Page 13 of Whispered Promises

“Plus loads of people have complete strangers as flat- or housemates. I’d rather live with people I know. Remember Felix from school? He bought a place with the friend he was living with, and they work together too. I guess it’s not the ideal life goal for most people, but why live alone when you can share with friends?”

“I’m not sure it boosts our chances of finding anyone who’d want to settle down with each of us, though,” I confide.

Downing the last of his drink, he laughs. “We’ll find the one.”

“Ones, you mean. Not one,” I point out, sliding the tomato-spiced potatoes into the bottom oven.

The timer goes off, and I spin back around, pulling the bread dough out to check on the proofing. By the time I turn back around, Noah's disappeared.

SEVEN

ROSY

Max surprised me this morning by appearing at my door as I was leaving, and my sleep-dazed brain invited him to ride with me to the farm. So now I’ve been stuck with him all day.

He has followed me around from chore to chore this morning, and he’s been so attentive, asking questions about the animals and their stories. He’s even given them all attention, much to my jealousy, which feels…weird. It can’t be appropriate to feel jealous of them.

He also asked me over for dinner.

My hands feel clammy thinking back on the conversation and the impending commitment for tonight.

I’d been mid-sip of my water when he blurted out that I was invited back to his flat for dinner later. There had been no stopping the liquid going down the wrong way and sending me into a choking fit. Which, embarrassingly, resulted in Max slapping me roughly on the back. To which he had then said, “Well, you have to come now. Seeing as I almost choked you to death. I need to at least apologise with good food. Except I can’t cook, so I’ll have to owe Bry one for cooking it for me.”

My throat had been burning and raw from the coughing, so I couldn’t muster the words to respond straight away. Then his hand had turned soothing, rubbing circles into my back and short-circuiting my brain as he asked about any dietary needs.

It’s now the afternoon, and I’m still not sure how I got roped into dinner with people I’ve just met.

My sleep-deprived brain has turned into an anxious, lust-filled mush.

Picking up an empty wheelbarrow, I smile at Max. “Can you grab the fork leaning against the side, please?” I ask, pushing the barrow past the row of stables for the few ponies we have and stopping at the feed storage barn. Manoeuvring the barrow into the space, I grab a few buckets and start shovelling feed into each of them, then stack them up on top of each other.

Turning around to Max, I smile as he stands there looking a little lost.

“If you can just hoist a couple of hay bales onto the barrow, please?” It’s a nice relief to have someone else who can help, rather than struggling to drag them on myself like usual.

Maybe it isn’t so bad having him here. I might even go home without a backache today.

“Hay bales, got it.” Rubbing his hands together, he strides over to the mountain of stacked hay and stares at them a moment before looking over his shoulder at me. “Uhh, where do I start?”

I cover my mouth to hold in a chuckle at his wide-eyed look. “If you scootch around the side of the stack, there might be a loose one on the floor. If not, then you need to climb up and grab them from the top.”

“Okay, sure. I can do that…” His response is hesitant, and I fight harder to hold back the laugh. I’m not sure he’s going to be any quicker than me struggling by myself, but it’s at least entertaining watching him looking bewildered.

“I’ve got one!” he yells triumphantly as he side-steps from around the back with a bale. He places it in my barrow and puffs out his chest.

“Okay, that’s great. Thank you. But now we need another one. If there are no more around the back, you need to climb up.” I point up at it.

Stepping up to the stacked bales, Max rolls his shoulders, then hoists himself up slowly onto the first layer.

“If you grab the bale on the stack above you, then toss it down to the bottom, I can grab it,” I call, trying not to get distracted by the view. Have his trousers been that tight all day?

How am I only noticing now?

Max shuffles around tentatively. He grips the bale string tightly; the muscles in his tanned forearms and biceps flex with his movements.

Am I drooling? Crap, I think I might be.

“Incoming!” he calls out in forewarning, then drops the bale to the floor in front of me.