Page 106 of Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘All my own handiwork. And Rachel, I’m sorry, so sorry I couldn’t have done more for your dad back then.’

‘Oh, Tom.’ She dashed the six paces towards him, and flung herself into his arms that were ready and waiting – that had been for such a long time.

It suddenly felt so right, being there, being held by him. He was a kind, good man. That conversation with her father must have tortured him, and there was nothing he could have done – Rachel saw that now. And the fact that they were old family friends and neighbours, with an age gap between them, suddenly became irrelevant. Why the hell hadn’t she seen it before? Or, had she and simply been running scared?

Her lips were on his; the kiss sensual, emotional, beautiful and life-affirming. It felt like very much like love.

They finally drew apart.

‘I know what you’ve been through, Rachel, and I don’t want to rush anything. I just want to be there for you, for us to be together, however that might work.’

‘Oh God, yes. But Tom,’ the sense of responsibility for her family weighed heavily on her still, ‘it’s not just about me though. There’s Maisy and Mum and the farm.’ She had to be realistic.

‘I know all that, of course I do. You come as a team, and I’m cool with that. Like I say, we take one step at a time, and work this out together. So …’ he sounded very nervous suddenly. ‘Are you in?’

The smile on her face said it all, but she knew Tom needed to hear the words. It was hard for her to say them aloud even now, to let down her guard, even though every beat of her heart, every pulse in her veins was telling her it was true. She nodded. ‘I’m in … and Tom, I love you too.’

‘Woo-hooo,’ he shouted out over the valley. She’d take a bet that even Mum and Maisy might have heard it. It was loud enough to startle some crows, which flapped off from a nearby tree. ‘Now then, Rachel Swinton, I think it’s time to celebrate. Please be seated.’ He put on a mock-posh waiter voice.

She took a seat, on what she now recognised as one of his kitchen chairs.

‘Red or white wine to start, madam?’

‘Ah, I’ll have some white, please.’

As he started to pour, she looked down at her attire, a green boiler suit fresh from the farm with smudges of muck on.

‘Oh crikey, I’m not exactly dressed for dinner, am I?!’ She laughed.

‘No worries,’ he lowered his voice. ‘Did I ever tell you I find you very attractive in your boiler suit?’ He gave her a sexy grin.

‘Hah, no.’

‘To be honest, Rach, I’d find you very attractive in just about anything right now.’

She couldn’t help but smile.

‘Well then, the starter is already prepared.’ Tom went to the back of his pick-up, pulled out a cool box, and brought out two plates of smoked salmon, garnished with rocket and lemon slices, served with buttered bread triangles.

He placed a plate before her. ‘Okay, so I hope you’re not expecting MasterChef standard here. The barbecue is already lit. That’s kind of my level.’

Rachel looked over to see a portable barbecue stood beside his vehicle. Ah, so that was the slightly smoky tang in the air. ‘Sounds perfect to me, and this looks delicious.’

She sipped her white wine, which was crisp, fruity and vanilla all at once, and they started to eat.

‘I can’t believe you’ve done all this. It’s crazy … it’s lovely,’ she said, between delicious forkfuls. ‘And who ever said farmers can’t be romantic?’ she chuckled.

‘No reason why not,’ agreed Tom, so very glad that his plan had come together. ‘Special occasions only, of course.’

‘Ooh, I was hoping to get this every evening after work,’ Rachel grinned. ‘I could get used to this, you know.’

‘Hah, we’d never get any work done!’

They sipped their Sauvignon Blanc and chatted for a while, until Tom said, ‘Right, I’d better cook the main course on the barbecue. We have steak or sausages, or both.’

‘Both, please.’ After a day working out on the farm, she found herself ravenous.

Whilst Tom started to cook, with the barbecue coals already hot, Rachel looked out across the valley from their stunning viewpoint. The high Cheviot Hills lay behind her, and she was looking across the rolling patchwork of green, brown and golden farmland fields of North Northumberland towards the North Sea, which was a thin belt of indigo on the horizon. The sun would be setting soon and the countryside glowed in warm peach and gold tones. A blackbird hopped around near them and the last of the summer swallows and house martins dipped and swooped in the sky. It was tranquil and beautiful. Perfect.