A smile lit up her face. Not a little ‘yeah whatever’ smile, but a big, radiant, amazing smile and his breath caught in his throat. She was glowing, beaming, and it was him who had made her so happy.
‘Oh, I wanted to run something past you,’ Laurel said, interrupting his thoughts.
‘Oh yeah?’ He would give her literally anything she wanted to see that smile again.
‘I’ve been thinking about asking Robin if the dig could use his house. He’s got a three-bedroomed house just sitting there that he uses probably once a week, maybe less.’ She was looking at him earnestly, and he had to concentrate hard on her words, not the movement of her mouth. ‘He usually stays with my dad, and if you guys are going to be here longer, then it might be best if you have some more space?’
Good god yes. Yes please. A bedroom, even in a shared house, would be better than the hell he was currently living in.
‘Only if you’re sure? I wouldn’t want to kick Robin out of his house?’ Nate said.
‘I mean, how long are you going to be here for?’ She traced the rim of her teacup with her finger. ‘Would it be worth it?’
Was she asking because of the house, or was she asking because of him?
‘Certainly another couple of months or so, maybe longer. It would be worth it,’ he said, watching her pulse jump haphazardly in her neck.
‘Oh right, okay.’ Laurel glanced away, and then smiled back at him. ‘Well, then it would probably be worth being somewhere more comfortable then.’
He wasn’t entirely sure they were still talking about Robin’s house, but he grinned.
‘Then it’s a deal. Let me know when you want us to move.’
Laurel
Cesspit Alex was on her farm. She hadn’t talked to him yet, but she’d seen Nate greet him at the car park and lead him up to the site.
So, Nate was going to be around for at least another couple of months, possibly longer. Longer would be good, because it would mean that they had found something substantial. Longer would also be good because she’d get to ogle his obnoxious legs for a little longer. And that was it. Thank the lord that Nate had been called to deal with Anwar that night at the pub, before she’d finished her sentence and invited him home with her. She wasn’t sure which would have been more mortifying, being turned down or having a one night stand and having to see him every day because honestly, he hadn’t given her any indication that he was the least bit interested in her. Yeah, she’d caught lust in his eyes (she thought), but everyone felt a little fruity after a couple of drinks, didn’t they?
He was just being a good, supportive friend, showing an interest in the farm. Getting to know her. That was it, and that was all it would ever be. It would probably be best for Laurel to squash those pesky feelings once and for all. Done and dusted, so her heart didn’t get trampled.
Jack had avoided her this morning, and Laurel was absolutely fine with that. Rebecca said last night that he’d gone to the pub and then went straight to bed when he got home, out again at 4:30am for morning milking. It wasn’t just Laurel he was avoiding, it seemed.
They were arguing, and Jack was being as pig-headed as ever. She hoped he’d see reason soon enough, or at least demonstrate some basic understanding of Rebecca’s position.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. She needed Cesspit Alex. It wasn’t just Nate and the dig who would benefit from Alex’s funding recommendation, but Little Willow Farm as well.
The British Archaeological Society had big dick energy; if they said ‘Little Willow Farm is a site worthy of investment’, English Heritage, the university, third sector bodies and other private funders would be falling all over themselves to throw money at the dig and the farm. With the BAS standing firmly behind the dig, Little Willow would be eligible to receive compensation for the loss of their field from English Heritage. They’d be eligible for development grants, for eco-tourism grants, historical preservation grants.
But only if BAS say ‘we endorse this site’.
That compensation alone would make all kinds of things run smoother, her dreams be less anxiety filled and monthly meetings with the bank not so fraught. Laurel hadn’t been granted the funding for Hibbert’s fields, so who knows where she was going to pull that money out from. It was a massive set back if she was going to stop the gentrification of Lower Houghton because she, and let’s face it, the rest of the town as well, didn’t want holiday McMansions for rich Londoners on their doorstep.
Impressing Cesspit Alex today was a massive deal. He was the gatekeeper for everything.
She took a last glance around the office to check that everything was in its place. Nate’s flipchart was propped expectantly by the wall, and his laptop was stacked neatly on top of piles of papers, tabbed with different neon colours.
‘So, this is where the magic happens, is it?’ She heard him before she saw him and steeled herself.
Alex Woollard strode into her office, Nate closing the door after them both.
He was still handsome and solid even though his blond hair was thinning slightly and streaked with grey. His broad shoulders and rugby player legs hinted at exercise, and his carefully cultivated stubble suggested someone vainly chasing youth.
Laurel moved around to the front of her desk. ‘Alex, hi.’ She held her hand out to him and he pumped it in an effusive handshake.
‘Ah yes, Laurel Fletcher,’ he said, eyes flitting over her. ‘I remember you.’
Of course he did.
