Chapter 2 #2
I’m struck dumb by the honesty and admiration in his voice. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He smiles at me and clicks the indicator before turning between two big stone gateposts. “No need for thanks. You were like a butterfly. Colourful and so alive.”
I remember each curve and landmark on the winding drive, but what’s unexpected is a big sign pointing the way to a visitor centre. It leads off to the right, where, if I remember rightly, his dad used to keep the grazing cattle.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Shit, I forgot you didn’t know. This is a honey farm now.”
I blink. “Pardon?”
“Well, half of it is. Sophie and I bought my mum and dad out of the farm. They live in Spain now.”
“Do they like it?”
“They love it. Anyway, we could see the writing on the wall. Farming’s hard at the best of times, and we live in a world that increasingly doesn’t see any value in it.”
“Fucking idiots.”
“I agree. Anyway, we decided to diversify. We sold a lot of the herd, and Sophie manages the stock we kept, as well as the two barns that we converted into holiday lets. They make a small fortune. We’ve also got some yurts.”
“Bless you.”
He snorts. “They’re in the west field near the river, and they bring in a pretty penny, especially as the Soleil music festival is held nearby. That’s got bigger and bigger over the years.”
“I know. Finn Jamieson is playing this year. I need to see him.” I pause. “And listen to his music, of course.”
“Of course,” he says in a solemn voice. “I’ll alert his security team just to be on the safe side.”
“Spoilsport.”
He chuckles and then shoots me a sidelong look. “You could stay here if you like when you go to the festival.”
A fierce pang of pleasure hits me, because it’s very obvious that he’s laying the framework for us to carry on being friends.
I missed him so much. I’ve had other friends, but no one quite like Zeke.
Perhaps the one benefit of my decision to leave his friendship behind was that I got some distance from my deeper feelings for him.
Now it’s obvious that although he will never be mine in the way I want him to be, we can still have a relationship as friends.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I say softly, and he smiles. “So, the honey farm. What’s with that?”
“Ah, that’s mine,” he says, and the pleasure and pride in his voice make me smile. “We have over a hundred and fifty hives.”
“Good grief. Really?”
He nods. “We make and sell our own honey here, as well as having an educational centre for local schools and visitors.”
He takes the turn that leads to the old farmhouse, and I put my hand on his arm. “Wait. I need to ask you something.”
When he stiffens, I flush and go to remove my hand, but he puts his own on mine, tangling our fingers and pressing down gently. “What?”
His hand is warm and large, and for a second, I forget what I was going to say, and then I remember. “Is this going to cause you trouble?”
“Pardon?” He stops the car on the verge and turns to me, still holding my hand. His fingers play with mine almost absentmindedly, and through the window, the breeze tickles my hair. In the distance, I can hear the cattle mooing.
“Trouble?” he asks.
“Yes.” I hesitate. “I mean, you agreed to pretend to be my fake boyfriend.”
“Yes?”
“Well, you’re not gay.” I want to scream, More’s the pity!
but heroically manage to rein in my dramatic impulse.
But this is something we need to discuss.
Really, I should have thought of it the moment he suggested the idea.
I’d been so happy to see him and carried away with the notion of coming to Devon to spend time with him, I hadn’t seen the obvious.
“It will cause gossip if you show up to Simon’s wedding with me. People will think you’re coming out.”
He stares at me. “And that was bothering you?”
I lick my lip, watching his eyes drop to my mouth and feeling a squirmy warmth in my belly.
I push it away like I’ve always done. I made a lot of effort to keep our friendship light and easy, never betraying how gone I was over him.
It’s as hard now as it was then. “Well, yes. I’d never want you to pretend to be something you’re not. We can call it off.”
“I thought going to the wedding was important to you. To show Simon you’re happy.”
I shake my head immediately. “No way. You’re far more important than silly pride.”
A long moment of silence seems to stretch like treacle, and then, to my regret, he lets go of my hand and switches the engine on again.
“Don’t be worried,” he says softly. “I won’t have to pretend.”
His words, along with something in his voice, makes my heart start to beat very quickly. “Why?” I reach into my bag and produce my water bottle. I take a long sip, trying to ease my suddenly dry throat.
He shoots me a crooked smile that is insanely attractive on him. “Because I’m gay.”
I promptly spit my drink out over Bodge. The dog shakes himself vigorously and gives my face a lick.
“That is disgusting.” Zeke’s voice is admiring, and I can hear the amusement as I cough and splutter.
When I can manage words again, I say, “You’re gay?
” I’m relieved how calm I sound because my heart is now hammering in my chest. I’d have given anything when I was fifteen—even my signed picture of Finn Jamieson—to hear those magic words.
But they never came, and I’d eventually despaired of hearing them. “When did that happen?”
He gestures at the farmhouse that comes into view. “Oh, look at that. We’re here. I’m so sorry that we can’t talk more.”
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” I say darkly.
He laughs again, and I take pride in amusing him. I look ahead and see a sporty little convertible parked in the forecourt, with a woman leaning against it. She’s heavily pregnant and her dark hair is blowing in the breeze. “Is that Sophie?”
He waves at his twin sister. “Yes. I might have known she couldn’t keep her long nose out of this.”
“Out of what?” I consider what I know of their relationship—they’re like peas in a pod—and sigh. “She knows.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. She caught me when I got home while I was so excited about seeing you.”
“You were?”
He doesn’t seem to notice my breathy comment. “She got the whole story out of me. The Spanish Inquisition could take lessons from her.”
“Did she use thumbscrews?”
“No, just the power of her jawbone.”
I’m still laughing when he stops the car, and we get out.
“Afternoon,” I call to Sophie, looking at her as she walks towards us. Their sibling relationship is evident in their thick brown hair, green eyes, and rangy bodies. I’d been closer to Zeke, but Sophie and I had always got on. She’s funny, wise, and just lovely.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she says, and I grin as she gets closer and throws her arms around me.
“It’s lovely to see you again.”
She pulls back and cups my face in her hand. “And you. Pretty as ever, Georgie.”
“Well, you know how it is.”
“Not really.”
I laugh, feeling relieved that she’s being so easy.
I’d left with so many protestations of keeping in touch that were never fulfilled.
She observes me, her twinkling eyes so like her brother’s.
I have the uneasy feeling that she knows why I didn’t come back.
Hell, most of the village is probably in on the secret.
Zeke might be the only person who isn’t.
I hear a cry of, “Uncle Zeke!” and she winces.
“Here’s my son. Please excuse his decibel level. The council will be paying a visit anytime soon to ticket us for noise disturbance.”
I look over to see a small boy of three or four come running from the path that leads down the side of the farmhouse. He’s wearing shorts, a T-shirt with a picture of a tractor on it, and he’s clutching an ice cream cone that’s melting down his hands.
I smile as I watch Bodge take one look at the child and promptly scarper into the bushes.
“Jamie,” Zeke says and crouches to swing him up into his arms. The child drops his cone, and his sticky hands clutch Zeke’s shirt, leaving streaks of pink ice cream over them.
Sophie winces. “Jamie, what did I say about not touching people with ice cream fingers?”
The little boy cocks his head. He looks like a little cherub with a headful of blond curls and the Taylor family’s green eyes. “Was it the same as with Bodge?” he asks earnestly.
“Yes, darling. We had to cut some of his fur off, and I’d hate to do the same with Uncle Zeke.”
“Would you?” Zeke asks with his eyebrow raised.
“Well, I’d certainly tell Jamie I was.”
He laughs and comes closer. “Come and say hello to Georgie, Jamie.”
The toddler eyes me. “Are you Uncle Zeke’s friend?”
I nod, grinning at him. “Yes.”
“Did you know that he once had to pooh in a carrier bag when he was locked out of his house?”
His tone is admiring, but Zeke’s expression is one of total horror, and I start to laugh. I laugh so hard that I’m clutching my side, and Sophie has joined me.
Zeke rolls his eyes. “I’d forgotten that you and my sister are Satan in human forms.”
I shrug, smiling at him. “Are you complaining?”
“Nope.”
He reaches down with his spare hand and grabs my bag despite my protestations. “I’ll put this in the house,” he says, and still toting his nephew, he walks into the farmhouse.
“I have to tell you that we don’t just let ourselves into the house anymore.”
I turn to Sophie. “Well, that’s interesting news. I’m not entirely sure why I’d need to know that, but thank you anyway.”
She shrugs. “I’m just saying that it’s not like it was when my mum and dad had it.
You remember how it was open house to everyone then?
” I nod. “Well, it’s different now. Zeke’s more private so you don’t have to worry about disruptions.
” Realisation dawns, and I start to laugh.
She shoves me, starting to laugh herself. “Oh, shut up.”