Chapter 22
Teddy
I’d forgotten how good it felt to wake up to nothing but birdsong.
The hammock swayed gently as I stretched, Willow’s warm body pressed against my legs where she’d somehow managed to wedge herself between them.
I didn’t know any other dog who enjoyed being three feet off the ground.
She opened one eye as I moved, her tail giving a couple of lazy thumps against the nylon fabric before she settled back into sleep.
Jack had been right about this place. The campsite was tucked into a valley about forty-five minutes from the farm, surrounded by dense woodland that insulated it from any hint of civilisation.
I could hear water trickling somewhere nearby, and the morning air carried the green scent of moss.
After weeks of navigating more and more nonsense at the farm and with Chloe, the solitude felt like medicine.
I’d almost cancelled the trip twice. First, because of the weather forecast, worrying it would be too hot to bring Willow, and then because Jen had mentioned Chloe maybe needing help with festival prep.
But Tuesday morning had dawned cool and overcast, and Chloe had said she’d be working from home, so I’d thrown my camping gear into the Subaru before I could talk myself out of it again.
Now, watching morning light filter through the canopy above, I was grateful I’d stuck to my guns. This was exactly what I needed.
Willow stirred properly when I climbed out of the hammock, and I set her down so she could stretch, elongating in that satisfying, whole-body way dogs managed. I found a stick at the base of a nearby tree and threw it for her, smiling as she bounded after it with the enthusiasm of a puppy.
“Again?” I asked as she dropped it at my feet, panting. Her tail wagged harder. “Alright, but then I need coffee.”
As I threw the stick again, my phone buzzed with a text. I expected it to be Jen checking in, but it was Fatima.
FATIMA
Morning! How’s the great wilderness adventure going?
I smiled, settling onto a fallen log. Fatima had been texting more frequently lately, and it was nice, having someone check in who wasn’t paying my wages or making me feel all confused and flustered.
TEDDY
Still alive. Willow’s having the time of her life.
FATIMA
And what about you? Having the time of YOUR life?
TEDDY
It’s peaceful. No one asking me about mite management or soil pH.
FATIMA
Ah yes, the simple pleasures of avoiding agricultural conversations
TEDDY
Don’t mock my agricultural conversations.
FATIMA
I would never! Though I notice you didn’t mention avoiding a certain redhead as one of the benefits
I stared at the text for a long moment. Fatima was perceptive – it probably came with the territory of being a teacher – but I wasn’t sure I was ready to discuss whatever was happening with Chloe, even in text form. Hell, I wasn’t even ready to examine it myself.
TEDDY
I really, truly have no idea what you’re talking about.
FATIMA
Mmm-hmm. Very subtle deflection there
TEDDY
I don’t deflect.
FATIMA
Right, and I don’t spend my Saturday mornings planning lessons in my pyjamas
TEDDY
Are you planning lessons in your pyjamas right now?
FATIMA
The important thing is that you’re deflecting about deflecting, which is some next-level avoidance
I laughed despite myself. Willow dropped the stick at my feet again, and I threw it absently, watching her careen off into the undergrowth.
TEDDY
It seems I was wrong thinking this would be relaxing, actually. You’re texting me about my feelings at 8 a.m.
FATIMA
Fair point. I’ll let you get back to your peaceful wilderness commune with nature
TEDDY
Thank you.
FATIMA
But we’re definitely talking about this when you get back
TEDDY
Can’t wait.
FATIMA
See you Thursday for D before everything got complicated.
The same colour as her ridiculous raincoat, which I watched for out the window every wet morning.
I shook my head and tucked the flowers carefully into my pack. They were just flowers – pretty ones that would brighten up the kitchen table for a few days. Nothing more significant than that.
* * *
The drive back to the farm felt shorter than the drive out, my mind still half in the peaceful quiet of the woods. I could see what I thought was Chloe’s auburn hair out in the field as I pulled up, which surprised me – she didn’t usually do farm work unless I’d asked her to.
I did indeed find her in the meadow once I was parked up, crouched down with her phone, apparently trying to get the perfect angle on a cluster of wildflowers. She looked up as Willow bounded over to greet her, her face lighting up with that genuine smile that always caught me off guard.
“I didn’t expect to see you today,” I said, suddenly conscious of the flowers hidden in my pack.
She stood up and brushed grass off her knees. “I’m trying to get some good shots of the farm for an info pack to send to potential partners and suppliers. Show them what we’re about.”
She was wearing jeans and a simple white T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with pieces escaping around her face. She looked relaxed. Natural. Far too clean-cut for a farm, but I wasn’t complaining.
She was beautiful, and out here, it was undeniable.
“How was camping?” she asked, and I could see her eyes tracking over my appearance, taking in my muddy hiking boots and slightly rumpled clothes.
“Good. Peaceful.” I hesitated, then pulled the small bouquet from my pack. “I found these on the trail. Thought you might like them.”
Her eyes went wide as I held out the yellow flowers. “Oh my god, they’re beautiful. What are they?”
“Wild tulips,” I said, feeling suddenly awkward. “They’re pretty rare around here.”
Chloe took the flowers carefully, like they were made of spun glass. “Tulips,” she repeated softly. “I had no idea they grew wild.”
“They’re obviously different from the ones you see in gardens,” I explained, glad to have something concrete to focus on. “Different shape, somewhat different structure. The garden varieties have been bred for size and colour.”
She was staring at the flowers with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Tulips are my favourite,” she said quietly.
I felt something warm unfurl in my chest. “They are?”
“Well, these are lovely, but I especially love the big ruffly ones. I know they’re kind of gaudy, but I love how dramatic they are.”
“We could plant some of the varieties you like,” I heard myself saying. “For next spring.”
“Are they good for bees?” she asked, still looking down at the flowers as she cradled them.