Page 75 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
Rosie passed the spot where she’d seen Zain on that first day, carrying a gigantic pumpkin on his back. One look from his woody brown eyes had made her want to write the best-ever love story, but all that had gone wrong somewhere. She hoped she’d have the chance to tell him he was so much more than a muse.
‘Rosie.’ Agnes’s face was a mix of things when she opened the door.
Surprise. Confusion. Was Rosie about to get the rollicking of her life?
‘Where the dickens have you been?’
Rosie gulped and followed Agnes’s insistent beckoning inside. She paced behind her into the kitchen, where everything looked much the same, other than Agnes’s dusty old computer, which was now in the corner. She guessed Agnes had been checking on retreat bookings since Rosie hadn’t been there.
The usual welcome committee of cats wove themselves around Rosie’s legs. Dogs barked and a hen clucked across the kitchen. It reminded her of that first surreal day when she’d arrived like another waif and stray for the collection – only this time she wasn’t going to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
‘Firstly, I came to apologise,’ said Rosie, before she could bottle it. She was pretty sure Wilbur would have filled her in, but Agnes deserved a proper explanation, and the chance to reprimand her. ‘For not being Rachel.’
Agnes had been busy putting a kettle of water on the stove, as if she knew this was time for hot, sweet tea. Rosie held her breath, wondering whether Agnes would put out one mug, or two.
Instead, Agnes turned and scratched her head, her brow creasing.
‘When I arrived here that day, I had no clue about any interview, and I certainly wasn’t a retreat expert. I was looking for a phone because my car had broken down. I’d just lost my job to a chatbot and my boyfriend to a sexbot, and I didn’t have a place to call home. But somehow the more I saw of this farm, the more difficult it became to extricate myself from the misunderstanding. I’m so sorry that I lied to you for so long.’
‘You strange girl.’ Agnes shook her head.
Rosie exhaled, trying not to take it personally. Perhaps it was fair enough. But she was determined to continue.
‘Secondly, you may think this is cheeky. Feel free to say no, or to ring the police to escort me off the premises. But I would really, really love to work here again and to try running those writing retreats, as well as all things pumpkin, if I’m allowed near them. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been happier than when I was here.’ Rosie stopped to read Agnes’s expression. ‘You still think I’m strange, don’t you?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Agnes, matter-of-factly. ‘I mean, firstly, why would I want you to be Rachel? God knows who she was, but she certainly wasn’t the sort of person who turned up to job interviews. There’s no way she could ever have had a patch on you, you big nitwit.’
‘R... really?’
Agnes pulled two chipped mugs from a cupboard and clonked them onto the worktop next to her collection of knobbly pumpkins, before putting her hands on her hips like she wasn’t taking any crap.
‘Rosie, you saved me and these animals from a fate worse than vagabondage. You raised enough money so we can stay in our home, and so I don’t need to sell off the farm to those three buffoons in suits. We’ve even got enough spare cash to make the place more of a rescue sanctuary. I’ve got two abandoned pygmy goats and a llama arriving next week.’
Rosie felt her eyes getting heavy with the threat of tears, even if she wasn’t quite sure where Agnes would keep a llama.
‘And ruddy Nora,’ Agnes continued. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job of helping turn the place into a pumpkin retreat paradise. Spaces are being snapped up like Ed Sheeran tickets, and folk are already demanding more dates for writing retreats – withyou. So yes, you’d better have your job back. I’ll be bloody miffed if you don’t.’
Rosie gulped back the emotion that was rising. Her heart belonged here, writing, hosting, coming up with new retreat plans for every season. Starry nights and pumpkin fields. Friendship, laughter, love... So much love.
‘But first, I need to clear things with Zain.’ Things wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t want her around. As homely as Agnes’s house would be when the roof was fixed, Rosie longed to be back in her hut near the lake. Nearhim.
Agnes pushed aside Rosie’s mug and poured her tea into a Thermos flask. Some parts of this visit were feeling like a déjà vu – although Rosie had no idea of the ending. ‘Then it’s time to go. Chop chop. Not a moment to waste.’
With that, Agnes was thrusting the flask into Rosie’s hand and bustling her out of the back door. Only this time, Rosie was going alone.
50
‘You know, when I first saw those things lined up in there, I thought you were living with a bunch of gnomes.’
Zain put his hammer down and looked up, shielding his eyes against the late-morning sun. He was sitting on the decking outside his cabin, surrounded by a new batch of partly built bat boxes. When he managed to focus on Rosie, he jumped up and took a step towards her, then cleared his throat and stepped back again.
‘Erm, hi.’ He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, in a way she woulddefinitelyhave pinched for her romance novel, just a week or so previously.
‘Hot work, making gnome houses?’ she teased, putting down her flask of tea.
‘They’re not...’ He waved his hand, seeming stuck for words.
Rosie smiled. ‘I know.’
