Something was definitely shifting betweenChloeand me– had been shifting for weeks now,Iguessed.Thesharp edges of my initial irritation and the even sharper edges of the near-misses we’d shared had finally worn smooth, replaced by somethingIwasn’t quite ready to name.
It wasn’t just that she was competent at her job, thoughIhad to admit she was.Itwasn’t just that she fit seamlessly into life on the farm, though she mostly did, even if she really did need to learn to drive.No, it was the way she listened whenIexplained something, like she genuinely wanted to understand.Theway she made everyone around her laugh, including me, often against my will.
Willow returned with the stick, panting heavily.Iscratched behind her ears and decided we both needed breakfast before my thoughts spiralled any further.
I tippedWillow’skibble into her travel bowl and pulled a protein bar from my pack, washing it down with a lukewarm swig of yesterday’s coffee from my thermos.Notexactly gourmet, but it would do until lunch.Themorning was still cool, perfect for hiking, andIwanted to explore the nearby nature reserveJackhad mentioned before heading back to reality.
“Come on, girl,”Isaid onceI’dgotten my things together, shouldering my daypack.I’dgather up the rest after our walk. “Let’sgo see what’s out there.”
The trail wound through mixed woodland, climbing gradually toward higher ground.Ancientoaks gave way to beech and birch, their leaves creating a shifting canopy of green and gold above us.Willowtrotted ahead, nose to the ground, occasionally darting off to investigate some fascinating scent or other before circling back to check on me.
The nature reserve was everythingJackhad promised– wild and seemingly untouched, with just enough trail markers to keep you from getting completely lost, and absolutely no dog restrictions.Ipassed a small waterfall tumbling over moss-covered rocks and crouched to refill my bottle from the clear stream below.Willowwaded in enthusiastically, snapping at the water as it flowed past.
It was on the way back, taking a different path that looped through a meadow, thatIspotted them.Acluster of bright yellow blooms grew tucked against the base of a limestone outcrop, their petals catching the filtered sunlight.
Wild tulips.Tulipasylvestris, ifIremembered correctly from my botany courses.I’dseen them in field guides, but never in person– they were uncommon this far south, preferring cooler climates.
I knelt down for a closer look.Theflowers were smaller than cultivated tulips, more delicate, with pointed petals that curved gracefully outward.Theyellow was pure and bright, almost luminous against the green backdrop of early summer foliage.
Without really thinking about it,Ifound myself picking a small handful.They’dprobably last a day or two in water, and we could always use the petals in a salad or something.Thatwas the practical reasonItold myself, anyway.
But asIstood there holding the flowers, allIcould think about was the yellow– the same hue as the corsetChloehad worn to theRenFaireall those months ago.BeforeIknew who she was; before everything got complicated.Thesame colour as her ridiculous raincoat, whichIwatched for out the window every wet morning.
I shook my head and tucked the flowers carefully into my pack.Theywere just flowers– pretty ones that would brighten up the kitchen table for a few days.Nothingmore significant than that.
* * *
The driveback to the farm felt shorter than the drive out, my mind still half in the peaceful quiet of the woods.Icould see whatIthought wasChloe’sauburn hair out in the field asIpulled up, which surprised me– she didn’t usually do farm work unlessI’dasked her to.
I did indeed find her in the meadow onceIwas parked up, crouched down with her phone, apparently trying to get the perfect angle on a cluster of wildflowers.Shelooked up asWillowbounded 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,”Isaid, suddenly conscious of the flowers hidden in my pack.
She stood up and brushed grass off her knees. “I’mtrying to get some good shots of the farm for an info pack to send to potential partners and suppliers.Showthem what we’re about.”
She was wearing jeans and a simple whiteT-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with pieces escaping around her face.Shelooked relaxed.Natural.Fartoo clean-cut for a farm, butIwasn’t complaining.
She was beautiful, and out here, it was undeniable.
“How was camping?” she asked, andIcould see her eyes tracking over my appearance, taking in my muddy hiking boots and slightly rumpled clothes.
“Good.Peaceful.”Ihesitated, then pulled the small bouquet from my pack. “Ifound these on the trail.Thoughtyou might like them.”
Her eyes went wide asIheld out the yellow flowers. “Ohmy god, they’re beautiful.Whatare they?”
“Wild tulips,”Isaid, feeling suddenly awkward. “They’repretty rare around here.”
Chloe took the flowers carefully, like they were made of spun glass. “Tulips,” she repeated softly. “Ihad no idea they grew wild.”
“They’re obviously different from the ones you see in gardens,”Iexplained, glad to have something concrete to focus on. “Differentshape, somewhat different structure.Thegarden varieties have been bred for size and colour.”
She was staring at the flowers with an expressionIcouldn’t quite read. “Tulipsare my favourite,” she said quietly.
I felt something warm unfurl in my chest. “Theyare?”
“Well, these are lovely, butIespecially love the big ruffly ones.Iknow they’re kind of gaudy, butIlove how dramatic they are.”
“We could plant some of the varieties you like,”Iheard myself saying. “Fornext spring.”
