That it would’ve hurt her heart to hear Amethyst talk about how Grey’s snoring sounded like a kitten purring. Or how when he woke up in the morning and looked over at you, his face softened and brightened and made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
‘If I were a crueller person I would hold in a laugh, then start crying tears of hilarity, then fall onto the grass and roll about until my amusement passed.’ Grey glanced down, a look of surprise causing a line to arrow between his brows.
Hannah followed his gaze to see he was still holding her hand. Their thumbs overlapped. His palm warm against hers. Strong. Like he had her back. Would always be there for her.
Except he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when her time at the farm was nearly done.
She pulled her hand away and slipped it into the pocket of her denim cut-offs, and wished the jeans were bigger, baggier, so she could not just hide her hand but bury it well out of sight. Out of touch’s range.
Not that their brief moment of hand-holding would be out of mind. Not when, for a second there, she’d been more than tempted to keep hold of his hand. To hold it in hers forever.
‘I’m glad you’re not a crueller person. Let’s leave the cruel to me.’ Hannah attempted an easy laugh and cringed when it came out sounding like a croaking frog. ‘That’s my forte, after all.’
Grey didn’t laugh along with her. His chest rose, held, then fell, and Hannah got the impression he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
She bent over and picked up the tablecloth Gran had brought out earlier and shook it out over the table, then walked around straightening it.
‘You’re not cruel, Han.’
She jumped at the words. So close. So intimate. She turned to find Grey only a foot away. His brows close together, in serious mode, once again.
‘And I’m not interested in Amethyst.’
Her heart began to thump against her chest as his clean fresh scent, punctuated with a hint of salt that came from working the fields, surrounded her. Embraced her. She made to step back but hit the edge of the table.
Thank you, table.
Their eyes locked and for a moment she was sixteen again. They were in the packing shed. Just the two of them. Their bodies close, as they’d been a thousand times before, but something between them had changed. Where once an easiness had existed, there was now electricity. Want. Need.
Desire.
Hannah swallowed hard. Fought to regain her equilibrium. To be in the present. ‘You’re a rare man to not be entranced by her.’
Grey shrugged. The compliment rolling off him like it meant nothing.
‘She’s nice. Not my type.’
‘Too Hollywood?’ Hannah’s focus drifted from Grey’s eyes to his lips. Would kissing them now be like kissing him for the first time back then? Tentative. Barely there touches that melted into warm, lush never-ending caresses?
‘Too not…’
You? The word bloomed in her heart along with a hope she hadn’t known lay there.
She wanted Grey to still want her? Hoped he did? Hoped he felt about her the way she felt about him?
And then what? He wouldn’t follow her back to London. Would hate her leaving every few days to go on location. Would hate the lack of fresh air. The closed-in nature of the place. The people shoulder to shoulder[HN43]. The blares of car horns.
It wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. And would only end up with their hearts breaking. Again.
And yet, here she was. Not moving. Still drinking in his lips. Pondering. Wondering.
Hoping.
Grey reached behind her and tugged her stubby ponytail, a slow smile sending a spray of lines out from each eye. ‘I missed doing that.’
She was grateful for the table bracing her, because her knees had melted away at the loveliness of the small intimacy.
‘You’d have hated my pixie haircut phase.’ Hannah attempted to cut the perfume of attraction that surrounded them with humour.
‘I’d have found a way to like it.’ He ruffled the top of her head. ‘I’d have done this.’
‘It would have driven me crazy.’
‘Good.’ The word was low, dark, with undercurrents that spoke of want. ‘I like driving you crazy.’
‘You do a good job.’ Hannah closed her eyes as Grey’s hand cupped her cheek.
Hand on cheek. Lip on lip. As had always been their way.
Followed by hands cupping necks. Hands running through hair. Hands stroking backs. Mixed in with kisses. Long and lingering and so deep you could drown in them. Fast and furious and so hot your lips felt like they were on fire.
The tinny ring of her mobile broke the magic. A whoosh of air swooped over Hannah, dousing her desire. She opened her eyes to see Grey take a long stride away from her. Hands in pockets. His expression a dash of embarrassment mixed with confusion and more than a tad of annoyance.
At nearly kissing her? Or at the interruption.
She fished her phone out of her pocket and silently groaned as she caught sight of the caller’s name. Hello, reality.
‘Hannah speaking. June, how are you?’
She pulled the phone away from her ear as dates and times were hurled her way.
‘Yes. Sure. I’ll be back. Absolutely. You’re all booked in. See you then.’
She hit the disconnect button and was greeted by a notification from the weather app she’d installed.
She squinted at the screen, sure she couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing.
‘No. That can’t be right.’ She shook her head and pulled up the app to double check. ‘Bloody hell. No. No, no, no, no, no, no.’
Her mobile was tugged out from her hand and a string of expletives followed.
‘Storm’s headed our way.’
Hannah turned to see her father, standing in the kitchen door, straight-backed and stony-faced.
‘They’re saying hail.’
‘I know. We just saw.’ Hannah began pacing up and down the garden. ‘The fruit’s going to take a battering. The festival will be ruined.’
‘And tonight’s going to be a washout.’ Grey’s face was screwed up in thought.
‘Not on my watch.’ Hannah stopped as idea after idea filled her mind. ‘I know how we can save it. All of it. The end-of-season bash and the festival.’ She turned to her father. ‘Dad, stack whatever’s in the storage shed to the side. Bring all this out here inside. Grey, grab the truck and meet me out the front, I have a way of saving the strawberries. Maybe not all of them but enough for people to enjoy tomorrow.’
She waited for her father to question what she was up to. When none came she waited for a rebuke.
Silence stretched between them. Taut and uncomfortable.
‘Did you hear me, Dad?’ Hannah crossed her arms across her chest and waited to be told she had overstepped her mark, that he had it under control.
‘I heard you.’
Hannah floundered, not sure what to say, what to do. He’d never listened to her before. Never let her do what she thought was best.
There was only one thing for it. Run with her ideas, make them succeed, and show him once and for all she had – once upon a time – had it in her to run the farm.
‘Good. Now where’s Gran?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘Great. Thanks. See you soon.’ Hannah kept her back straight and her shoulders squared as she walked past her father. Refused to let him see the panic that crawled over her skin as it began to sink in she may have just bitten off more than she could chew.
She pushed open the back door and shivered despite the heat of the room, caused by the Aga working furiously to bake and roast and boil the evening’s food.
‘Things look a little tense out there, Han…’
Hannah jumped at her mother’s voice. Had she seen what was going on between her and Grey? Or was she talking about the non-verbal stand-off between her and her father? She shook her head. Either way, now wasn’t the time to get into it.
‘Mum, you’re up. This is fantastic!’ She went to the kitchen table where her mother was putting together bouquets of flowers to be set on the table. ‘You must be feeling much better.’
‘Much.’ Jill’s fingers curled around hers. ‘We may have to send you home early. How’d you like a two-day reprieve? You must be sick of us by now, ready to go back to following your dream?’
Hannah stuttered. Her mother wanted her to go? Was ready to send her off early? She’d expected to be told she’d be missed, if not asked to stay on a bit longer, but it appeared she was now a spare wheel.
No. Not quite. She still had two more jobs to do.
‘You’re not getting rid of me quite so easily. There’s a storm coming.’ Hannah glanced out the window and saw her father still standing in the yard. Hands on hips, staring into the sky. Not doing as she’d asked him. ‘And I’ve got a plan to save the day.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘You sure this is going to work, Han?’
Grey closed his eyes, realising what he’d just said, how it had sounded. Hannah already believed no one had faith in her or her abilities on the farm, and he’d just made it worse.
He opened his eyes to see her studiously unloading everything they’d borrowed and begged from local farms.
‘That came out wrong. I’m sorry.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘No, you’re right to ask. I’ve been asking the same thing since I came up with the idea.’ She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. ‘If it all goes wrong Dad will never forgive me.’
‘If it all goes wrong he’ll appreciate you tried.’ Grey caught himself standing up for Duncan as he’d always done. ‘And if he doesn’t I’ll tell him to pull his head in. You’re amazing, Han. This plan of yours is even better than amazing.’
Hannah’s cheeks pinked up as she shook her head, brushing his compliment off. ‘Tell me that when we’re drinking homemade strawberry wine in the shed tonight. Or once we pull off the festival tomorrow.’
She glanced up at the darkening sky. They’d kept an eye on the rain radar while picking up the metres of plastic sheeting and flexible plastic pipe. The storm looked to be short and sharp, and while the rain wasn’t ideal, the hail forecast would ruin the fruit that was ready to be picked by the festivalgoers – rendering the festival a washout in all senses.
‘You got what you need?’ Duncan strode up to them, his arms filled with leftover pavers from a landscaping job Sylvia had taken on a few summers back.
‘We need shears to cut the plastic, but other than that we should be good.’ Hannah indicated Grey to start unrolling the plastic along the length of a row.
‘You’re using plastic?’ Duncan’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’ll cause the fruit to rot. The ground’s too hot. That with the rain… the humidity… it’s a bad combination.’
Grey’s heart went out to Hannah as he saw the determination in her face falter. Now that she’d forced him to see what had been going on in front of him their whole lives, he understood how much hurt she’d taken on, how much pain she’d kept inside.
If he’d been her he would’ve run, too. But he was who he was, and instead he’d just stuck his head in the ground and ignored the obvious.
Her chin tilted in defiance. Her hands landed on her hips. ‘We won’t be leaving it on long enough for that to happen. Soon as the radar shows clear we’re taking it off. These row covers are going to save the fruit, and save the festival. Just you watch.’
Hannah turned before Duncan could refute her words, missing the look of pride, of approval that flashed through his eyes.
Grey only hoped Duncan could take those feelings and express them to Hannah.
Three impatient hand-claps bounced through the air.
‘Quit standing around,’ Hannah ordered. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
A crack of lightning split the air, and thunderous rain hit the shed’s roof, but neither were enough to ruin the spirits of those who’d gathered to celebrate the last day of harvest.
Candles placed down the length of the trestle tables gave the atmosphere an intimate ambience, while flowers picked from the garden and placed in vases, fairy lights strung around the walls and pot plants lining the sides turned the shed from tatty to ‘très chic’, as Amethyst had put it.
Grey proffered the wine bottle in Hannah’s direction. ‘Top-up?’
She dragged her attention away from the shed door. ‘Top what?’
He shook his head. ‘The strawberries will be fine. It’ll all be fine. Your plan’s going to work. Just enjoy the night, hey?’
Hannah nodded, her cheeks turning a curious pink that almost matched the shade of strawberry wine Grey was pouring into her glass.
Her smile of thanks was uncharacteristically shy, and Grey couldn’t help but wonder if her reticence had something to do with their almost-kiss earlier in the day. He shook the thought off. More likely the colour in her cheeks was simply the glow of a job well done.
He hurried around the table asking if anyone else wanted more wine, not wanting Hannah to think he’d been singling her out. Paying attention to her. Caring about her. They still had the festival to see through and the last thing he needed was further awkwardness to spring up between them. Not when they’d only just reconnected again.
A glass held up and a ‘yes please’ saw him pouring another glass of blush-coloured wine that sent him straight back to the recent past, to a memory of soft, pink lips, strands of wavy hair that fluttered in the breeze, and the soft fruity scent of a woman he’d missed for far too long.
‘Steady on, son.’ Duncan’s hand on his bare forearm brought him back to the here and now. ‘The table’s not thirsty too, you know.’
Grey glanced down to see a spreading puddle of wine on the table. Heat raced over his cheeks. ‘Sorry, Duncan. Zoned out for a second there.’ Blame your daughter and her far too kissable lips.
‘Might be time for a water, lad.’ Duncan raised his eyebrows, his eyes laughing, although his lips weren’t smiling.
If you didn’t know him you’d think he was serious, but Grey had been around Duncan long enough to know that behind his stern face was a good man who would never go out of his way to hurt anyone.
Just his daughter?
The disloyal thought flooded Grey with guilt. Hannah and Duncan had their issues, but he couldn’t believe that Duncan actively disliked his daughter, or that he didn’t want her on the farm. If anything he suspected that Duncan’s hurt at her leaving ran so deep he had no idea what emotion to show. Or how to come back from the anger and sadness that had settled into his skin after she’d upped and left.
‘Oh, I don’t think it’s water that Grey needs.’ Sylvia winked at Grey as she cut a chunk of runny brie and placed it on a cracker.
‘Cold shower might be more his thing.’ Duncan elbowed Sylvia, causing her grin to widen.
Were his feelings for Hannah that obvious? Had the whole family figured it out? And why did they look so happy for him? Surely they’d be concerned. Afraid of the fallout if anything between he and Hannah was to happen, and she were to leave once more.
Annoyance gripped his gut. He was thinking like she was going to stay on the farm. Which was never going to happen. Hannah had to leave again. She had appointments already booked. Her phone rang and beeped with messages from clients all the time. Her life was in the city and trotting around the globe for work. Not just work, her career. One she was amazing at. Even he could see that.
He set the bottle of wine on the table and made his way back to his seat opposite Hannah and next to Matt. He stopped short when he’d seen the seating arrangement had changed. Amethyst, who’d been next to Hannah, had taken his spot on the bench seat. Freeing up the space beside Hannah.
His pulse ratcheted up. The space left on the bench seat by the diminutive Amethyst would make for a tight squeeze for Grey. He wouldn’t just be sitting next to Hannah, he’d be pressed up against her.
Not a bad thing. Or a terrible thin
g.
He wasn’t sure which.
His body told him the former. His mind, the latter.
‘Are you going to stand there, or come sit down?’ Hannah patted the seat beside her then waved him over.
Not wanting to look any more daft than he already did, Grey walked around the table, lifted one leg over the seat and found himself sitting across it, his body directed at Hannah. His legs all but cocooning her.
He made to swing the other leg over, but didn’t see a way to do it without accidentally hitting someone.
‘Sorry. She’s not exactly roomy.’ He shrugged his shoulders apologetically.
‘It’s fine.’ Hannah reached over the table, grabbed Grey’s glass and placed it in front of him. ‘There you go. Now you’re sorted.’
‘Speaking of sorted.’ Amethyst whipped off her glasses, ripped off her wig, unpinned her hair and shook it out[HN44][KW45]. ‘That’s better. I’m glad to be done with those.’
She tossed the wig behind her, where it landed on the head of an old weather-beaten gnome that had been stored in the shed since Jill had deemed it too scary to stay in the garden, causing the stunned crowd on Grey and Hannah’s side of the table to break out into laughter.
The rest of the workers’ heads twisted and turned to see what the big deal was. Their jaws yawning open and hanging there when they saw who their fellow worker of the last few days had been.
‘Don’t mind me.’ Amethyst picked up her glass. ‘Just wanted to spend time with my best friend over here. To Hannah, for giving me a wonderful break from reality.’ She raised her glass high and the crowd followed suit with cheery tones of ‘To Hannah’.
All except her father, Grey noted, whose glass remained on the table. His gaze steadfastly on the platter of food before him.
What would it take to reconnect the two? To bring them back together? Grey set the thought aside, promising himself that if he saw an opportunity to reunite Duncan and Hannah, he would make it happen.
‘Grey, can you take a picture of me with Amethyst Jackson? I can’t believe I’ve been working with her all this time. I can’t believe we talked boy talk and complained about the weather together.’
Sunrise at Strawberry Farm: As delightfully delicious as strawberries and cream, this is the perfect summer romance to read in 2020. Page 14