“Sorry.Jointlyrun. But you know what I mean. It’s not exactly a glamorous job, and while we’re comfortable for money, we’re never going to be rich.”
She pulls out of my arms and pokes her finger against my chest this time. “You listen to me, Pete Harbrook. You work hard. You own your own house.” She underlines each point witha jab of her finger. “You’re one of the nicest people I know. Generous to a fault and always willing to help people. You’re a catch!”
I can’t help but laugh, hoping she can’t hear the edge of bitterness to it. “And boring as fuck by the sounds of it.” I start walking again, needing this conversation to be done with now. “Men don’t want boring, Sadie. I don’t go on fancy holidays or spend money on clothes or nights out.” I hold my hands out wide. “I think I have to accept that I’m not that much of a catch after all.” And I need to be ok with it, because I don’t see any of that changing.
I like my life.
I love my home, and most days I love my job.
As we reach our cars, Sadie fishes out her keys, then pauses. “I get what you’re saying, even though I don’t agree. But you could’ve easily been describing Sean there, and look at him and Vic now.”
“They had a past, though. They weren’t strangers.”
She rolls her eyes. “Years ago.” She unlocks her car and opens the door. “Maybeyou’vealready met your Mr Right. You just need him to come back into your life for your second chance.”
“Right. And you’ve been reading too many romance books. Real life doesn’t work like that.”
“Sometimes it does.” Her phone chimes with a text and she glances at the screen. “Dinner’s ready. I need to get going.”
“Night, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night.” She gets in her car, lowering the window as she starts the engine. “Have a little faith, Pete. Karma doesn’t forget, and I’m convinced she’s got something good in store for you.”
I watch her drive off before heading to my own car, her words lingering in my head.
Am I due some good karma?
I’d like to think so, but not gonna hold my breath.
However, our conversation has rekindled the hope that maybe this is the year I won’t wake up alone on Christmas morning. Or when the clock hits midnight on New Year’s Eve, I won’t be outside in the cold.
I laugh and shake my head as I get in my car.
Come on, Pete.Considering we’re almost in December, I think it’s pretty fucking unlikely any of that will actually happen.
That doesn’t mean I don’t imagine the fuck out of it all the way back to my cottage.
I’m feelinga mix of horny and lonely after dinner—not the best combination—but nothing on the TV holds my attention, and I reach for my phone. Hook-up apps don’t hold all that much appeal these days. Not that I haven’t used them before, but that’s usually when I’ve been staying somewhere with a bigger population than Charnwell.
Pretty sure I know nearly every guy around here who’s gay, bi, or pan, and we’ve either been there, done that, or it’s never going to happen. The Hope Valley gets its fair share of visitors, even in winter, but very rarely are any of them hot single guys looking to hook up.
Not for the first time, my mind wanders back to last New Year’s Eve and the hot singleishguy I met outside the pub. Granted, he’d only just broken up with his boyfriend, so definitely not looking for anything more than a friendly chat, but still. It’d been nice.
Eleven months have probably warped my memory of what he looked like but not the way our short encounter made me feel.
Alive.
For the first time in a long while, I’d felt that spark of interest. The curious urge to get to know someone. I often wonder if he and his ex made up when he got back home.
In my head I imagine they didn’t. And that he’s sitting somewhere thinking of me like I think of him.
I’m still smiling when I go to bed that night. And if I fall asleep picturing dark, messy hair and brown eyes, then that’s my business.
Saturday morning dawns crisp and clear, only a few wispy clouds in a beautiful blue sky. There’s a chill in the air, but not anywhere as cold as it can get around here. It’s the perfect day for a hike, but since it’s coming up to our busiest time of the year at the tree farm, I’m not going to have any free weekends between now and Christmas.
This morning I’m up early to deliver two Christmas trees to Hailey and her wife, Charlotte, who run the Charnwell Inn. They’re a little late with their decorations this year, but I guess having an almost one year old in the house will do that. I’m taking them one tree for inside and a taller one for out front. Not gonna lie, I always get a kick out of seeing them all lit up when we go for a drink.
It takes about twenty minutes to get to the pub from the farm. I spot Vic getting out of his car as I turn into the car park. Lowering my window, I give him a wave as I pull up outside the front door. “Have they roped you in to help?”
