Page 11 of The Harvest Homecoming

I tapped my temple. “Amid the seeds, there lie some beloved memories. Most centered around you and our time together. You were the best I ever had.”

He bit down on his lower lip but said nothing, which was fine. Riding back to the farmhouse with him beside me was enough for one day. Now I would have to wait for him to decide where things went from here. Patience would be required.

Good thing I was a very patient man.

Chapter Eight

Fortunately, my patience was not easy to wear thin.

Unless you were my father. For some reason, Papa could cut through my sturdy bark of tolerance faster than those chainsaws my little brother’s boyfriend so loved to tinker on. Ten days had passed since the pumpkin patch talk with Rani. We’d spent lots of time together since that day, as Alva was usually abed all morning and exhausted in the afternoons. Her planning had been invaluable, and I had told her so the evening before opening day at dinner.

“Please, don’t thank me. I’ve done nothing but cry, vomit, and watch Pride & Prejudice on a steady loop for two weeks,” Alva replied as she sipped some tea and nibbled on toast with pineapple spread late in the afternoon. “Which then made me cry even more.”

I chuckled softly. “Those emotional journeys are hard on all of us, not just Mr. Darcy.”

“The early animosity that gives way to a quiet, deep, and genuine love for Elizabeth just does me in every time,” she confessed with a dreamy sigh.

“I think I can relate well to Mr. Darcy,” I whispered into my teacup. Emotional journeys were hard. “But Miss Austen’s masterpiece aside, you’ve done an incredible job of organizing things for the family. If you keep this up, we may hire you full time.”

She smiled at me with that glow that only a woman carrying a baby could share. “I may be busy next fall.”

“Are you sure then?” She nodded, soft blonde hair gliding over a slim shoulder.

“I’ve taken the home test. Dr. Pannett has also verified with a urine test. I’m so glad we have a physician on staff here. I’d hate to have to go to his office and be gawked at and start rumors. We are not saying a word about this to anyone outside of our immediate families.”

She gave me a very stern look.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you. It’s just that we lost one baby early, so we’re keeping this under wraps until the second trimester. Dr. Pannett has suggested that I rest more to reduce stress, so are you okay with working with Rani? I know you and he seem to be rather chilly at times.”

True. We had been. Since the talk, he’d been genial enough, pleasantly polite yet keeping an arm’s distance from me at the various functions and trips we were making. Now we’d be based in the capital for the foreseeable future, which was easier on everyone but not as much fun. I enjoyed being with the good people of our nation, rubbing elbows and forking sheep dung.

“We had a misunderstanding several years ago that left him and me at odds, but I think we’re working through it.”

I badly wanted to talk to her about our status, but Rani would birth a bovine if he found out I told Alva about our past relationship. I didn’t dare speak of a future one, for I had no clue if there would even be one.

“Good. He’s an excellent assistant. If you wish to thank anyone for the festival planning, it should be him. He’s carried the load for himself and me since we’ve been here.” She reached for her fourth slice of toast. “I don’t know what it is about pineapple, but I can’t seem to get enough of it into me.”

“You eat as much toast and jam as you wish. You are eating for two.” She beamed at me over the top of her teacup. After we had a nice, long visit in her suite, I left her to take a nap before dinner. I’d not seen Rani all day, a fact which left me feeling rather glum. I’d gotten used to him being nearby the past few weeks.

After a nice meal with the family—nice meaning no fights with Papa—I bid everyone a warm goodnight around nine and made my way to my rooms to soak in a tub and read for a bit. Papa missed dinner because he was too busy writing his speech for a summit in Sweden next week—though he had a speechwriter or two, he insisted on adding his own personal flair—to bother sniping at me for the little tidbit of news that came in from the western province, where I’d spent the day riding about a rutted field in an old tractor with a farmer as old as the dirt we were plowing up for a fall planting of garlic cloves for next summer. After four hours inside a tractor with minimal suspension and a seat with no padding, my arse was tender. I may have joked about having a tender tushy and who would kiss my cheek to make it better. The press had laughed. Vetra had given me that look that screamed the bishop would not find me or my cheek funny. But so far so good. Maybe I’d get lucky.

What a dud I’d become in just under half a year. I’d cut myself off from my rowdy friends for the most part. They texted and called, begging me to come meet them in this spot or that spot. Fast women, easy men, wine, music, rich excesses that made me feel good in the moment, but lacking come morning. Ugh. I was getting old. Soon I’d be like Frode and his wife, tucked into their small manse in the hills, content making gingerbread cookies or watching reruns of ER or Grey’s Anatomy.

As I sank down into my tub of pretty purple bubbles, the imagery of being curled on the sofa with Rani as snow piled up outside our little cottage felt rather nice. Warm. Home. Perhaps there was something to be said about being a homebody after all. Cookies and kisses. Yes, that would be loverly, to quote Eliza Doolittle.

Once my bath water was cold, I snuggled into bed, happy for the roaring fire in the hearth, for it was cold and damp in this old stone fortress. Rain had blown in over the capital during the dinner hour. The floors and walls here were not exactly energy efficient. Nor were the mullioned windows but replacing them was forbidden as the castle was a national treasure bestowed upon Dragon’s Perch by the government to protect the keep for future generations. Which was all well and good but by damn the place was drafty!

A soft knock on my door pulled me from my book, an easy feat as it was dry to the extreme, but I did know a great deal about pumpkins now. Setting the agricultural tome aside, I slid out of bed, pulled on a robe, and opened the door, expecting to see Frode wishing to talk football or horses or Formula One.

It was not Frode. It was Rani in casual clothes, his expression indecipherable. He had a tray of what I assumed were cookies under a silver-lidded dish, tea, and paracetamol tablets like before.

“Good evening,” I said as a rush of pleasure coursed through me.

“Good evening,” he replied softly. “I saw on Instagram how your day went.”

“Ah, yes, it was quite the excursion. But my backside isn’t sore at all,” I said as I leaned a shoulder to the door.