sorry. Just trying to get your attention. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all,’ echoed Matt. A huge grin on his face. One that was matched by Amethyst and upgraded with a knowing look.

  ‘Shall we dance, my fine Kiwi fellow?’

  Before Matt could answer Amethyst had dragged him up beside Duncan and Jill and was swinging him around and forcing him to twirl her.

  ‘The man may have the charm but he sure doesn’t have the moves,’ observed Hannah. ‘If I remember rightly, you did though.’

  Was that an offer to dance? Grey’s heart began to pitter-patter as quickly as the musical beat.

  Should he? Was it safe to be that close to Hannah? That intimate? Or would one dance lead to one big heartbreaking mistake?

  He looked over to the makeshift dance floor and saw Jill flagging, just as Duncan had warmed up and looked set to keep going.

  He’d been looking for a chance to reunite father and daughter, and it was staring him in the face, which meant there had never been a better time to dance with Hannah. Even if it scared him to do so, even if it was going to hurt to let her go.

  ‘Shall we?’ He nodded towards the ever-growing crowd of people swaying, twirling and shuffling.

  ‘Why not?’

  Her smile, so light and free, confirmed he was doing the right thing, and gave him hope that if he could help mend the father/daughter rift, then Hannah wouldn’t be such a ghost, that her visits might be longer and more often.

  That maybe she’d decide to stay?

  He ignored the thought that had drifted up from somewhere deep down; where he kept his greatest hopes. It was wishful thinking if ever he’d heard it.

  Hannah’s hand landed on her shoulder as she heaved herself up. Her hand slipping down his arm and into his as she hauled him up to join her.

  ‘Promise not to stomp all over my feet?’ She wagged a warning finger in his face.

  ‘That is one promise I’m not willing to make.’ He took hold of her finger and wrapped his own around it, then brought it down. ‘But I promise to say sorry if I tread on your delicate toes.’

  She rolled her eyes and tugged him into the middle of the crowd.

  For a second they just stared at each other, their hands performing an awkward dance of their own, floating up to shoulders, then down to hips, then meeting somewhere in the middle.

  Hannah sniggered. ‘God, anyone would think we were thirteen again.’

  ‘If I recall rightly, we were far more in tune back then.’

  A wall of tension sprung up and Grey instantly regretted his choice of words. Even to his own ears it had sounded like a barb, a rebuke for all the years they’d been at odds.

  ‘Good thing then that out-of-tune things can be brought in tune again, right?’ Hannah angled her head, then took hold of one of his hands and placed it on her waist, then took hold o
f his hand while her other one settled upon his shoulder. ‘How about you take the lead?’

  Grey began to sway back and forth, his feet moving side to side. Within seconds they were dancing in time with each other, and he dared swing Hannah out then in again. As the upbeat sixties rock ’n’ roll tune wore on he became more confident with their twists and spins, and before long they weren’t dancing like two school kids but like two adults who’d known each other forever.

  In Hannah’s shining eyes Grey saw his reflection – and it was that of a man who was experiencing unbridled happiness. Utter joy. A man who was secure. Who knew his place. Who had everything he wanted. Who wanted for nothing.

  The track ended with hollers and whoops and laughter from those around them, and Grey found himself unwilling to let go of Hannah. To break the magic that had curled its way around them.

  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Duncan, now dancing with Sylvia, less than a metre away.

  It was now or never. Time to enact his plan. Even if it meant letting go of Hannah, letting go of his everything.

  ‘Duncan, I need to…’ He nodded in a way that hoped conveyed his need to use the toilet, even though he had no need to at all. ‘Would you mind taking Han for a spin for me? I wouldn’t want her muscles seizing up before I get back.’

  Hannah punched his arm. ‘Cheeky bugger. My muscles are as young and limber as ever.’

  Grey ignored Hannah, if only so he couldn’t think too deeply about her young, limber limbs and what they were capable of off the dance floor.

  ‘Do you mind, Mum?’ Duncan couldn’t have looked more reluctant if he tried, and his reticence only deepened when Sylvia stepped away with a light and bright ‘not at all’.

  Without a word, Duncan adopted a waltz position, keeping as much space between he and Hannah as possible. Grey shook his head as he backed away to the door. Hannah believed two out-of-tune people could be brought in tune again, but if she and her father and their glance-avoidance and body-stiffness were anything to go by, Grey wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Good night.’ Hannah broke the silence with the most inoffensive thing she could think of. ‘Everyone’s having a good time.’

  Except you now that I’m here. She kept her thought to herself, even though her tongue begged her to let loose. To be honest. To tell her father exactly what she thought of his treatment of her, of his inability to treat her like a good worker, much less like a daughter who had just saved a major community event with quick thinking and a dash of ingenuity.

  ‘That they are.’ Duncan kept his gaze above her head. ‘They always do.’

  ‘Good food. Good company. The end of the season. It’s the perfect cocktail for a good time.’ Hannah cringed inwardly at how squeaky and fake she sounded. Unsurprising since she’d been wound tight as a compressed spring since Grey foisted her off on her father.

  An act of revenge? An easy way to get back at her for leaving him all those years ago?

  She pushed her suspicions aside. Grey wasn’t the vengeful type. One to hold a grudge? Yes. But only if it was deserved. And after their near-kiss today, she got the feeling his grudge against her was no longer. So what was he doing shoving her into the unwilling hands of her father?

  Making it so you can stay? Showing his feelings for you through his actions?

  The thought sent a shockwave of hope and happiness through her.

  Grey saw her. Understood her. Finally.

  Her words, her fears no longer bounced off him. They’d sunk in, and he understood how important her relationship was with her father, how much she wanted to mend the rift between them, to see their relationship grow once more. Saw that she had no idea how or where to start, so he was giving her the push she needed.

  Did that mean he wanted her to stay? To be part of his life?

  Hannah sucked in a centring breath. Now wasn’t the time to think about her and Grey and whatever was going on with them. Now was the time to figure things out with her father. If not for her own sake, then for Grey’s. He’d cared enough to engineer this situation, and she knew well enough from years of experience that her father wasn’t going to be the one to take the first step, to put his thoughts, his feelings, his heart on the line.

  Hannah sucked in a deep breath and thought brave thoughts. It was now or never. She had less than forty-eight hours on the farm and if she left without saying her piece she’d never be brave enough to say it again. Never have a good reason or a better time to bring up their estrangement, his treatment of her.

  ‘We could sit here dancing like strangers, Dad. Or we could talk. Properly. None of that polite conversation bollocks, either. I know you’re hurt that I left all those years ago. I know that I should have said goodbye. I know that I handled everything terribly. But you’re not the only wounded party in this. You’re as much to blame for me leaving as I am. And I’m sick of the way you treat me, sick of the way you won’t acknowledge me, sick of the way everyone around here is worthy of thanking except for me.’

  There. She’d said it. Put it out there. The truth. Her truth.

  Her father’s chest rose, further broadening and expanding, then fell. Indignation rolled off him. Hannah held her breath, terrified that he was about to drop her like a punnet of rotten strawberries and leave her to stew on the dance floor with her foot in her mouth.

  His eyes met hers. Ice-cold blue meet blue-flame hot.

  ‘How am I to blame for your leaving?’ His already half-baked attempt at dancing came to a total stop. ‘Did I tell you to go? Did I force you? Did I point you in the direction of the train station and say “good luck, don’t come back”?’

  The couples on the floor glanced in their direction and, as if sensing their need for privacy, left the shed, leaving them alone in a gunless stand-off.

  Hannah went to pull her hands away from her father and thought better of it. To let go would be to give him a chance to escape. She tightened her grip and continued to move to the beat of the music.

  ‘You may as well have. I was never good enough for you. Never hardworking enough. Never willing enough to follow your ways. Never the son you really wanted to have. I wasn’t Grey. And no matter what I did, nothing could change that. And I’m sorry for being born a woman. Sorry I wasn’t everything you wanted, but I still loved the farm…’ Hannah huffed out a hot breath as the truth hit her. ‘I still love the farm, but that’s not good enough for you. It wasn’t then. It’s not now. Which is why I had to leave all those years ago. I may have walked out the door under my own steam, but you’d been frogmarching me that way my entire life.’

  Her father stilled. Froze. His nostrils flared, and Hannah waited for the bellow of words. The instruction to leave. To get out. To never darken the farm again with her presence.

  No words came and she dipped her head. Afraid to see her father’s eyes when she told him she knew. She had proof of his disappointment in her.

  ‘And I know all of this to be true because all those years ago, the night I left, I heard you tell Grandad that you were concerned for the future of the farm. That you didn’t think I was up to the job. That I wasn’t good enough.’ She forced the words through gritted teeth, then made herself look into her father’s face. Now was no time to be a coward. She had to be strong. Had to be brave. If he was going to lie his way out of the truth she wanted to see it, be sure of it.

  Her father’s jaw set as tight as her own. ‘You heard right.’

  Hannah’s body went to wilt, but she stiffened her spine, refused to let hurt overtake her.

  ‘You heard the words of a frightened man.’

  Her father’s eyes met hers and Hannah saw remorse, pain, a world of regret, and the shine of tears she didn’t believe he was capable of experiencing.

  ‘What I’m about to say doesn’t excuse what I said. It doesn’t stop that I hurt you. Or that if I could take back that conversation you overheard, I would. But I feel I ought to give you context, if only to help you understand that what I said had nothing
to do with you at all.’ Duncan indicated the bench seat just a few metres from them.

  Hannah followed his lead and sat down, her mind wound so tight she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think at all.

  Duncan’s shoulders lifted then fell as a long, weary sigh left his lips. ‘It had been a tough year for the farm. The weather hadn’t been the best. The crop wasn’t great. We hadn’t picked half of what we did this year. Usually one bad season wouldn’t bother me, but this was the second bad season in a row…’

  ‘I didn’t know…’ Hannah angled her body towards her father and laid her hand on his forearm. Offering support. And hoping he realised that although she was hurt, she wasn’t so hurt that she wouldn’t give him a chance to explain, to straighten things out.

  ‘We didn’t like to bother you with that side of the business. Not when you were at school and had exams to think about. A gap year to come. A life to live. The money side would come later. Except maybe we should have involved you earlier.’ Duncan turned to face her, the expression on his face one of pride. ‘You were so passionate about the farm. Always firing ideas at me on how we could do things differently. It was…’ He pressed his lips together and looked into the middle distance. ‘It was a lot. Especially for someone like me who stuck to the tried and true, who was determined to do well by my father and my own grandfather. Also men who liked to stick to the knitting, who found change hard and often fought against it tooth and nail.’

  ‘So you saw my enthusiasm as a liability? Were afraid that the implementation of my ideas would cost us money that we could ill afford, and that it would, what? End the farm?’ Despite her silent promise to keep calm, to not get offended, pain coiled up from Hannah’s gut and swamped her heart. ‘You didn’t trust me to care about the farm the way you did?’

  ‘I was afraid of the future, of doing things differently. Simple as that. I knew that I was going to have to let go of the reins one day, to back off and let you run the farm the way you saw fit, and in that time, with the worries I had, all I could see was doom and gloom. And I turned to my father for help.’