Page 15 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
‘I’m a fish out of water,’ Rosie heard herself utter. Even Steve got bored of her nonsense at that point. He jumped out from between them, shook himself off, and walked away.
Had she always been a fish out of water? Yet for a moment, she had been a fishinwater. And even though her swimming was atrocious, and she didn’t know much about retreat planning or pumpkins, there was something intoxicating about feeling so alive. With that one simple choice to jump in and do a worthwhile thing, something had changed in her. And she didn’t want this feeling to end.
‘You’re talking gibberish.’
‘G-g-gibberish,’ she repeated. It really was a good word.
‘We need to get you warm.’ Zain stood, lifting her with him. ‘Do you trust me?’
It was the strangest question, when she had no real idea who he was, other than a gruff pumpkin farmer called Zain. But her response was instinctive.
‘Yes.’
He’d been trying to keep her alive, after all. And people who spent their time getting finicky about their flora were inherently good, weren’t they?
‘Then let’s go.’
12
‘Should be me checking whether I can trust you,’ Rosie heard Zain huff as they reached the door of his hut and he kicked it open, cradling her chilly body against him, still wrapped in a soaking towel. ‘You’re the one who creeps up on naked people in showers.’
She tried her best to hide her smile at the thought. At least she didn’t have to conceal the mental images his words had just created. That beautiful, tattooed skin, the ripple of muscles...
‘Still not sure you should be coming in here,’ he said.
With her head against his torso, every word he spoke rumbled through her.
‘You make it sound excitingly d-dangerous.’ Her jaw was still shivering. Why did she suddenly like that idea? Hadn’t she had enough risky encounters for one morning?
He raised his eyebrows at her like she was the strangest creature, stepped over the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind them.
After the surprising cold of the lake, the warmth of Zain’s hut was like a huge great hug. She couldn’t see much, with her head nestled into his firm chest, but with the heat and the smell of burnt wood and smokiness, she guessed he’d been using his log burner. There was something magical about that scent. Homeliness mixed with the wild outdoors, with a hint of perilous possibility. She smiled into his torso.
‘You OK?’ He was looking at her as though she’d gone a bit delirious.
She wasn’t sure if that much was true. But somethinghadchanged when she’d jumped into that water. She’d found a cause to fight for. Of course, Zain had done his fair share of the rescuing. But it was OK for heroes and heroines to take turns in saving each other.
And since she’d emerged, every inch of her tingled. Her skin throbbed, her heart was racing and each one of her senses felt magnified. Though maybe some of that change had begun the moment she’d first seen Zain.
She looked up at him. She was fantasising and she knew it. He was a burly grump who didn’t want her anywhere near his patch, and she was a recently dumped homeless impostor who needed to sort out her life and stop ogling strangers. Yes, he made the perfect muse. But when you got to know the bare reality of people, the magic soon disappeared. If Zain was going to inspire her to write, she needed him to stay magical. And if she was going to keep juggling her precarious secrets without dropping any balls, she couldn’t get too friendly.
She could absolutely keep her distance.
‘We should take our clothes off.’
He said it so matter-of-factly that Rosie heard herself splutter.
Zain exhaled as though he knew he hadn’t phrased that well. ‘You’re half freezing. This towel’s making you colder. I’m leaving a wet puddle on the floor. I’m not suggesting anything creepy. Just survival.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to hide the disappointment in her voice, becauseof courseit was better that he wasn’t suggesting naked antics. If he was, she’d poke him in the eye and scream the hut down. Probably.
He moved to the bed and dumped her down unceremoniously, whipping the wet towel from around her and throwing a nearby blanket over her body.
‘The bed’s clean,’ he said, with an edge that suggested he didn’t like to be judged.
And his still-warm sheets did smell good. Somewhere between that cedar scent she’d smelt on him during the nude shower incident and a fresh linen fragrance that made her wonder if he was a little less feral than she’d assumed. Was a wild-looking man with a penchant for cleanliness even more appealing?
He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. ‘You should probably get out of that costume. Do it under the blanket. I’ve got better things to do than look at you. I need to take this off.’ He pointed to his dripping clothes, which clung to his body, making him look all parts statuesque farm god. And that was definitely her writer head getting carried away with things. ‘Then I’ll find you something dry.’ He looked around the hut, seeming to realise that with everything open plan, taking his clothes off was ano privacysituation. His glance flitted to the window. ‘That swimming lot will be here any minute. I can’t strip off out there without them rubbernecking like a bunch of synthetic chickens.’
