“Wolfie, go on ahead,” Pippa begged. It had been humiliating enough being carried down the hill like some kind of invalid, but she’d gone along with it for the sake of love. What Pat was proposing was beyond absurd.
Wolfie’s eyes blazed down at her. “I said I won’t leave you here and I meant it.” With that, he heaved Pippa into the barrow, where she sprawled ungracefully in the bottom like a discarded sack of potatoes. “Thanks, chaps.”
“It’s like something out of a movie!” Todd thrilled, clapping his hands together.
Pippa scowled up at him. “I’d like to know just what kind of movies you’re watching that involve women being thrown in wheelbarrows against their will!”
Wolfie peeled off his suit jacket and wadded it into a ball. “When this day is over, I’d very much like to hear about the thinking behind the costume theme,” he said to the couple. “A dinosaur and a chef?”
Pat grumbled, “Todd wassupposedto be a frying pan but oh no, he justhadto go rogue.”
“My niece loves dinosaurs!” Todd had the decency to sound at least a little apologetic, but then he flapped his dinosaur arms manically at Wolfie and Pippa. “Never mind that now, you go!”
Wolfie didn’t need telling twice. He lobbed his jacket at Pat, lifted the wheelbarrow handles and began to run. All Pippa could do was cling on and hope she made it to the SPAR alive. The hill’s incline steepened, allowing them to pick up some speed. Air rushed past her skin, roaring loudly in her ears and she felt every bump in the road as Wolfie jolted over them. Racers ran past them in the opposite direction, some calling out in jest about their lack of costume, or sense of direction. The crowds watching the race cheered them on, too, their curiosity plain to see.
But Pippa didn’t care about any of that. She didn’t even care about her sprained ankle anymore. As she gazed up at Wolfie’s face, she felt an overwhelming sensation of total, secure, contentment. Despite her ungainly position, despite the possibility she’d done real damage to her ankle, Pippa knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be; that everything would be okay. Sure, she had no plans beyond the housesitting gig and yes, if Wolfie did end up selling Squires then she would technically be homeless. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was this moment.
The wheelbarrow rounded the corner and Pippa realised with a start that they had made it to the bottom of the hill. Craning her neck, she could see the green and, sure enough, there was Mae, cheering the racers along with everyone else. When Mae noticed the wheelbarrow travelling in the wrong direction, she opened her mouth to protest, at which point Pippa cheekily offered a royal wave and Mae’s eyes bulged.
“Pip?” she shrieked. Then Mae clocked who was pushing the wheelbarrow and her jaw literally dropped. Mae went on to yell more, but her words were lost in the general cacophony of the cheering crowds.
“There it is!” Wolfie panted, his face pink with exertion. The SPAR sat at the other side of the green, its storefront covered with brightly coloured bunting. As they approached, a white transit van appeared from around the corner and parked outside. “Shit!” Wolfie picked up his pace. “That’s him.”
Pippa shouted, “Hurry!”
Wolfie dug in, wind whipping his blond hair madly and sweat patches blossoming across his chest. Pippa twisted, keeping her eyes on the van. A sturdy, tired-looking man in a Pearl Jam T-shirt slid out of the vehicle and marched into the shop. Wolfie peeled down the road circumventing the green, and when they reached the fence lining the racecourse, a bemused monitor let them through. Pippa sighed with relief that they were no longer on the racecourse, but then had to start hurling apologies to fairgoers walking around the pedestrian area who were forced to jump out of their way.
Wolfie was now yards away from the SPAR. The driver came back out, a small stack of parcels in one hand. He glanced towards the bustling green and the closed roads all around and shook his head ruefully. Wolfie’s face turned bright red as he pushed to reach the man before he got into his vehicle.
Pippa began to cry out. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”
The driver halted, glancing around before realising Pippa could only be shouting at him. “What, me?”
“Yes.” Wolfie stopped, lowering the barrow handles. “You. Hi.”
Recognition dawned across the driver’s face. “You’re the bloke up at the house,” he said. “The fancy one.”
“Hang on,” Wolfie wheezed and bent over, breathing hard.
“Give him a moment,” Pippa said, awkwardly wobbling in the now stationary barrow. “He’s just pushed me through the town in this thing.”
The driver waited. Wolfie coughed, trying to catch his breath.
“Will this take long?” The driver edged towards his van. “It’s just I have a tight schedule so…”
“The envelope I gave you…” Wolfie coughed again and straightened. “I need it back.”
The driver’s lips thinned. “No can do. When I take receipt, I log it in, so now I’m legally bound to return it to the courier hub, whereby we coordinate delivery to the intended recipient.”
“You don’t understand,” Wolfie said. “Those documents were for the sale of my house. I am no longer selling my house.”
The driver’s gaze flicked towards Pippa, who remained prone in the wheelbarrow. “So, between the time of you handing me those documents and now, with, whatever’s going on here”—he nodded at Pippa—“you changed your mind about the sale?”
“Yes,” Wolfie said.
“That’s mad,” the driver said.
“No. It’s love,” Wolfie said.
