All They Need(31)
She had no idea if any of it was making a difference, but she didn’t know what else to do, either.
Her gaze shifted, focusing on the ghostlike reflection in the window instead of the yard outside. The woman staring back at her looked so sad and lost that she felt an instinctive surge of compassion for her.
You’ll get there. Don’t worry. You’ll muddle your way through.
Turning away, she flicked off the light and walked to her bedroom. The familiar bedtime routine of washing her face and brushing her teeth was infinitely soothing, a form of behavioral valium, and she climbed into bed and pulled the quilt high around her shoulders.
Rather than give her whirling thoughts more oxygen, she very deliberately called up an image of her orchard-to-be.
Her brow furrowed with concentration, she began to plan her design. After a few minutes, her brow smoothed out.
Not long after that, she slipped into the forgetfulness and comfort of sleep.
THE FIRST THING Mel remembered the next morning was that she’d promised her brush-cutter to Flynn so he could tackle his blackberries.
She groaned, covering her face with her hands.
Everything in her rebelled at the thought of facing him again after her undignified retreat last night. There was no way he didn’t know why she’d left—she might as well have hung a sign over her head with the words I’m sexually aware of you glowing in hot pink neon, the way she’d scrambled for the exit the moment he’d mentioned he was single.
He probably doesn’t expect to see you, anyway. He probably thinks you made an off-the-cuff offer and won’t be surprised if you don’t follow through.
She seized on the idea the moment it registered. People made offers all the time that they didn’t follow through on. Come over for dinner sometime, we’ll have to catch up, blah, blah. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she simply…forgot to take her brush-cutter over to Summerlea.
Except, of course, that it would make her a big old yellow-bellied scaredy-cat. A cowardly custard who made excuses for herself instead of facing up to the world. Last night, she’d stood at her kitchen sink and grieved for the bold, adventurous, confident woman she’d once been. The only way she was going to get her back was to start challenging herself, pushing herself to move past all the little safety mechanisms she’d built into her life to protect herself and please her ex-husband.
She threw off the sheets and rolled out of bed. Then she showered and breakfasted and went out to collect the brush-cutter from the shed. She checked the oil, filled it with fuel and switched the bump-feed line head for the brush-cutting blade. Then she put all the necessary accessories together in a recyclable bag and loaded it into her car. She was about to head over to Summerlea when both sets of her guests appeared to hand in their keys and extend their thanks for a relaxing stay. She directed them to local cafés with reputations for good breakfasts and handed out winery trail maps and a guide to the Tyabb antiques market in case they wanted to see a little more of the area before heading home. Then she girded her loins and drove over to Summerlea.
She collected the brush-cutter and accessories and did battle with the rusty gate latch before marching up the path. Her boots sounded very heavy and loud on the porch as she crossed to the front door.
She knocked, the sound echoing inside the house. Flynn didn’t answer immediately and she rested the brush-cutter on the porch and knocked again. When nothing but silence greeted her, she walked around the house to double-check that his car was still there. It was.
He was obviously in the garden somewhere, even though it was still early. She could leave the equipment on the porch for him to find later. It was the perfect win-win—she would have fulfilled her obligation without having to look him in the eyes after last night’s cut and run.
Sure, why not do that, you big old wuss? Then you could swing by the supermarket on the way home and grab enough canned food and bottled water so that you don’t have to leave the house for the next six months.
She sighed. This being-brave, reclaiming-her-old-self business was hard work. Hoisting the cutter over her shoulder, she headed into the garden.
He’d mentioned the blackberry thicket was on the western boundary, so she headed there first. She walked along the sweep of lawn and onto a meandering forest path. She heard Flynn before she saw him, a colorful string of swear words floating to her on the breeze.
She found him in a small clearing that was dominated by a huge, bristling wall of blackberry bushes. The scattering of cut canes at his feet suggested he’d already launched his assault, but for the moment he was standing with his head bowed, a pair of hedge shears and thick gardening gloves at his feet as he examined a scratch on the back of his bare hand.