Almost as soon as she opened her eyes the next morning, Gaby’s spat with Will flooded back to her in all its toe-curling glory. She’d called him a boor. Pig-headed might have been in there too.
Each of those words was accurate … yet it didn’t make it right that she’d flung them at her boss. And, she now knew, he’d bought the fizz for her birthday toast. And he’d wanted that to be a secret, which was both a nice thing to do and peculiar, considering he’d been trying to avoid showing her any special attention for the past couple of weeks.
Why had he wanted to keep his generosity under wraps? Because he didn’t want her to know he cared?
Wow. Turning over the permutations felt like dragging a rake through her brain.
Dringgggg.
Ow. She reached out and bashed the cube alarm until it bounced off the table and onto the rug. It was time to get to work … unless, of course, Will had sacked her.
She sank back onto the pillows.
Never mind, she was sick to death of flowers anyway.
Yeah, right. Who was she kidding? She’d never be sick of flowers or the farm. She loved working here and she loved Scilly. She liked her down-to-earth gang of mates, the glorious views and colours and scents. She liked Jess, and she still – arghhh – even ‘liked’ Will. Even though she hated him too.
She turned over and pulled the pillow over her head. Why did life have to be so bloody complicated? Why had she let her emotions get the better of her?
Wait a minute … Will had had a lot to drink too. Would he even remember what she called him? With that flicker of optimism, she hauled herself out of bed and washed down two Nurofen with a black coffee. She was hauling herself into the shower when another of the evening’s highlights came back to her: she’d agreed to join the St Saviour’s gig team for the island championships.
*
Any hope that Will might have forgotten their sparring contest was extinguished by mid-morning when he strode down the field towards her, whistling and looking fresh as a daisy. His hair was a little tousled, there was a hint of stubble on his chin, but he was still infuriatingly gorgeous and clearly not hung-over – unlike her.
He stopped halfway to exchange a few words with Len, sending him into gales of laughter, which was disturbing in itself for Len’s default setting was miserable git. Gaby didn’t think she’d ever laugh again because her head might literally explode. The painkillers had helped for a short time, but now she needed more. She threw two more down her parched throat and glugged down some water from the flask in the pocket of her dungarees.
Will and Len were still laughing and joking. Were they talking about her? Would Will have shared their row with his mates? No. He’d never do that. She surprised herself by how definitely she answered her own question. Will was blunt and outspoken, but she’d never known him to be nasty or petty about anyone. He might join in general teasing and workplace banter but never talked about the other staff’s personal lives when they weren’t present.
They were probably sniggering at the prospect of her joining in the rowing championships, which Gaby had googled to make sure that in her semi-drunken state last night, Will and her friends hadn’t been making the whole thing up.
She’d heard enough talk about the event during her time on Scilly but never having planned on being part of it, and not being interested in sports, had let the talk pass over her head. It was a deadly serious event if you were a gig rower, involving boats not only from the isles but the whole south-west of England. She’d only put herself forward out of pride and sheer bloody-mindedness – and because she hadn’t been able to resist Will’s challenge to get hot and sweaty. In the cold light of day, she might have read more into his comment than he’d meant.
Len had stopped laughing now and Will was coming straight for her. The pills would help numb her headache but her tum was still doing a gymnastic routine to rival Beth Tweddle.
‘Morning.’
They both grunted the word at the same time. Great start.
‘Will, I think I may – possibly – owe you an apology.’ Gaby’s voice came out as a squeak. It hurt her to say sorry, but she felt that one of them had to offer a crumb of peace. Since he was her boss, and she didn’t want to leave yet, she had to be the one to back down first.
Will grunted again – whether he said yes, or thanks, she had no idea – then he peered at her. What the hell was up with him now?
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Your jumper’s on inside out.’
‘What?’ She pulled the fabric out of her dungarees and spotted the seams. ‘Was that all you came to tell me?’
He shuffled around, unable to meet her eye. ‘No. Um. I might have said some stuff that was out of order last night.’
Wow. Was that an apology? ‘Ditto,’ said Gaby quietly.
He prodded a clump of soil with the toe of his welly. ‘Probably best not to rake it over.’
Gaby picked at a loose strand of wool on her jumper. ‘Probably …’
‘And besides, we’re not going to have to put up with each other much longer, are we?’
‘Oh?’ Shit, he was going to sack her or at least ask her to leave, she thought.
‘I assume you’re going to quit after the narcissi season ends next month …’
Gaby was relieved that he hadn’t said ‘I assume you’re going to quit now,’ but put on a show of bravado. ‘That’s what it says in my contract.’
‘That’s what I said to Jess, that there was no point asking you stay on for the summer to help with the farm work and chalets.’ He lifted his eyes from the soil and searched her face hopefully.
‘The chalets? I don’t understand …’ Gaby genuinely thought she’d misheard his offer. Her stomach danced around again.
‘We need some help with the holiday lets and uplifting the bulbs and Mum can always do with a hand with the goats. But I’m assuming you’ve made plans?’
‘Swanning off round the world type plans, you mean?’ she said, unable to resist a little light teasing.
A smile briefly hovered on his lips before he grunted. ‘Yeah.’
Gaby recalled her vow to her parents to see the world and live life to the full in memory of Stevie. She hadn’t planned on staying at the farm beyond her contract, so why would his offer change that? Suddenly she realised that, for some reason, she had been putting off her plans for after Scilly since that kiss with Will. The temptation to spend more time here with him was strong, but she also wanted to see the world, the gardens … live her dreams before it was too late. One kiss shouldn’t have changed that but somehow …
She tried to stall for time. ‘I do plan on going travelling at some point, but I haven’t actually arranged anything specific yet, so I suppose I could stay on for a few months if you really need me to.’ Her heart was beating very fast and she knew she was only adding fuel to the fire by tormenting him. ‘But please, no goats. I’m not a goat person.’
He actually smiled. ‘OK. No goats. Tell you what, think about it and let me have your answer as soon as you can, but I can put you on a senior picker’s rate if money’s an issue.’
Gaby almost passed out. An extended contract and more money? Had Will had a lobotomy? She didn’t dare tease him further though. ‘Um … thanks. I’ll give it serious thought and come back to you later.’ However, she pretty much knew there would only be one answer.
‘Good. We’d better both get back to work.’
He turned to leave but Gaby called out. ‘Will. Thanks for buying the fizz at my party last night. I appreciate it.’
His head snapped up. ‘Who told you about that?’
‘One of the girls overheard Maisie and Jess talking about it.’
He blew out a breath. ‘Shit.’
Gaby cringed that she’d managed to put her foot in it again just as things had eased between her and Will. ‘Is it that bad that I found out?’
‘No. But you can’t keep anything to yourself round here. It’s so bloody small and claustrophobic. I’m sick of it.’
Wow. Gaby was too surprised by this outburst to reply.
‘I have to get back to the yard. The crate washer’s up the spout again.’ And with that he stalked off, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He hadn’t even mentioned the one thing she’d expected him to: the rowing. Had he forgotten? Then she realised: he’d been having her on! Her shoulders slumped in relief. It had been a wind-up, thank God.
Yet alongside her amazement at being asked to stay on and the hope that she wouldn’t have to row, Gaby was puzzled. What had prompted such a strong response to the fact she’d heard about the wine? Granted, he sometimes railed about various issues to do with the farm business: the market, the weather, et cetera, but they were always in the context of ‘that’s farming’. She’d never heard him say he hated island life itself or that he was sick of flower farming. He loved his mates and gig rowing and rugby and his family. What could have prompted him to suddenly speak so bitterly – and be so unguarded? And was his offer of a summer contract at the flower farm strictly business or was there more to that too?