The team didn’t need to be told twice.They scrambled off the reformers, groaning as they sauntered out of the studio, some rubbing their legs and arms.
I chuckled.‘Honestly, they run flat out for ninety minutes every week against the best of the best.But get them stretching and they turn into big babies.’
‘Those are some of the richest athletes in the Northwest, Lydia,’ Ren said, eyes crinkling.‘And you call them big babies?’
‘What can I say?’ I looped my arms around his shoulders.‘I’ve got a thing for penniless bartenders instead.’
Ren clicked his tongue.‘I’ll have you know I’m basically landed gentry now.Andwe’re the proud owners of this year’s Best Restaurant in the Northwest.Third best—’
‘Third best in the country, I know.’ I smiled, planting a kiss on his cheek, whispering in his ear, ‘So, where’s my Birkin?’
‘I don’t know what a Birkin is, but I’ve got some wood to show you.’ He grinned, winking.
I rolled my eyes.‘Come on.It’ll take us half an hour to get across this bloody farm.’
He threaded his fingers through mine.‘Oh, it’s the bloody farm now, is it?Says the woman who secured seed funding for it behind my back.’
We walked past the largest barn, its high ceilings converted from an abandoned outbuilding into a state-of-the-art gym – complete with a massive weights area, machines, and treadmills, open to PT clients, members, and hotel guests.Down the gravel path, we passed the hot yoga studio, the stables which were in the process of being turned into small offices for local businesses, and the path down to the fields where local farmers kept their sheep, grazing on the grass in the late summer sunshine.
Then, on our right, we passed the main farmhouse, now transformed into a Michelin-Guide-worthy restaurant, Magnolia, with a parlour bar and boutique hotel upstairs.The farmhouse had ivy-covered stone walls and its original windows, now restored, framed views of the orchard.Liam crafted a brilliant menu of seasonal dishes for locals and visitors alike and Kat had smashed it with the interiors, weaving in a modern farmhouse aesthetic, with terracotta floors, warm oak panelling, and mismatched vintage chairs she’d sourced from charity shops and refinished herself.
The whole farm had that charming chaos we’d come to love.Everly Heath Farm wasn’t just a gym, or a hotel, or a restaurant.It was all three, stitched together with wildflower borders, reclaimed wood sleepers, and festoon lights that flickered on at dusk.There was a bit of luxury, a lot of local charm, and Ren and me woven into every inch.
‘Lydia, Lydia,’ Pat’s nephew, Josh, our newly appointed Events Manager, came racing across the lawn in front of the Farmhouse, ‘We have a problem.’
My stomach swooped.But I took a deep breath, calming myself.Ren squeezed my hand.
‘What’s up, Josh?’
‘The power to the marquee has fused.I found the switchboard but it isn’t coming back on.I’m worried we won’t have any power for tomorrow—’
‘Hmm.We could get a back-up generator.’
Ren pulled his phone out.‘I’ll call Dad – he’ll have an electrician who can come out.’
‘This last-minute?’ I bit my lip.‘It’s Friday evening.’
Ren chuckled.‘Dad has strings he can pull, don’t worry.’
I turned to Josh, who looked at us, dumbfounded.‘You two areweirdlycalm.It’s freaking me out.’
I reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, which, since he was six foot four, wasn’t easy.
‘Josh, a few months ago, we didn’t have any working toilets in the en suites.’
‘And we had a pig escape on our soft launch.They ate the canapés.’
‘Oh, and there was that time we had someone trapped in the toilets in the restaurant and we had to call the fire brigade out to rescue them.’
Ren clicked his fingers.‘Thatwasstressful.’
I turned to Josh, beaming.‘You’re doing a great job.But this is PR, not the ER.As long as no one died, I’m not worried.’
Josh’s shoulders dropped a few inches.‘Okay, I’ll go and check on the linen delivery.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re good at that,’ Ren said, smiling, as he ran a hand down my ponytail.‘Keeping people calm.’
