“Something like that. I grew up on a farm. Heavy lifting and grunt work.” He tried not to flex his muscles.
“And now you’re dancing around a ballroom and about to eat cake?” Sorrell’s hand rose to touch his arm and he felt the heat of her through his shirt.
“A bit different from trying to round up cows and dance them into the shippon,” he said. “Where’s the cake?”
Her laugh was a giggle. “It’s in the lounge—or one of them. This place is huge. I saw a bit of the wing that’s used for the people with dementia and it was like stepping back in time, but I suppose that’s the idea.”
Zack nodded, starting the walk back to the lounge where he figured the cakes would be. “I was a social worker for a few years,” he said. “But for the elderly rather than kids. My uncle had owned Sunrise for a few years; he bought it from a local businessman who wanted to move to Dubai and it looked for a while like the manor house would be sold to the highest bidder and the residents would need to be relocated. Jake’s dad, Tony, stepped in and added it to his portfolio. A year later he brought me in as manager, but with the brief to create a bespoke setting for sufferers of dementia because of my interest in that area and the need for it.”
“So you designed and built a bespoke place for it,” Sorrell said. “That’s not just bringing you in as manager; that’s a whole lot bigger than that.”
Zack shrugged. “I like it. I like being here and working with the residents and adding what I can to their lives. Don’t get me wrong, I spend most of my days in the office arguing with local authorities about fees or health professionals about levels of care, but when I can, I escape and dance with Glenda or play rummy with Mac. Or occasionally chase alpacas out of the building.” An alpaca was staring through the glass wall that separated the walkway from the field next to it—the field belonging to the farm, and the field where Jake had decided to keep the long necked beasts that were peering through the windows like they were watchingAt Home with the Kardashiansor whatever shit it was called.
“I feel like you should have a sainthood or at the very least, a halo over your head,” Sorrell said. “Maybe a title, say, Sir Zachariah of Grumpiness, or something.”
He stopped walking, making Sorrell halt suddenly. She looked worried until he laughed.
“You might be right. I would be known as the grumpy Maynard, except Scott’s earned that title. I know I was a dick when I first met you. But I was in a fix,” he said. “And to be fair, it was your fault.”
She shook her head. “It was my ex’s fault. He was meant to have secured a contract with a building firm, but he did half a job, like he did with everything, if he did a job at all. And I had to get that sunroom done for the wedding.”
“Why is he such a dick?” Zack tapped on a window to try to encourage the alpaca to fuck off and stop eyeing them as its evening entertainment.
“Because, I guess he messed me about. He realised that I wasn’t enough for him, I suppose,” Sorrell said.
“Why? Not wanting to speak out of turn but you’ve bought a building to do into a hotel, that’s a shit load of commitment and again, not wanting to say anything wrong but you’re not exactly ugly and you’re clearly intelligent,” Zack said, aware that the filters he usually had on his mouth were currently flying from the flagpole.
Sorrell laughed. “Is that your way of telling me I’m a catch?”
Zack nodded. “Well, you are. Which reminds me: my cousin is a manwhore. If he feeds you a line about having puppies at his house and would you like to stroke them, the puppies he’s referring to are something else that’s furry.”
Sorrell’s laughter was louder now, her eyes sparkling and he felt as if he’d grown a foot and had muscles like Arnold Schwarzenegger, all because he’d made the pretty girl laugh.
“I can handle Jake. I had plenty of practice dealing with boys like him at school. A conversation about politics usually keeps them at arm’s length,” she said as they continued to walk down the corridor.
“He’d probably consider that foreplay. But you didn’t answer my question – why did you get rid of your dickhead ex?”
She glanced at the floor, a gesture he’d noticed she did a lot and he didn’t like it. “I didn’t get rid of him. He got rid of me.”
“What?” Zack said. “Seriously?”
“You sound surprised,” she said.
He wanted to brain the fool with a pitchfork for being so damn stupid. “I think surprised is putting it mildly.”
Sorrell shrugged. “Thank you. I appreciate it. But I wasn’t – Mark is all about the adventure and I guess I wasn’t adventurous enough for him.”
Zack studied her and fought the urge to let lose a tirade about how starting a business from scratch and moving to a new place was pretty adventurous but something told him to keep his mouth firmly shut. For now at least.
“He’s lost out,” he said, keeping it short. “Let’s eat cake.”
Chapter 8
Sorrell stayed with him and some of the residents, talking to them and soaking up the compliments about her baking. Zack watched her as closely as he could without seeming like a creep, noticing how her hands moved when she was explaining something and how her eyes lit up with interest when she became engrossed in a conversation.
She was good with people, even with May Pearson who was grumpier than a grounded teenager, and she spoke to his residents with patience and a genuine interest.
“Tell me you’re not staying in by yourself tonight?” he said, as she started to pull on her coat. He had plans to go round to Jake’s and watch the Friday night football match, although they’d probably end up in Scott’s bar before last orders.
