All They Need(23)

She started navigating her way through the garden, her stride long and urgent. Panic fluttered in her chest. He’d be angry with her for keeping him waiting and wasting his time. He’d be wondering why he’d bothered asking her to come, regretting his impulsive invitation. She’d be lucky if he hadn’t simply driven off and left her to find her own way home.

She was aiming for the side patio entrance when she spotted Flynn leaning against the low stone wall near the rose garden. He lifted a hand in greeting and she altered her trajectory and joined him at the wall.

“I’m so sorry. I lost track of time,” she said. “I was trying to work out what sort of fruit trees you’ve got down there and I guess I just got carried away—”

“Relax. I only got here myself. I’ve been exploring the outbuildings.”



He said it easily, with a shrug of his shoulder, and it took a moment for it to sink in that he meant it.

He isn’t Owen. You don’t have to answer to anyone anymore.

Sudden, hot tears pushed at the back of her eyes. She recognized the reaction for what it was—a hangover from her marriage, a mental shortcut her mind had slipped into out of habit—but the last thing she wanted to do was bawl like a baby in front of Flynn.

She ducked her head, letting her hair fall over her face, and did her damnedest to stop the tears from falling.

“So have you successfully ripped off all the best design elements from my orchard?”

“Absolutely.” Her voice sounded a little thick and she cleared her throat. She used the excuse of pushing her hair behind her ear to wipe a tear from her cheek. Then she took a deep breath, blinked a few more times and forced herself to make eye contact with him.

Like a normal person.

“You said outbuildings, plural. So there’s more than the garage?”

His gaze swept over her face. She tensed, but when he spoke his tone was even and utterly casual.

“Yep. There’s a little dark building I suspect was once a dairy. And way over in the north corner there’s a rusting monster of a shed, filled with enough old garden tools to start my own kibbutz.”

“Really? I wonder if Brian and Grace realize they left them behind?”

“I’m going to talk to Spencer about it later, but I suspect they figured they wouldn’t be needing them in a retirement village.”

“No, I guess not.”



Since he didn’t seem inclined to leave yet, she leaned against the wall beside him and tried to regain her equilibrium. She stared at the toes of her work boots, angry with herself and a little scared. She’d thought she was over the worst of her divorce. She’d survived the dark early days, held her head high through the ugliness of the settlement, and now she had her own place, her own life, her friends and family around her.

So why was she slipping into old behaviors? Why, out of nowhere, had she suddenly lapsed into Old Mel?

Old Mel, who had run herself ragged trying to be good. Old Mel, who had developed the act of effacement into an art form.

“I know it’s a jungle at the moment, but it’s still bloody beautiful.”

Mel glanced at the man sitting next to her, pulled out of her introspection. He was gazing over the land, the edges of his mouth curled in an almost smile. She turned to consider the view, taking in the sweeping lawn and the nearby stand of silver birches, the overgrown garden beds with their flowing, natural lines, and the distant winter skeletons of a stand of oak trees. It was a jungle—overgrown and unruly, unbalanced and messy. But it was also calm and green and real.

The churning in her stomach slowed. She took a deep breath, let it out again.

“It’s not bad,” she said, her tone deliberately low-key.

Flynn gave her a dry sideways look. Despite everything, she found herself smiling a little.

“It’s a shame about those benches,” he said, his eyes on the view once more.

“There’s a guy at the farmers’ market in the village sometimes. I don’t know his name, but he works with local timber and driftwood.”

“When’s the next market?”

“It’s the first Sunday of every month, so you just missed it.”

“Huh.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence. Then Flynn gave a sigh and pushed himself to his feet.

“I guess I’d better hand the keys back,” he said with obvious reluctance.

“Don’t worry, it’s only ten days or so till settlement.”