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“Schnitzel? Did you name them all after food?”

I shrug. “Jake and I thought it would be funny. And it was. We have Nugget, Schnitzel, Parma, and Kyiv. And some normal-named ones among them. Mum would have killed us if they were all food items. Now pat Schnitzel. On her back, if you don’t mind.” Watching, Oliver hesitantly reaches out a hand and gently brushes her back. She clucks again, making him flinch.

“Alright. Cool. Enough chickens for me for a lifetime. Can we go inside again?”

I put Schnitzel down which causes her to fluff her wings and Oliver looks like he’s a second away from sprinting back into the house.

“Not a big chicken man?”

“I think I prefer eating them.”

“There you are,” Mum says as we walk back into the kitchen. I place the basket full of veggies from the garden on the kitchen bench and Mum looks over them appreciatively. Oliver’s face still hasn’t returned to its usual colour since his earlier chicken run-in. That’ll teach him that the farm is not such a peaceful place. “I need you two to go and grab some things for the show.”

“Show?” Oliver asks from the sink, washing his hands a bit too furiously. Definitely not a chicken person.

“The town has an Easter show every year. It’s tomorrow,” I answer as I pass him a tea towel to dry his hands.

“I work at the local high school,” Mum continues as she cuts up the veggies we pulled from the garden. “We run the art exhibition every year. Miller family tradition.”

“What do you need us to get?” I ask as I snatch a piece of carrot, crunching on it. Mum tuts at me as I hand Oliver a chunk.

“Careful now, missy. I’ll get your fingers next time.” She points the knife at me before returning to work. “Just the usual from town. The local craft store should have display signs for us ready-made, and anything else you can think of. You can take Dad’s ute if you want.”

“Wait, tomorrow? When is Easter?” Oliver asks, eyebrows furrowed. Mum shoots me a look.

“Tomorrow,” I respond gently. Tension settles across his shoulders. He laughs, but it sounds more strained than usual.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Whoops.”

“Uni work has really gotten to you, hasn’t it? The weeks all seem to blur into one,” I suggest, praying Mum doesn’t notice his hesitation. If she does, she doesn’t mention it.

“The keys are on the front porch. And try not to hit anything this time, Eden. Mrs Williams will not stop reminding me about her fence.”

“Okay, Mum. Love you. We’ll be back soon.” Grabbing Oliver’s hand, I drag him towards the front door. I don’t think about how nice his hand is to hold. How warm. How comforting. No. Just get him away from another embarrassing story. Our hands break away when I grab the car keys off the hook near the front door. Regrettably.

“What was that about Mrs Williams’ fence?” Oliver asks as we make our way down the driveway to the car. The gravel crunches under my feet as I try to settle my burning cheeks.

“You really don’t miss anything, do you? It was one time, okay? Mum took me out to learn how to drive and I may have…driven through a fence.” He barks out a laugh, which makes his mess of curls bounce. His hair has grown so much since the start of the semester. Not that I noticed. “It’s not funny!” I say indignantly, rolling my eyes. “I was like sixteen.”

“Oh, Eden! The more I find out about you the more I love you!” He chuckles as he opens the passenger door. “Should I really be trusting you to drive?”

What.

What did he just say?

“Eden?”

“Yeah, coming,” I respond, sliding into the driver’s seat. “It’ll be fine. I just haven’t driven in a while. No fence-crashing, I promise.”

What the fuck did he just say?

If Oliver is going through the same amount of inner turmoil as me, his face certainly does not betray anything. We drive silently into town, Oliver watching the fields go by. I only stall the car once and thankfully Oliver doesn’t comment on it. Probably because he doesn’t know how to drive a manual, thank God.

“Where are we going?” Oliver’s green eyes switch from the window to my face. I can always feel when he’s watching me, even without looking at him.

“There’s a craft shop on the main road which Mum usually grabs everything from. She’s put an order in, so we’ll just have to pick that up and anything else I can think of.” Pulling into a parking spot, I instantly slouch in my seat, hissing out a swear.

“What?” Oliver asks. “What’s wrong?” I grab his arm and pull him down to my level, so close I can feel his warm breath on my neck.