Page 32 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘You don’t have to apologise for everything that goes wrong,’ he said.

‘Right. Yes. I know. Sorry.’ She winced. ‘I mean . . . not sorry. I mean . . .’

He replaced his hat.

Sammy looked anywhere but directly at him. ‘So,’ she said, gesturing vaguely at the beds, ‘this is all . . . very impressive.’

‘It’s mostly on track.’

‘You say that like it happens all on its own.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘Do you have a favourite vegetable?’ she asked in a teasing voice. ‘Or is that too personal?’

His mouth twitched. ‘No.’

‘No favourite? Or no to the question?’

‘Both.’

‘I see. Strong boundaries around vegetables.’

‘What about you?’ he asked.

Sammy opened her mouth. Stopped. it was such an ordinary question, yet no one had ever asked her that before. ‘I . . . I don’t think I do,’ she said. ‘Jean likes peas. Chloe likes chips . . . but that’s not really the question, is it?’

‘No.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’ It seemed as if he was studying her. ‘Beetroot,’ she added quickly. ‘I don’t like beetroot.’

‘Noted.’

A chicken wandered between them, pecking with studied determination. ‘See that,’ Sammy said, tipping her chin towards the chicken, ‘very self-sufficient. Gets on with things. No questions asked.’ She checked his face. ‘Bit like you,’ she said. ‘Do you ever . . .’ she pressed her lips together, then pushed on, ‘get tired of doing all this, of being on your own?’

‘No.’

‘No? Or you don’t let yourself?’ She smiled, trying to lighten it. ‘Or are you avoiding the question?’

Something in his expression opened, briefly – before closing again. ‘Love always comes with a price,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford to pay it.’

Sammy wondered if he’d forgotten she was there and had been talking to himself. ‘That’s . . . quite a statement for a vegetable garden.’

‘It’s a statement,’ he replied. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back?’

‘Yes . . . I er . . .’

‘I’ll dig up some root vegetables, bring them to the house later.’

‘Ta.’

Sammy was aware of the way her heart had picked up for reasons that had very little to do with cabbages. She had the oddest feeling she’d just glimpsed behind a door he had meant to keep firmly shut. She reached for the nearest plant, brushing her fingers over the leaves. ‘Well. Good to know where you stand on that. I’ll stick to asking about vegetables.’

Nate didn’t reply.

She brushed her hands together. ‘I’ll leave you to your . . . emotionally neutral cabbages then.’

Nate gave her a half-smile. ‘I’m heading down to the lake,’ he said. ‘Ducks are waiting. You can join me if you like.’