Page 47 of There's Pumpkin About You
“I’ll give you grumpy. I’ve never been one to smile much. But stubborn is just not true, sweetheart. I happen to be very open to other ideas so long as they are thecorrectideas.”
My laugh is breathy and quiet, but as my breath touches his face, his eyes close, like he’s trying to savor the feeling.
Unable to take any more of this, I pull away and mumble, “I should make you some food.”
For a second, I’m able to fool myself into thinking that my disappointed expression is the mirror of his.
In a pathetic attempt to lighten the mood, I add, “Probably best to avoid bacon this time, though.”
ChapterTwenty-One
GUS
“Would you turn down that ridiculous music?”
Wren sighs through the phone. “It’s the only way I can hear it over your stupid TV show!”
“It doesn’t surprise me that you think it’s a stupid show. Judging by your taste in music, I don’t imagine your list of favorite programs would be much better.”
“Excuse me?!”
I make sure that my chuckle is silenced and my smile is gone by the time Wren is finished stomping over to my bedroom from the kitchen. She stands in my doorway—something that seems to be a habit of hers—arms folded, a bitter yet somewhat playful glare sent in my direction. Being stuck in such close quarters with someone so fucking gorgeous, but so obnoxious, really is the world’s version of a sick joke. Long, wild curls frame the soft edges of her face, a total contradiction to the full breasts that her arms are pushing up until they’re almost spilling out of her tight shirt, and the prominent lines of her figure.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“My taste in music isbad?”
“I believe I implied that it is stupid, not bad. Although badisprobably a more fitting word.”
My lips twitch as her glare intensifies. God, it’s fun to rile her up. It’s the only thing other than finally being able to catch up with admin that is keeping me mentally stable. It’s been two days since Doctor Shakari put me on bed rest for a week. Five more days until I can rid myself of the stress of knowing that I’ve left Bash on his own to complete the harvest. Five more days of constantly wanting to both be close to and be so far away from the beautiful woman who has been helping me look after myself. Like a child, I’ve been throwing my toys out the pram; angry that I can’t have what I want, when I want, which is to help my brother get shit done.
I feel useless here, absolutely stir crazy. I have a business on the verge of bankruptcy, a shit-ton of orders, the most beneficial of which will all be delayed because of the quantity of the order. I need to have enough money to run the farm throughout the year. That includes feeding the animals, purchasing the seeds for sowing, paying to fix equipment and now—thanks to a woman who I struggle to get out of my head—pay for the upkeep of a brand-new barn.
The weight of my responsibilities sits heavy on not just my chest, but my head, and even my shoulders, making my already sizeable injuries even worse.
I’m ashamed to say that there are times I find myself wondering if it’s just easier to give up. No one in this town believes in me, so why should I? They would all rather have back a man who abandoned his home, his children and his business for a woman he knew for less than a week. That became a preference over a man who is just as dedicated to running this farm as the man who started it.
Wren tries her best to look menacing. “Take it back.”
My head tilts. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll have to come over there and… do… something.”
That piques my interest. “And if I want you to… do… something?”
I enjoy the way she wriggles, fiddling with her fingers as she bites her lower lip. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“All I did was repeat what you said.”
“You put a twist on it.”
“No, sweetheart. I said it exactly how you said it. Verbatim. If there was a hidden meaning in there, that’s only because you’re the one that put it there. Something you’re not telling me, sweetheart?”
Between twenty and thirty percent of the population are born with dimples.
Wren has dimples.
“Yeah, there is something.” She takes a step further into the room and my palms grow sweaty in anticipation. “You’re difficult.”
