Lessa ties her shawl around her waist so it doesn’t get tangled up in the thorns then holds out a hand. “Give me those for a sec.”
“The stuff is very hard to cut.” I hand them to her anyway.
She uses them to part some of the dried wood. “Look here.” She’s suddenly excited, beckoning me over.
I have to bend close over her shoulder but can see nothing and the only thing I’m aware of is her scent – feminine and clean and… I straighten and step back, away from her. “What?”
She stretches a hand all the way in.
“Careful,” I warn. Too late because her fingers come back red with blood.
“Mmm.” She licks her thumb. “Berries.”
She’s not flirting with me, she’s not flirting. Just licking her thumb, people do that.
“There’s enough here to make a pie.” She peers in again. “Several pies.”
I clear my throat. “Do you know how to make pies?”
“No, but I’m a researcher, I can research recipes.”
Against my advice, she continues collecting berries. And she’s bloody hard to argue with, especially when I’m trying not to get into a long discussion with her, to keep our contact to a minimum.
“Can you go back to the kitchen and get me a large bowl or something to put the berries in?”
“You’re going to shred your clothes,” I say. “And your hands.”
“A large bowl or something for the berries, please.” She repeats in a tone that allows no argument.
Exasperated, I pull off my gloves and hand them to her. “At least, put these on.”
Back in the kitchen I find an apron to protect her clothes from the worst of the evil bushes then search for “a large bowl or something for the berries” and find nothing. I stand in the middle of the kitchen, all the cupboards open, their contents in disarray; what the hell am I doing here? Collecting fruit from the forest. Trying to remember to buy electrical switches. I glance up at the clock on the wall, four o’clock. On a Saturday, I’d be coming to the end of a matinee performance, have taken my bow, the audience applauding and if they didn’t stop when I went off the stage, then I’d be coming back to play an encore. Maybe the cheerfulGigueif the concert is classical or baroque. Or Vaughn William’s hauntingIntersessionfor a more modern programme.
The sound of the AGA firing brings me back to the present. I must have been standing here, playing a solo piece in my head for the last ten minutes.
I get a large saucepan and a plastic washing up bowl.
The washing up bowl is large enough. I give it another rinse to make sure it doesn’t have soap residue.
Cooking, like gardening, is not my strong suit. Initially, we took turns with the cooking. Lessa made interesting foods, and fresh salads with lots of herbs and raspberries because she said it helped with her morning sickness. I made boiled pasta with grated cheese. After a few nights of this, she took over the cooking most nights.
We do have dinner together, and she’s friendly enough but doesn’t chatter. As if she’s worried about annoying me. I insist on washing up, then do my best to avoid her by going to bed early and mentally ticking off another day of celibacy.
Liam’s requestto become best friends with a woman who didn’t want to sleep with mehas no chance of happening. But I’m getting used to being around an attractive woman without feeling the urge to think about…yeah, that.
It’s getting better, slowly. Very slowly.
I take the washing up bowl and saucepan out to Lessa.
She’s managed to trim back enough dead wood and bindweed to expose brambles heavy with berries, some black, some red.
“Sorry, it’s the only thing large enough.” I hand her the bowl.
“No large salad bowl or Tupperware containers?”
“I’ll have to remember to buy some.” I repeat this silently to myself, so I remember it. “And light switches and new bathroom tiles. And…” I frown searching around in my head. “There are so many things to get. The Malon brothers say I can order a lot of it online, even tiles. But nothing arrives fast here, everything takes about two weeks because they don’t allow anyone to operate their private delivery service.”
“What?” She looks up from the heap of berries. While I was away in the kitchen, she spread her scarf on the ground and used it for the berries already collected. “Not even Amazon?”
