Page 59 of Whispered Promises

“Will I starve? Do I need to eat for the day? What about taking care of business? Will the animals be okay not having any humans to feed them for twenty-four hours?” I stop, suddenly startled by the last thought and glance towards Max, but he’s not beside me anymore. Turning back, I see him a couple of steps behind, the barrow no longer in his hands as he has one cupped over his mouth, smothering what looks like a…laugh.

Is he laughing at me?

A scowl scrawls across my face, and I place my hands on my hips incredulously. The nerve of him.

“I’m sorry, cute stuff.” He chuckles. “Your mind is adorable. It’s so full of weird things. Good weird things,” he reassures, his hands reaching out placatingly when my brows rise sharply.

I fold my arms across my chest, unable to completely tamp down the need to be defensive. I’m not used to being so carefree with my thoughts; it tends to make people look at me differently.

Oddly.

“You should try being inside it,” I whisper, suddenly finding my feet fascinating as I avoid his eyes. “It’s not so fun then.”

Warm hands cup my shoulders, and he dips down, leaning into my space so he can meet my gaze. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Rosy. I like your mind and your thoughts. I want to hear all of them, always. Mine’s full of stupid shit. I like yours better.”

The sincerity in his face and words has a sheen of moisture coating the backs of my eyes, and a lump forms in my throat. “Thank you. I like yours too,” I croak, all thick with emotion.

Max swallows roughly, and the tension around us spirals with awareness. He’s so close to my face that if I sway forward, our lips could touch. At the thought, my mouth parts, and his gaze immediately zeros in on it.

Please kiss me.

Pulling back slightly, he offers a lopsided smile and places a lingering kiss on my forehead.

Did I say it out loud and not in my head? Disappointment pours through me, clinging tightly until guilt slaps me hard.

You’re with Nate. Why do I keep forgetting that?

“Come on, lemon drop. We have shit to shovel and hungry mouths to feed.”

My eyes roll at his poor attempt at boosting morale, but I find myself following quickly after him.

TWENTY-FOUR

ROSY

Why do Mondays feel like the longest days at work?

It probably has something to do with all the manual work on the farm on weekends, but throw in the confusing encounters with Bry and Max and the drinks out with Steph…I’m ready for a twenty-four-hour nap. A forty-eight-hour one might be better.

“Good morning, Rosemary.”

I startle violently, and a too-wide smile spreads across Peter’s face. How does he appear so silently like that?

“Morning, Peter,” I respond, fighting the ingrained societal politeness that requires me to ask how he’s doing in return.

I’m not doing it. Manners can fuck off right now, because I don’t want to hold a conversation with him if I don’t have to. Does that make me a bad person?

He pauses, an arched brow rising expectantly. It almost works too. The crushing silence has me wincing internally, needing to fill it. Peter clears his throat, and his eyes narrow with a flicker of what looks like displeasure.

“Did you manage to locate the candidate’s details I asked for?”

Shitballs. Did I forget to do something last week? I really don’t remember that conversation at all.

“Sorry, no. Who was it for? I’ll get it sent over right away,” I apologise, internally panicking over missing something. I don’t usually miss things because I’m constantly worried that if I do, I’ll get fired. It’s probably irrational to think that over something so small, but nothing is guaranteed, and I need this job.

His finger taps against my desk in a rapid staccato, and I wince at his disappointment. “Check your emails; I already gave you the details. You’re better than this, Rosemary.”

He turns sharply, and his shoes clip as he strides away. My cheeks flame as I desperately search through my emails, scrolling to locate the wayward one he sent…