Page 37 of The Farmer Has a Wife

Eleanor worked cleaning out the stall and then pottered around the barn, feeling Danni’s eyes on her, but saying nothing, until she really had run out of things to do.

“I’d better, um…” she began, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“Better what?”

“Start on dinner,” she said finally.

“Alright then,” Danni said, turning to get back to her work.

It was another hour before Danni came back to the farmhouse kitchen, and by then Eleanor was stirring a sauce that was dangerously close to boiling over. She wasn’t cooking to impress Danni, she told herself. This had nothing to do with the approving look that Danni had given her after tossing a hay bale. Not a thing.

No, she just wanted a decent meal. That was all.

“Well, look at you, domestic goddess,” Danni said as she kicked off her boots.

Eleanor didn’t dignify that with a response. Danni came over and sniffed at the saucepan. Eleanor reached for a spice jar, but Danni was suddenly there, reaching for the same jar at the same time. Their fingers brushed again.

They both stilled.

Eleanor felt her breath catch. The kitchen felt suddenly too small, too warm. Danni’s gaze flicked to hers before she cleared her throat and stepped back.

“Smelled like it needed more thyme,” she said.

“Mmm,” was all Eleanor managed to get out.

“You, uh, need help with anything?” Danni asked, rubbing the back of her neck.

“No,” said Eleanor, a little too quickly.

“Well, I’ll go and shower then. Stay out of your way.”

“Right.”

DINNER WAS A silent and awkward affair. Eleanor pretended to be engrossed in her notebook, whilst Danni flicked through her mail and ate with her fork in her right hand. And once the dishes were done and the plates in the dishwasher, Eleanor found that she couldn’t do this anymore.

She needed some space.

Some space and some familiarity.

And a drink.

Which led to her sitting in the half-constructed ruins of her future home an hour later, candles flickering on the kitchen table, a bottle of wine from the cellar already opened.

“Hello?” shouted a voice.

“Down here,” Eleanor called back.

She’d texted Elizabeth because drinking alone was rarely a good idea. And because she wanted the company, she wanted to be with someone that understood her, someone that she didn’t have to walk on eggshells around.

Elizabeth walked into the kitchen, took one look at Eleanor’s expression, the layer of brick dust covering the floor, the dust sheet over the kitchen table, and sighed. “Darling, this is adisaster.”

Eleanor groaned. “I know. And you don’t know the half of it.”

Pouring herself a glass of wine, Elizabeth pulled out a chair and sat down. “Darling, construction is always a bear. It won’t last forever, even though it might feel like it.”

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor decided to be honest. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe she was just tired of dealing with things alone. “It’s not the renovations,” she said. “At least, it’s not only the renovations.”

“No?”

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