Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
If she’d told me this three months ago, I’d have shrugged, said “Good for them,” and gone about my business.
Now, I was torturing myself. I flipped through picture after picture of the event, full of faces I didn’t know. My heart stuttered every time I saw Oliver’s handsome face, only to squeeze painfully every time I saw a woman standing near him.
Touching him.
Smiling at him.
Being smiled at by him.
That was the worst bit. When he had a hand on their back or leant in towards them, when he smiled at them, when he gave them any kind of attention that was more than superficial.
The ugly twist of jealousy knotted in my lower stomach, and I shoved the stupid tablet away from me again. Nothing good would come of me sitting here staring at these pictures over and over. It wouldn’t change the situation we were in.
That was his home. That was where his life was. That’s what his life was like. It was business meetings and sharp suits and shiny jewels. Fancy food and expensive liquor and charitable donations that wouldn’t so much as scratch the surface of his bank account.
Mine was nothing like it.
My business meetings happened over a cup of tea or coffee in a conservatory. My sharp suits were grass-stained shorts and t-shirts, maybe even a dress if I was feeling fancy. Jewels? Ha—as if they could be worn while gardening.
The fanciest food I ate was produce I’d grown myself, expensive liquor was a Christmas treat, and charitable donations most definitely moved the number in my bank.
We were chalk and cheese.
We had been since we met.
Even that first night, he’d been quiet and reserved where I’d been loud and free. I was the one who’d approached him. I was the one who’d eked a laugh out of him, who’d pulled him out of his shell. I was the one who’d suggested another drink together, then one upstairs.
None of this would have happened if I’d minded my own business that night.
A part of me wished I could turn back time. Wished I could go back to that night and make different choices—I wouldn’t take the seat at the bar next to him, I wouldn’t order another drink, and I wouldn’t speak to him.
I’d finish my drink and leave, keeping my business mine, and his business his.
That way, when he showed up at my plot and handed me a closure notice, that would be the true beginning of our relationship.
If I could go back, I’d never know the feel of his lips or the touch of his hand. I’d never know what it was like to be wrapped in his arms, to be held in a way that made you feel like the most wonderful thing in the world.
I’d never know what it would feel like to be the most important person in someone’s eyes.
Because that was how he looked at me sometimes. Like there was nothing else, only me. No matter how I tried to ignore it or he tried to hide it, I caught it in those fleeting moments where he’d let his guard down.
I was sure he’d noticed the same thing for me, too.
I knew I looked at him that way. Sometimes I couldn’t help it. Sometimes my heart just skipped a little too enthusiastically or my stomach fluttered a little too smoothly and all my self-control went out of the window. There was no way he hadn’t noticed me looking at him as if he were made of magic.
Maybe he was.
That was the worst thing about this whole situation.
Maybe Oliver de Havilland was made of magic.
God only knew he’d added some sparkle to my life.
He had to be magic. There was no way I could both love and hate him so intensely if he wasn’t. I wanted to throttle him and kiss him at the same time, almost every time I looked his way. I was constantly at war with myself, fighting what I felt and what I thought I should be feeling.
Perhaps it really was time for me to pull up my big girl knickers and do what I should have done weeks ago instead of putting it off. I needed to end this ambiguous relationship.
There were only four weeks until we had to vacate the allotments. All of us had already begun moving our personal belongings, but there was still so much to do. Sheds and greenhouses had to be deconstructed and moved on, equipment needed to be carted around or sold off, and what plants and trees could be moved and saved needed to be carefully cared for.
It was almost too much to bear.
Maybe this was the right time, though. If I said goodbye to two things I loved at once, then I’d only have to feel heartbreak once, right? I could process it all at the same time.