Page 11 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
‘No, I am not!’ She jutted out her chin. ‘I work... here.’ Even he noticed the small gasp she let out after the last word. Why on earth had she said that? She didnotwork here. Was this her stupid compulsion to try and fit in rearing its annoying head? She’d be bringing him fancy cupcakes next. Though he looked more like he’d eat squash stew around a campfire. ‘You saw me with Agnes earlier.’ She waved her arm in the vague direction of where she’d seen him hulking a pumpkin.
‘Work here doing what?’ His eyes narrowed a touch, although he was still playing it cool. In fact, Rosie wondered why he wasn’t freezing his nipples off, seeing as he was dripping wet and only half covered. Perhaps he was like a Bear Grylls superhuman. Or more likely too stubborn to back down and find a jumper.
‘Swimming things. And retreat stuff.’ Ohgossshhh, what was she even saying? Rosie rubbed her forehead, wondering if it was too late to take that back. She was digging herself an idiot-sized hole.Retreat stuff? What did that even mean? At least she hadn’t accidentally mentioned getting her hands on his pumpkins.
‘Right. So you’re Krista’s replacement.’ He exhaled sharply. ‘She was a thorn in my arse too.’
Rosie blinked a few times, trying her best not to recall the sight of his particularly nice rear end, or to get even more flustered at the thought. This semi-bare man was doing all sorts of strange things to her, and even though it was all in the name ofnovel research, it really needed to stop.
Falling for mysterious men was Off. The. Table. She got herself in enough mess with the ones she thought were an open book, let alone a slammed-shut one.
Though somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. And it wasn’t the muddy floor that was gluing her.
Zain shook his head, clearly deciding to be thebigger person. He gave the shower tap a final crank to halt the last drops, stepped into some nearby work boots and moved towards her, like he was readying himself to pass. If she thought her heart was beating quickly before, his approaching semi-nudeness was setting off at least twelve drummers drumming in her ribcage – and it wasn’t even Christmas.
‘If you came for a shower, it’s all yours. If youwork here, we share it. Next time, you’d better yell if you don’t want to see me naked.’ He quirked an eyebrow, like the final bit might have been a question. ‘Or listen out for the water, like any normal person.’
‘I am normal!’
Zain stopped when he got level with her, turning his body towards her, his face tantalisingly close in the confined space. He smelt of cedar and spice and raging male nakedness, and she hadn’t realised the last one had a smell, until that moment. It beat the hell out of Cassius, who in hindsight had always had a faint air of talcum powder and polos. Maybe this was what fresh pheromones smelt like.
Intoxication by way of human chemicals. That could be the only explanation for her legs feeling a touch wobbly and her skin tingling like a kaleidoscope of butterflies was on the loose. She felt her mouth opening as if it wanted to do who knew what, even though she had not given her brain permission. His breath felt warm against her face, and his eyes were almost reading her. Or perhaps that was her strange imagination again.
She shook her head to break free from her trance. It really was rude to stare.
‘You’re normal,’ he repeated, as though mulling it over.
She knew that her cheeks must still be streaked with mascara, and her hair was only half tied in its ponytail, the rest having given up entirely. She probably looked like she was auditioning for a part in a ghost train, not here to doretreat stuff.
But he simply shrugged. ‘Glad somebody is.’ He turned and began to walk away.
‘Toilet!’ she yelled after him, instantly wishing she hadn’t. ‘I was actually out here looking for the... I need to... you know.’ Smooth, Rosie. Very smooth.
‘Over there.’ He pointed, without turning back towards her. ‘The sawdust is in a bucket outside.’
‘Sawdust?’ It had been mentioned in the tatty guidebook, but what was it for?
He sighed. ‘Use the sawdust if you’re... doing anything more than a pee. It’s bad enough that I have to share the damned shower with you.’
‘I see,’ she said quietly, although he was off towards his hut, his discarded clothes now over his arm. Well, at least he hadn’t been too descriptive over the toilet situation. Perhaps she was right that there was more to him than a grumpy guy in the wilderness.
And suddenly, her fingers were twitching. Not to touch him, of course. He was too far away now, and poking strangers was wholly inappropriate. She was a woman who should be nursing a wounded heart, with no time for wayward digits. No – her hands were trembling to type. A story was emerging in her mind, and she needed to get her thoughts on paper. Sometimes, it was the only way to stop them getting completely carried away.
9
Rosie had no idea it was possible to be a hot mess in such fresh autumn weather – but that’s exactly what she was by the time she rushed back through the door of her cabin. She’d found the compost toilet, which lived in a cobwebby wooden hut that looked like it might fall down if you sneezed on it. The floor of the loo hut had nettles sprouting from its earthy ground, and she’d have to remember to take a toilet roll. At least she hadn’t yet needed the sawdust.
Though it wasn’t her foray with outdoor urination that was sending her whole body into a fluster. It was her firstup close and too personalencounter with Zain. It was like she had entirely forgotten she was a red-blooded human until she’d set eyes onhim. The way he’d stood in that open-air shower, barely fazed by the screaming, ogling woman, in no particular rush to cover up his nakedness. He’d seemed more bothered at her seeing the full length of his wet, dark hair than... well, anything else.
And though his body had looked almost sculpted from rock, with its twists of firm muscle and the pattern of black tattoos that laced down his arms and across his broad chest and back, she had a sense that even if he’d been standing there in a dressing gown and bobble hat, he would have emanated something impossible to ignore.
What was it about him, exactly? Yes, he was head-to-toe heavenly – and she’d even seen his toes. But she’d met plenty of attractive guys, especially with her mum and sister being such about-the-town social floozies. They knew everyone magazine-worthy within a sixty-mile radius, and her own previous boyfriends had all been reasonable-looking. Yet in all the time she’d spent with any of them, she couldn’t remember feeling as hot, dizzied and alive as she’d felt in just a few minutes of Zain’s moody presence. And there she’d been, panicking that life had numbed her. At least some parts of her were still sentient.
Or was she just fantasising? Was this her creative head taking hold of an awkward, embarrassing situation and turning it into some kind of sexy naked shower fest? She seriously hoped so, because with the day she was having, her poor, reeling mind had precisely no space for anything beyond a fantasy.
Rosie threw off her coat and moved instinctively to the old-fashioned typewriter, which lived on a small oak desk under the mezzanine bed. The tiny study area was nestled there like the cosiest writer’s nook. As she ducked to sit on the pink padded chair, she felt something magical embosoming her. In her mind’s eye there was stardust wisping around, whipping up ideas and sending energy to her fingertips. If a fairy godmother of writing had arrived in that moment, waving her wand and wiggling her hips to a charming Disney soundtrack, Rosie probably wouldn’t have even blinked.
From her wild imagination to her excited hands, something special was happening. Like a conductor in front of an orchestra, Rosie’s fingers knew the way.
