“My dad lives over there.” I point across the field as his motorbike light comes back on, illuminating the stretch of grass.
“That’s wheremydad lives, so I doubt that.”
“There, then.” I adjust my arm direction.
“You’re Ralph’s daughter? Of course you are. My mom said his daughter was coming from England. That’s you?”
“That’s me.”
“In that case, it would be quicker to go downhill and turn right along the farm track.”
I sigh dramatically, turn around, and shout out with annoyance as I’m blinded by his headlight again.
“You don’t have to follow me,” I say when I realize he’s planning on doing exactly that. “Go back to whatever it was you were up to out here in the dark.”
“Last thing I need is you breaking an ankle. My mom would kill me.”
“You sound a bit too old to be worried about what your momma thinks,” I say dryly.
“Nobody is too old to worry about what their momma thinks.”
“So, this is your land, is it? What are you, a farmer?”
“Nope, that’s my brother.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
“Watch it!” he yells, almost running me over.
I spin around and am blinded again. “For goodness’ sake!” I shout, shielding my eyes. “I could see better in the moonlight!”
He barks out a laugh and I avert my face, my heart jumping at the awareness of who it is I’m likely talking to.
“You’re Anders, aren’t you?” Before he can answer, I add, “And your brother is Jonas?”
“Yes,” he replies after a slight hesitation, probably wondering how I know that.
I have a flashback to our extended moment of eye contact and feel incredibly skittish, despite the units of alcohol that are supposed to be dampening my senses.
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“Wren.”
I remember, then, that he averted his gaze first and I’m pretty sure he didn’t glance my way again, not even on his way out through the bar. I’m embarrassed to admit I was watching when he left to see if he would, finally giving in to the inexplicable ache I’d felt since that moment he’d first caught me in a stare.
I steel myself against him, his snub.
“You really can stop trailing after me.”
“I don’t want you getting lost, now, do I?”
I scoff. “I won’t get lost. I’m an architect. I’ve got an excellent sense of direction.”
He lets out a low chuckle that tucks itself beneath my rib cage. “Is that right?” There’s a beat and then he exhales with what sounds like resignation. “Let me give you a lift home.”
I jolt to my senses and let out a single loud laugh. “You must be joking. No thanks. I’ve seen how you ride that thing.”
No way am I going to be some random man’s damsel in distress.
