Page 11 of Promises & Petals in Nettleford-on-the-Wold
‘Thank you for cleaning the fridge out and for the bits.’ She nodded towards the fridge before risking a glance in his direction. He looked relaxed and not in the slightest bit embarrassed that he’d almost seen of her than he should have. How come she couldn’t be as blasé about it as he was?
‘You’re welcome. I know how tricky it is coming back home and just wanted to make one tiny part of it that bit easier.’
‘Well, thank you. Anything to prolong my visit to the village grocer and having to endure a million people asking me how I am and where I’ve been and why I’ve been gone for so long, and...’ She let her voice trail off. He didn’t need to know that the real reason she hadn’t yet braved the village grocery shop was because she didn’t want to run into Harold, who ran the place and had been her grandad’s best friend and neighbour. She assumed he still lived in the close and she’d been expecting himto call around some time, but she didn’t fancy having a tough conversation in front of his customers. Yes, she couldn’t avoid him - or any of the other locals - forever, but she had planned to get the cottage up on the market before anyone tried to talk her out of it. Not that she’d be able to keep to that plan now. She’d have to give in and face the music sometime soon.
‘I get that.’ He nodded again.
‘Umm, I bet you didn’t have people trying to meddle in your business when you moved back though?’ She shook her head. It wasn’t the same.
‘You’d be surprised. At one point I didn’t think the rumours of why I’d returned, or ran away as some people put it, from the city would ever fade, but people move on. Something else happens and catches someone’s eye, and soon enough people stop asking.’ He shrugged.
‘Right.’ She lifted her mug, looked over the rim at him. What was he hinting at? And why would anyone suggest he’d run away from London?
‘Anyway, what are you cooking?’ He grinned.
She swallowed, the sweet coffee sticking to the back of her throat. ‘Oh, I...’
‘You were talking to Alfie, weren’t you?’ He chuckled. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Right.’ She bit down on her bottom lip. The least she could do was to at least offer him an omelette. After all, he’d bought the eggs. Besides, it wasn’t as though he would accept anyway. He likely had places to be, people to see. ‘I was going to make an omelette. You’re obviously welcome to stay...’
‘Great. I love a good omelette. And if you don’t mind my bragging, I can make a decent one too.’ Placing his mug down on the work surface, he rolled up his sleeves before taking the eggs from the fridge.
‘Right. Okay.’ She hadn’t been expecting him to say yes! What was she supposed to do now? Just hang around and watch him make them both omelettes. Walking across to the other side of the small kitchen, she sat down on one of the pine stools at the breakfast bar her grandad had made so she could have breakfast whilst he made her school lunches.
As he breezed about the kitchen, whisking egg and milk together before pouring into a frying pan and sprinkling cheese on top, Hannah placed her hands on her knees, willing them to stop shaking. It was fine. It was just Josh, Sophie’s brother, making her omelette for dinner. That was all. Just the man she’d been holding a crush on for forever. No big deal.
‘Extra cheese?’ Josh held up a handful of grated cheese and looked at her.
Nodding, she smiled. She had to admit, however awkward this was, it was nice for someone to cook for her. She hadn’t had that in a very long time. She jumped off the barstool and walked across to him. ‘Can I help?’
‘How about getting us both a glass of water?’ Josh nodded to the crockery still sitting on the draining board from where Gemma had emptied the cupboards and washed it all up earlier.
‘Sure.’ By the time she’d filled up the two glasses and returned to the breakfast bar, Josh had finished the omelettes.
‘Dinner is served.’ After placing their plates down, Josh chuckled as he bowed dramatically.
‘Yum, this looks and smells delicious. Thank you.’ Hannah licked her lips. It really did smell delicious, and she had to admit that if she’d cooked it she’d have ended up with burnt scrambled eggs.
Slipping onto the bar stool next to her, Josh stabbed his fork into the omelette before looking across at her. ‘How are you settling back in? I noticed you’ve done a lot of cleaning.’
‘Gemma came to help me this morning. I’m not going to be moving back in though. I’ll stay in my caravan.’ Hannah took. bite to eat.
‘You’re not? I assumed you would be, even if it was just until you’d sold the place. Sophie mentioned you were putting it on the market.’ He offered as a way of explanation.
‘I am. But no, I’ll use the bathroom and the kitchen. It’ll be good to cook somewhere with a proper oven for a while. But when it’s sold, I’ll move on again.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Josh shifted on his stool before laying his fork down. ‘Can I ask why you’re not staying? I know that’s a personal question, so don’t answer if you’d rather not.’
Tapping her fork against the soft omelette, Hannah bit down on her lip. It was a personal question. It was also a huge question, one she wasn’t quite sure she could articulate a proper answer to. ‘I guess it just doesn’t feel like home without my grandad.’
Josh nodded slowly.
And there it was, the sting of tears threatening to spill. She didn’t think she’d ever stop wanting to cry when she thought about her grandad and how much she missed him. Blinking, she picked up her coffee and downed the rest of it.
‘I shouldn’t have asked. I just wondered if you’d given any thought to staying, that’s all. I know Sophie would love you to become a permanent village resident again.’ Josh reached out and laid his hand on her forearm.
Looking down at his hand, she could feel the warmth and strength in his touch. And it felt right. She held her breath, not wanting to give him any reason to pull his hand away. After what felt like forever, he lifted his hand, leaving her skin open to the chill in the evening air, and instead picked up his cutlery. ‘Part of me would like to. But mostly I just worry I’ll be consigningmyself to misery. I worry that everywhere I look I’ll be reminded of my grandad and of what I’ve lost, of the life I’ve lost.’
