Page 23 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
If she didn’t know it was completely impossible, she’d wonder whether the universe kept flinging them so embarrassingly close for a reason. At least they were both fully clothed this time.
‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing. ‘I thought your domain was strictly around swimming and the lake?’
‘Oh, it definitely is,’ she said breezily, waving a hand, which she then realised was brandishing some of his wildflowers.Damn it. ‘I’m just...lost. So many fields, so many primroses.’ At least stolen flowers might put him off the scent of her intention to nick a few of his precious pumpkin babies.
‘They’re nasturtium,’ he said, through gritted teeth. She’d never seen them quite so close up. They were pearly. ‘One of the useful flowers that attract pollinators for my Cucurbitaceae.Pumpkins.But that doesn’t work if town people come here and tear them up.’
‘They’d fallen!’
At least that much was true.
They looked at each other, their reddening faces still close, his hands clamped to her upper arms, her fingers still clenched around the chest of his jumper, now almost angrily. She could feel cross heat emanating from him too.
‘And it’s part of your new role to come out into my fields and tidy up?’
‘If you must know, I thought they’d brighten up our compost toilet, if I can trouble Agnes for a vase.’ The idea had only come to her when she’d spotted them, and it seemed a shame to waste them. ‘Seeing as you vetoed my suggestion to build a new shower and toilet block, I’m coming up with ideas to make use of what we have,withouttrampling on nature. Yes, you can thank me. You’ll get to carry on enjoying your open-air ablutions.’
He raised his eyebrows, and she was sure the memory of her barging in on him stark naked in the shower passed between them.
Then he huffed again for good measure, and they let each other go, both climbing in his direction because it was far too awkward to cross over on the wobbly wooden stile.
‘What’s in the bag?’ he asked, his attention brought back to it now it was by their feet, his eyes registering the writing on its side. ‘You stealing from charity too?’ There was the tiniest tinge of humour in his voice this time, as though he knew not even she would stoop that low.
She tutted. ‘More clothes. Like these.’ She flapped a hand towards herself, then felt a bit silly. ‘Hopefully more suitable for being out here. Or whatever.’
He seemed to weigh her up, before giving her a curt nod. ‘Nice dungarees.’ It would usually have made her feel self-conscious, but for once, she didn’t sense sarcasm. ‘They suit you.’ He seemed as surprised by his words as she was. ‘I mean, probably more practical than the beige coat and the boots you couldn’t walk in.’ He quickly bent to pick up the bag and thrust it towards her.
‘Thanks. I think.’ Sometimes it was OK to accept a compliment, wasn’t it? She’d seen her sister do it a million times, without her own peculiar impulse to bat it away. Her shoulders relaxed, though not for long.
‘Anyway, I don’t want you roaming around near my crops. Some are rare breeds and all of them are precious to me. I don’t want anyone traipsing where they shouldn’t.’
‘It’s not as though I’m likely to squash one,’ she scoffed. ‘Anyway, I’m really not interested in a bunch of gnarly old, boring vegetables.’ She didn’t want to rile him, exactly, but perhaps she should throw him off the scent of her guilty intentions.
His jaw clenched, like he took that as a challenge. ‘Scientifically, they’re fruit, not vegetables. They have seeds. Although nutritionally, they are closer to vegetables. And they’renotboring.’
Rosie nodded slowly. ‘Right.’
She noticed his slight wince, as if he knew the conversation was getting weird already. Something inside her wanted to keep him talking. Perhaps he wasn’talwaysstrange.
‘I didn’t know there were so many shapes, colours and varieties,’ she continued, deciding that if she could get him talking, it would be handy for her pumpkin retreat research – even if it would go against maintaining a safe distance to avoid accidentally spilling any secrets. ‘What can you tell me about them?’
Rosie could almost see the conflict playing out across his face, his desire to share something about his beloved pet subject having an almighty row with his craving to be left alone.
Then with a resigned nod, he beckoned her to follow him, in the direction of the pumpkin fields. Her heart skipped with glee.
‘But only because if I show you, you’re less likely to snoop or steal,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘I never would,’ she replied sagely, crossing her fingers behind her charity donation bag, which in theory, could probably hide a few.
‘Cinderella,’ he announced, when they arrived, waving an arm a little awkwardly at row upon row of the bright orange sort, growing fatly on their twisting vines. ‘Medium to large, deeply ribbed, predominantly ornamental. But moist and creamy inside.’ He cleared his throat, apparently realising that sounded a bit rude. ‘That is, when you cook them.’ He eyeballed her. ‘Which I do not permit you to do.’
‘Noted.’ She tried not to giggle. ‘No pumpkin muffins for me.’
He gawped at her like she’d just suggested manslaughter.
As they kept walking, him reminding her to stick to the designated paths and begrudgingly helping her where the walkway had become overgrown, he continued to explain the varieties, almost softening a touch with each fleshy friend he introduced.
And perhaps it should have been boring, hearing Latin terms or learning half a dictionary of different types, from Autumn Gold to the little white Baby Boo, to the pretty spotted Carnival or the frighteningly blistered Warty Goblin. Ordinarily she would have switched off ages ago, nodding, smiling, and disappearing into her own creative thoughts. That’s what she’d done when Dave had raved about dingoes or James had droned on about conferences in Telford.
