Page 41 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
The gravel crunches under our tires as Elliott eases his pickup truck to a stop in front of the weathered farmhouse. I inhale deeply, savoring the crisp Canterbury air that smells of grass and possibility.
"Home sweet home," Elliott says, his voice warm with affection as he kills the engine.
I smile, drinking in the rolling hills and the distant silhouette of mountains. "It's even more beautiful than I remembered."
Elliott's hand finds mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Ready for our weekend getaway, city girl?"
"More than ready," I laugh, pushing open the car door. The moment my feet hit the ground, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. This place, with its quiet strength and timeless beauty, has become as much a part of me as my bustling Ponsonby bakeries.
As we stretch our legs, Elliott's eyes crinkle with mischief. "Fancy a walk down memory lane?"
I quirk an eyebrow. "You mean the meadow?"
"The very one." He grins, already tugging me towards the well-worn path.
We set off hand-in-hand, our footsteps in perfect sync. The sun warms my face as we weave through knee-high grass, and I giggle at the tickle of wildflowers against my legs.
"Remember the first time we came out here?" Elliott asks, his voice lowered conspiratorially.
Heat rises to my cheeks. "How could I forget? I was so nervous I nearly tripped over my own feet."
"And I was trying so hard to be smooth," Elliott chuckles. "Probably came off more 'awkward farm boy' than 'rugby star.'"
I bump his shoulder playfully. "You were perfect."
We crest a small hill, and there it is – our meadow, a hidden pocket of tranquility nestled between two ancient totara trees. Elliott produces a blanket from his backpack with a flourish.
"Still prepared for everything, I see," I tease as he spreads it out.
"Some habits die hard." He winks, lowering himself onto the blanket and patting the space beside him.
I settle in, leaning against his solid warmth. The peacefulness of this place seeps into my bones, a stark contrast to the constant buzz of my Instagram notifications and the hum of my industrial mixers.
"I've missed this," I murmur, closing my eyes and drinking in the moment.
Elliott's arm wraps around me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "The quiet?"
"Mm, that too," I say. "But mostly... us. Like this. No distractions, no schedules. Just us."
His lips brush my temple. "We should do this more often."
I nod, my mind already spinning with possibilities. "Maybe we could start a tradition? Monthly escapes to recharge?"
"I like the sound of that. Though I might have to fight the rugby team for some of those weekends."
I laugh, snuggling closer. "I think I can take them."
As we sit there, wrapped in each other and the serenity of the meadow, a sense of rightness settles over me.
"I can see why you loved this," I say, breathless.
Elliott's eyes sparkle with pride and something deeper. "It wasn't just about training. This place... it was my escape. Where I could dream about playing for the New Zealand Team, about being more than just a farm boy."
The vulnerability in his voice tugs at my heart. I stop, turning to face him fully.
"You've always been more than that," I say softly. "To me, you're everything."
His arms encircle me, and for a moment, we're suspended in time, balanced on the river stones of his childhood dreams.
