Page 22 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
Anyway, glad you dumped Cassius. He was so weird. Let us know you’re OK though. Ooh, the Devonshires are holding an epic party next week. We could snag you a new boyf. Come along and we’ll flood your Insta with pics of you and ALL the hot guys. That will piss off nerd boy. You did dump him, right?
Rosie sighed. This was precisely why she’d been putting off getting in touch with her family and why she hadn’t wanted to go back and stay with them. A million questions, a handful of jokes at her expense and the expectation of putting on a fake smile to be seen at a bunch of parties. Her sister and mother loved all of that – but Rosie hated it. She always felt like the less shiny one, and after two glasses of fizz, she was usually desperate to go home and read a book.
And another orange letter? She let out a tense breath. Shewouldface it at some point. Though it would be filled with more uncomfortable words and requests for the contents ofthe box.
Rosie bounced a few thoughts around in her head before typing a response to her mum and sister.
Rosie:
Yes, I’ve split up with Cassius. All fine. Just staying in the countryside for a bit. Thank you for the party invite, but things are quite busy here. Sending love.
She could see the message had been opened almost instantly and that her sister was typing a response. Flick did live on her phone and thrived on the constant stream of notifications as though that was her air.
Flick:
Did he cheat on you? I’ll brain him. Not that there’s another human on earth who would agree to do the funky monkey with that geek. No offence.
Mum:
I did say you could do far better. Don’t worry, sweetie boo. We’ll find you someone. Who are you staying with? You’re always very welcome here. Your father would love someone to play backgammon with.
Rosie laughed. Neither she nor her stepdad had a clue how to play backgammon. They’d once realised that if they got the board out, Farrah and Flick would grumble, call them boring, and leave them alone.
Flick:
OMG, tell us where you are! Somewhere swanky? Can we visit? Send pics!!!
Rosie could just imagine those two turning up with an army of Louis Vuitton suitcases, lodging a formal complaint about the compost toilets and demanding Martinis by the lake. Her chest tightened. That couldnothappen. She should turn off her phone quickly, in case they were trying to track her down to the nearest phone tower.
Rosie:
I’m signing off now, but I’m absolutely fine, I promise. I’ll check in with you again soon. Happy partying. Xx
Now she’d bitten the bullet and spoken to her family, Rosie made a call to the breakdown people to tow Doll back to her parents’ house, before the poor thing got clamped or confiscated. There. This was a day for progress, after all.
That being sorted, it was time to tackle the next phase of her important pumpkin missions.
16
The weather was fair with a few clouds and the odd tease of autumn sun as Rosie made her way back across the farm towards one of the pumpkin patches, hoping not to be seen. When she’d left her hut earlier that morning before her chat with Vix, Zain had been busy on his porch with a hammer, some nails and his strange little gnome houses. She could only pray that he was still occupied and not in the mood for nosing after her.
Rosie felt almost countryish, in her leaf-patterned wellies and green, swirly-patterned dungarees that Cassius had once looked at strangely. She’d even grabbed another bag of barely worn clothes from the boot of her car, which had been destined for the charity shop in one of those donation bags. An assortment of quirky garments she’d enjoyed collecting, like there had been another person inside her, trying to get out.
Against all the odds, was she actually starting to feel at home here? She let the long wild grasses tickle the tips of her fingers as she walked. She’d always loved this season best of all, for its gorgeous colour palettes and its sense of slowing down to cosy up. But being out here in nature gave it an extra sprinkle of magic. She bent to sweep up a handful of wildflowers that had fallen, admiring their clashing colours.
Her writing needed more of this too. She took a moment to tune in. Birdsong – though she couldn’t tell a bullfinch from a barn owl. A soft, floral smell, perhaps from the chamomile she recognised from her mother’s tea, or the fiery flowers that could be marigolds. And not for the first time since she’d been here, her mind wandered to the fantasy of running writing retreats, in this wonderfully stirring wilderness. She shook away the thought because she clearly had enough on her plate.
‘Pumpkins,’ she reminded herself, like a mantra, ploughing on towards them, trying to ignore the nervous flutter at her plan to steal a few. She had some experiments up her sleeve, and she hoped the swim ladies would be her willing testers.
Rosie arrived at a wooden gate and stile between fields, stopping to take it all in. Justwow.The sight of so many golden winter squash, like happy sunshine faces peeking out from their leafy beds, was a balm to her eyes. She wondered how anyone could be grumpy out here. Did it bring a smile to even Zain’s sulky lips? As she turned and began to climb the stile, the opportunity to check out his lips for herself was thrown at her.
‘Whoa!’ The sight of Zain so surprisingly close made Rosie jump. Her body began stumbling backwards from the wooden stile and her bag of clothes dropped to the floor. He reached forward and grabbed her.
Rosie blew out a breath and willed her heart to slow down. It must have been the near fall that had set it racing.
Zain had been climbing up the other side of the stile in her direction, perhaps on his way to the mysterious polytunnels she’d just passed. Or maybe just to spy on her.
It was acutely, cheek-burningly apparent that they no longer needed to be clinging to each other like a pair of vines. So why on earth were they? Why were his deep brown eyes drinking her in, like she wasactuallya mug of pumpkin-spiced latte? Why were his strong hands still gripping her, and his intoxicating manly scent still filling her nostrils, when she’d been quite happily sniffing his marigolds just moments before?
