Chapter 21
Chloe
Apparently, every single person on the internet thought Teddy and I were fucking.
I discovered this delightful fact whilst sitting at the desk in the barn, scrolling through the comments on the honey tasting videos I’d posted over the last few days.
I’d succumbed to the allure of the multi-part posting schedule in the end, and I was getting my just desserts; what had started as innocent, entertaining content about the farm’s different varietals had somehow become a shipping manifesto for complete strangers.
The last part – my part – had been live for all of an hour, and the comments were obnoxiously relevant to the tension I’d been experiencing in real life.
The way she looks at you when you’re blindfolded
That YEARNING tho
Get a room already
Am I the only one who thinks these two have major chemistry?
No, you are NOT the only one. That look at 0:17?? HELP
I paused the video at the timestamp mentioned in the last comment. There I was, blindfolded and waiting, and there was Teddy, standing in front of me, looking at me with an intense, focused, almost tender expression.
Had she really been looking at me like that? I tried to remember what I’d been feeling in that moment, but all I could recall was the competitive drive coursing through me.
More comments kept appearing as I watched:
The sexual tension is OFF THE CHARTS
Either these two are together or they need to be
Redhead, if you’re reading this, PLEASE give us the tea.
Do you do weddings? Like, as the bride?
My face was burning. I mean, yes, there was something between Teddy and me.
And, sure, my friends had teased me. But I hadn’t realised it was palpable enough to be visible to random strangers on the internet.
On the one hand, it was validating that it wasn’t all in my head.
And I should be flattered, right? I was half of who they were all thirsting over, after all.
But on the other hand … well, it didn’t make it easier to stop thinking about Teddy.
My phone buzzed with yet another notification – I should really turn them off – and I groaned when I saw it was from Instagram.
Someone had replied to our story. All I’d posted had been the video I’d just shared and a photo of Jen’s latest watercolour – a gnarled oak tree in the wildflower meadow – so I assumed it was more of the same.
It wasn’t. It was worse.
A photo had appeared on the farm’s Instagram story that I definitely hadn’t posted.
It showed Teddy and me during that beekeeping lesson a few days ago – I knew when it was from the gimbal just visible in the corner of the photo.
She was handing me a frame heavy with honey, and even through the protective mesh veiling our faces, there was something unmistakably intimate about the moment.
The way we were leaning towards each other, the careful way her hands guided mine to support the frame’s weight…
What the hell?
I screenshotted it in case it disappeared, then racked my brain for where it could have come from.
I was meticulous about everything that went on the account – every photo was planned, edited, and scheduled with care.
This wasn’t mine. And I didn’t remember seeing anyone whilst we were working, though, based on the look on my face in the picture, I probably wouldn’t have.
Our DMs were exploding. Apparently, the beekeeping photo had sent people into overdrive:
OK, but this is literally art.
The way you look at each other even in those suits… I can’t
This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen and you’re wearing HEAD NETS
Ma’am the chemistry is CHEMISTRYING
Please tell me you’re aware how in love you both look
I would pay good money for the story behind this photo.
Okay, yes, it was a beautiful photo – artistic and intimate in a way that somehow transcended the practical beekeeping gear. But having random strangers analyse my supposed romantic chemistry with my co-worker was deeply unsettling, especially when I wasn’t even sure what I felt about it myself.
I needed answers about where this photo came from, and I had a pretty good idea where to start. I marched straight through the flower garden, past Teddy and Willow, to the main house.
I found Jen in her studio, hunched over a new canvas.
She looked up when I knocked on the doorframe, a streak of yellow paint decorating her cheek, nearly perfectly matching her jumpsuit.
She spent an awful lot of time in the studio, given that she was, in theory, running the place, usually painting some scene from around the farm.
“Hey, who else has access to the Instagram account?” I asked without preamble. “Because there’s this photo, and I don’t know where—”
I stopped mid-sentence, staring at the canvas she was working on. It was still mostly pencil sketch, but I could already see what it was going to be. The same composition as the mystery photo – Teddy and me with the honeycomb frame, captured in the moment of careful exchange.
“You’ve seen it, then,” I said, looking up at her. She wore an almost giddy look on her face.
“Seen it? I posted it!”
“You did?” I asked, trying not to sound upset – she was my boss, and it was her business’s Instagram account at the end of the day – but did she have to look so gleeful about it?
I stepped closer to the easel, studying the emerging painting. Even in its rough state, it was beautiful, I had to admit. Jen had captured something in our posture, in the angle of our heads, that spoke of trust and connection. “Where did you even get the photo?”
“I took it.” Jen set down her palette knife and wiped her hands on a rag. “I was watching you both from the barn door, and” – she gestured vaguely at the canvas – “well, you looked like that.”
“Looked like what?”
“Like you were in your own little world. Like nobody else existed.” She studied my face carefully. “It was too good not to capture.”
“But why did you post it without asking me?”
Jen had the grace to look sheepish now. “I probably should have asked first. But it was just sitting in my camera roll, and when I saw how well your honey tasting videos were doing, I thought … well, people clearly respond to seeing the two of you together.”
“You mean they respond to thinking we are together.”
“Are you?” The question was gentle; curious rather than prying.
“No,” I said insistently; definitively. “Even if the internet thinks we are. Or should be.”
Seemingly accepting my answer, Jen picked up a brush and dipped it, adding a careful stroke of green along the edge, where I knew from memory the greenery of the nearby border was in frame. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “I think they’re seeing something real.”
“I bet you do,” I said, not about to argue with her, but also not admitting anything.
“At least you’re getting on, whatever that looks like,” Jen said, as she added to the flowers in the foreground. “There was a moment there when I wasn’t sure it would work out based on how antagonistic things were. She told me about the Ren Faire, you know.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that wasn’t my finest moment.”
“Nor hers, from the sound of it.”
A weak smile tugged at my lips. Even then, Teddy had been so intense.
Jen bringing that up brought to mind the other reason Teddy had been antagonistic when I’d started.
“Well, you know, I don’t think the Ren Faire was the only reason she was less than enthusiastic.”
Jen straightened, meeting my gaze, her shoulders sinking. “Yeah, she didn’t love that I’d hired someone.”
Sure, Jen was my boss, but she struck me as the sort of woman who appreciated candour. And after sharing the photo, I decided she owed me enough that I could push further than I otherwise might.
“Am I right in thinking that you hiring me is why you can’t hire Teddy?”
She tapped the end of her paintbrush against the table, pursing her lips in thought. “In an immediate sense? Yes.”
I sucked in a tight breath – part of me had hoped it wasn’t true. “An immediate sense?” I tried to suppress the hope that there was a big ol’ caveat coming.
Jen put the brush down now, crossing her arms. “I might have been able to hire Teddy, but we need to be growing the business for me to keep her on. It gets more expensive every year to be a farmer, and I didn’t want to hire her only to have to drop the sponsorship in a year or two when things get tight.
I wanted to flesh out our profit margins a bit more before bringing her on.
I couldn’t do that to her, giving her what she wants only to take it away again. ”
I slowly let out the breath I’d been holding whilst she explained. It wasn’t quite the caveat I’d been looking for, but it was good news. “Which is why you hired me.”
Jen nodded. “Why we’re working with the council, and why I hired you, yes. Because if we can grow the business, especially in a way that scales better than our mead production, I can hire Teddy more confidently.”
My exhale turned into a full-on sigh of relief. “Does Teddy know all this?”
“She knows enough,” Jen said noncommittally, “though, if I’m being honest with you, I think she’s avoiding the issue. She hasn’t asked me outright, and I don’t want to bring it up until I know better whether things will pan out.”
“Whether I’ll succeed, you mean.”
Jen nodded, and I felt myself gulp. No pressure.
“But, Chloe,” she added, “I have every faith in you. And you’re not doing it alone. You know that, right?”
I nodded, and I meant it – I didn’t feel alone.
Yes, there was a lot of pressure on what I was doing, but for the first time in my life, I felt confident that I was moving in the right direction.
And a lot of that was down to how willingly Jen and Maggie and even Teddy had jumped in; how enthusiastic they’d been about everything I’d put in place.
They’d done the hard work building something amazing here, so if they thought I was doing the right thing, it was easier to believe that I probably was.