21. Brynn
TWENTY-ONE
brYNN
What brings me here? If I tell her I missed her already and wanted to spend time together alone, will that scare her off?
Stepping in closer to the gate and into her, I place my arms on either side of hers.
It brings us closer, and means I can see each individual lash framing her grey eyes.
Her hair is looped back into a braid, but strands have come loose, and curl around her face and neck.
The urge to run my fingers through them is an unrelenting itch beneath my skin.
“I brought you some lunch,” I reply, suddenly a little nervous. Did I make the right choice in surprising her? “I-I was hoping we could eat together? If you have time?”
Her hand grabs my biceps, squeezing softly, and the sensation shoots straight down my spine.
Her touch is electric.
“That sounds perfect. I’m starving. There’s a bench outside the barn, near the office. We can sit there as the weather’s so nice.”
She steps back, and her touch drops from my arm. I instantly shudder from the loss.
“Let me grab Jerry and take him back to his field, then we can eat.”
Rosy clips a length of rope to the contraption on the pony’s head, then picks up a bag of tools.
I open the gate for her, close it once she’s through, then follow her back down the path.
When she points out the wooden seating, I head over and sit on the bench overlooking one of the fields, watching with far too much interest as she keeps walking to the next field, chubby pony in tow.
With the sun flickering through a fluffy cloud, it creates a moment of warmth and calm in me. This feels like the perfect place to spend my free time: watching Rosy in the place she loves the most, bringing her food that I’ve cooked, and getting to know each other.
The gate clangs shut, and she walks back up the path towards me, her face alight with a contentment I want to share in. With her knee-high green Wellington boots, scuffed-up jeans tucked into them, and an oversized forest-green fleece hanging off her, she looks perfect.
Dropping heavily onto the seat next to me, she lets out a long huff. “I’ve never had anyone bring me food before,” she admits.
Insecurity creeps in, and I grit my teeth as I glance down at the overloaded bag. I’ve put too much effort into this. I should’ve just ordered her a delivery or something. That’s what men usually do, right?
She leans into me, dropping her head on my shoulder, and my thoughts freeze.
“It’s really thoughtful. I love it. But if you stare at that bag any longer, I might perish in front of you,” she quips, pulling back to grin at me.
I laugh as I tug the bag onto my lap and unzip it. Pulling out a container, I pass it over to her, then locate cutlery and a container for me too.
She opens the lid, dropping her face to inhale the steam rising from it.
Then she moans.
She made a sex moan over my food.
Adjusting myself on the bench, I spread my legs wider and ensure my jumper’s long enough to cover my crotch.
“You brought me leftover curry? This is amazing. Thank you so much,” she mutters, focused on shoving a spoonful into her mouth already.
Clearing my throat, I lean back into the insulated bag and tug out another item. Carefully unwrapping it from the foil, I offer one to her. “I made some naan bread this morning too, if you want some?”
Her eyes latch on, and she nods enthusiastically, swallowing the mouthful quickly and taking a piece of the bread. “Yes. Definitely yes.”
We sit in an easy silence whilst we both eat, and an ease fills me. I can see why she likes it here. It’s peaceful. Or perhaps it’s just her company that makes me feel like that.
“Do you do all this work up here alone?” I ask.
“I get the odd volunteer, but it’s hard to find people who want to be here consistently.
It’s a lot to commit to, and I get that.
We have someone who comes a few times a month to help with general maintenance and repairs.
During the week, Anita, the owner, is here, and she has a few volunteers.
” She shrugs, unfazed by the amount of work she’s just admitted to doing.
“I know Max loved being up here and helping you last week,” I add, recalling how enthusiastic he was.
She laughs, and the sunlight catches her face as it breaks through another cloud. I fight the urge to tug her face to mine, to lean in to watch the way her face moves and changes with each breath of laughter.
“He certainly brings the energy, and I can’t deny it made some of the heavy lifting easier. Apparently, he’s coming again tomorrow, but we’ll see if the novelty wears off and he decides a lie-in is more fun.” Her grin is infectious as she nibbles lightly on her lip.
Dropping her focus back to the container on her lap, she scoops up the last of the curry with her bread and pops it into her mouth.
“So what got you into cooking and baking?”
It’s an expected question, but it tugs me out of the cosy place we’d been in. Exhaling a long, deep breath, I lean back on the bench and turn to look at her.
“Short or long version?”
Her brows furrow slightly, and she purses her lips for a moment. “Everything you’re comfortable telling me, Bry.”
Acting instinctively, I reach out and twist a stray strand of her hair around my finger, giving myself a breath to decide how to start. Is there an easy way to be vulnerable with someone?
It doesn’t feel it.
“My birth mum had me too young and became addicted to alcohol as her way to escape.”
Her hand reaches up and grasps the one I had entangled in her hair, linking our fingers together, then squeezes as our joined hands rest on her thigh. Her thumb brushes back and forth, creating a soothing rhythm.
“Cooking programmes became my lifeline. I’d spend hours imagining what I could make, the recipes I could follow along with.
We never had any food like that in the house, and I’d imagine I could taste what they could, picturing the textures in my mouth, the flavours exploding across my tongue.
The school reported things, I think, so I spent some time in temporary foster care before going back to her when she’d sobered up for a while.
But eventually things got too…rough, and I was removed from her indefinitely.
I was at school with Noah at the time. He was my only friend, and his parents heard what was happening and immediately offered me a home with them.
” My voice breaks a little, and I take a moment to clear it, appreciating the comfort of her hand in mine.
“Noah’s parents easily became mine from then on.
Mum would catch me watching her in the kitchen daily, and eventually I started asking questions.
What was she adding next? Why was she cutting that?
What was that called? Then we started cooking together.
Not long after that, I took over the role and cooked the family meals. ”
She leans in and rests her head on my shoulder. Her warmth and support sinks deep and helps to heal the bruised parts inside.
“I can easily picture that: a mini you in the kitchen and becoming who you are now.” Her words vibrate through where her head rests on me.
“It was my favourite place to be; where we would all come together every day and just be with each other. Eating and chatting.”
Rosy sighs, and it's almost…wistful. I frown. “Did you have that with your family growing up?”
She sits up and rubs a hand across her eyes, before grimacing at me.
“Well, this is becoming a morbid lunch. Our situations aren’t the same…
but they’re similar, I guess. Neither of us got the childhood we should have.
My parents were fairly young when they met.
I happened rather unexpectedly, but apparently Mum was thrilled and threw herself into becoming a parent.
I think my dad just loved her so much he went along with it all for her.
Mum passed away fairly early on when I was a toddler from cancer, and my dad was too heartbroken to stick around.
He dropped me at my nanna’s one day and just never came back. ”
Pain lances through me on her behalf at her casual shrug, as if she’s so used to accepting it, she’s become indifferent to it.
“I couldn’t have wished for a better person to raise me.
She gave me more love than one person should be able to contain.
So before you pity me for being parent-less, you don’t need to.
I was so very happy with her, Bry.” She looks up at me, a watery smile full of loss and grief creasing the corners of her mouth.
Wrapping my hands around her face, I tilt her head back so we’re even closer, so she can see every part of me feels anything but pity as I tell her, “I don’t pity you.
I feel grateful that you’ve had that kind of love in your life.
I might never have met your nan, but I’ll be forever grateful to her for nurturing you into this beautifully kind and compassionate person.
You might not see it, and I know we’re all still getting to know you, but you’ve brought light into all of our lives already, Rosy. ”
The tears balancing along her lower lashes fall, trickling down the sides of her cheeks and landing into my palms still bracketing her face. Seeping into my skin. My feelings turn resolute, and I want to always be here for her, soaking up every tear, every emotion with her.
“Bry…” she whispers, voice low and coated with so much emotion that I can’t stop myself.
I start to lean in, but she inhales sharply just before our lips meet. I hesitate. Taking this step could possibly push her away, and Nate’s already said he kissed her. If I follow through with this, without talking to him, then I could really fuck things up.
It takes everything in me, but I change direction and place a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, taking the moment to enjoy the feel of my lips on her skin.
Pulling back, I see a flicker of disappointment flash through her eyes before she closes them. Guilt surfaces as they reopen, and as much as I wish I didn’t, I know I did the right thing by not kissing her.
For now.
Her throat clears, and she stands quickly, avoiding my gaze. “Lunch was perfect, thank you. But I best be getting on. I’ve got a load of things I need to get done for the day.”
I’d be a little hurt at the dismissal if it wasn’t for the flustered, guilt-ridden look coating her.
I feel it on me too.
Standing up, I gather the containers, drop them in and zip up the bag. “No, I understand. Just know that I really enjoyed having lunch with you,” I admit, hoping she sees I’m being genuine. “Will we see you later at dinner?”
A frown mars her brow, and suddenly the floor looks very interesting as she looks down, scuffing her boot against it. “I can’t. Tonight I mean. I have a night with Steph planned. I’m sorry I didn’t already let you know. I can cover any food costs if you’ve got stuff for me already.”
Worry niggles its way in as I wonder if I’ve pushed things too much and she’s backing away from us. Or perhaps just me.
“No, not at all. Don’t worry about it, and have a good time,” I reassure her with a smile. “Would it be okay to have a hug before I go, though?”
I just need another moment of feeling her skin brush against mine.
She looks up, her lips quirking into a shy smile before she nods. My arms open, and she steps into them, her arms winding tightly around my middle as I wrap mine around her. With her face pressed up against my chest, her warmth seeps through, slow and soft.
My cheek rests on the crown of her head as she squeezes me tighter.
She might as well have reached into my chest, broken through the walls around my heart, and swiped the beating organ right out of me.
Is it too soon? Definitely. But she has me feeling something, and I’m desperate for it to never end.
She’s slowly filling in the jagged cracks left over from the grief, threading the tiny fragile pieces together with each smile, each word she gives me.
I just need to speak to Nate, probably all three of the guys. There’s no way any of us are going to be able to resist falling for Rosy. Placing someone as open-hearted and internally beautiful as her in front of the four of us love-starved, broken, and lonely men… What else would you really expect?
We’re going to need to figure this out. But fuck if I know how we figure out who deserves the chance with her the most.