‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Fancy a beer later?’
‘Yeah, okay. Is there a pub near?’ Nate asked, hands in his pockets.
‘About ten minutes’ walk or so. Meet at six?’
‘Sure.’
Jack knocked twice on the door frame, pushed off and disappeared into the farm.
Nate folded his clothes and hung up his shirts in the communal wardrobe area. It was nice enough, he supposed. It was clean, well-stocked with bare essentials and modern appliances, and had a cosy, rustic feel which tied in well with the rest of the farm.
And it was nice of them to let the dig use it at cost price or whatever. Nice of Laurel to let them have it, because as Jack had said, it was she who drove the commercial side of things.
He changed quickly into his dig jeans and a t-shirt and headed back out to the site. The trenches should be well under way by now and he needed to organise the students into teams and give them The Talk.
Ivor had done the exciting ‘a find can change the course of history’ talk, but Nate needed to make sure that they were doing proper archaeology; not contaminating the site with modern stuff, and not breaking finds with their grubby hands.
Nate retraced the well-worn track around the milking barn and down to the car park where a farm hand was dutifully clearing. It was busy now and Nate could see why. Little Willow Farm was beautiful and calm in the sun. Perfect for families, perfect for walks, just perfect.
He was halfway across the yard when Laurel stepped out of the admin building. She’d changed out of her knee length button-up dress into cut off jean shorts, a tank top and walking boots. Office Laurel was attractive, with full lips, lashes that dusted her cheeks and eyes that nearly saw your secrets, but Relaxed Laurel was something else. She was carefree, unburdened and, well, friendly. Office Laurel hadn’t been friendly, at least not to him, but Relaxed Laurel looked like she could melt your troubles if she smiled at you.
Nate stumbled. His eyes had been on her.
‘Oh, hey.’ Laurel adjusted the bag on her shoulder awkwardly.
‘Hey, uh.’ Why was he self-conscious? Why were words difficult? ‘Thanks for the bunkhouse, it’s great,’ he said.
‘Yeah, that’s okay,’ she said, taking in his clothes.
‘I’m going up to the site,’ he said, as if he needed to explain to her. She nodded, looking at him as if expecting him to say more.
Nate drew in a breath. This wasn’t Relaxed Laurel. This was Dig Laurel. She was wearing dig clothes.
That’s why she had nothing to do, she’d been expecting to be up at the site this afternoon.
‘Do you want to come up?’ he asked. ‘To the dig, I mean.’
Laurel’s eyes hardened and the muscle in her jaw worked.
‘No. That’s your thing, your job, isn’t it?’
It wasn’t really a question.
‘Yeah, but it’s your farm, you can come up if you want.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and searched the horizon to avoid her eyes.
Laurel sniffed and raised that eyebrow.
‘You’re always welcome.’ Nate tested a small smile on her. ‘Jack said you—’
‘Jack said what?’ Laurel interrupted.
‘Just that you were interested, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to come up, you could.’
She took everything he said as a challenge.
‘We’ll see.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘Okay, well, see you.’
‘Yeah, bye.’ He watched Laurel walk to her car before realising that he was staring at her legs, again. The last thing he wanted was to be caught looking at Laurel Fletcher’s legs.
