Page 12 of Coming Up Roses
This is true. Katie has always been a crier. She cries when she’s happy, sad, laughing, shocked, angry. She’s always crying. I find this somewhat reassuring. Maybe Abigail wasn’t lying to me.
“Why do you ask?” Dallas is studying me, his hands propped on his hips.
“Oh, no reason really,” I say, avoiding eye contact and attaching the final hydraulic hose. “Thanks for the assist.”
“You sure?”
I glance up at him. “Sure.” I force my face into a smile and hope he buys it. He watches me for another moment, then lets it go.
“Catch you later then.”
“Sure thing, boss.” I climb into the tractor and put it into gear, pulling onto the track that will take me out to the paddocks I’m ripping up today in preparation for planting over the next couple of weeks.
I don’t know why I keep thinking about Abigail. Yeah, sure, she’s gorgeous, but surely that’s not the only reason she’s stuck in my head. It can’t be. But I can’t figure out why she’s there.
I haven’t seen her in the days since she started. I haven’t seen her in real life, I mean. I’ve seen her plenty inside my head. I’m a little nervous about seeing her again, in case this raging crush I have on her is completely obvious.
But also, the best way over a crush is to just get through it, and the best way to do that is to spend more time with her. It’s like exposure therapy.
I spend time with her, the novelty of her being here will wear off and the crush will fade away. It’s my tried-and-true method.
Works like a charm, especially when the other person gets sick of me first and makes their opinion of me perfectly clear. Hard to fall for someone when they’re outright mean to me.
Plan in place, I focus on my work. Unfortunately, drivingaround a paddock working up the ground up to get it ready for planting our annual crops doesn’t distract my mind enough. It’s constantly drifting back to thoughts of Abigail and the way her skin felt under my thumb and how I wish she’d turned her head the slightest amount in that moment and rested her cheek against my palm.
I refocus, but over the hours I drive that tractor back and forth, my mind always wanders back to Abigail. The way her ass looked in that dress with those shiny black high heels, the scent of her hair, the tears filling her eyes when I found her in her office.
As usual, the ripping takes longer than I expected and it’s well past lunchtime when I finally make it back. I park the tractor outside the implement shed across from the barn and use my bike to get to the main house. I contemplate ducking home to change into a slightly less dusty shirt, but no one’s going to care.
I kick my boots off on the front porch and make my way inside.
The old-style villa has always been like my second home, and since these days I can’t go to the place that feels like my actual home because someone else lives there, this is as good as it’s going to get.
I follow the sound of voices to the kitchen.
“I know, Mum,” Olivia is saying as I step into the room. “I’m trying.” She falls into her seat and drops her head into her hands.
“Hey, Flynn,” Violet says, handing me a plate of food themoment she lays eyes on me. I don’t even know where she pulled it from.
I let out a small groan, one that’s nearly muffled by the growling of my stomach. “I love you, Vi.” She pats my cheek and shoos me to the table where I flop down across from Olivia.
“I know you’re trying,” Violet says, returning to their previous conversation. “I just don’t like her being down there by herself all the time. Then going home where she’s alone. It’s just a lot of time alone.”
“I know, but I can’t force her to come here. I invite her every day, for lunch and dinner. Maybe she’s just overwhelmed but as she gets to know us, she’ll start coming up.”
They must be talking about Abigail. There’s no one else Violet would worry about being alone.
Well, there’s me.
But since I’m in the room during the conversation and am not a she, it’s safe to say they aren’t talking about me this time.
Violet purses her lips but doesn’t say anything else, so Olivia turns her focus on me.
“Ripping all done?”
“Yep,” I say through a mouthful of food.
She pulls a face. “You’re so gross.”
