All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,75
recounted a story about Rex and Eddy. The kettle boiled and Mel made them both coffee, and an hour later her sister left, her doubts apparently assuaged.
Mel went into the garden afterward, wishing she could say the same. She’d meant every word she’d said to her sister, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The garden had always been her sanctuary when she was troubled and she tackled the weeds encroaching on the path with a vengeance, deriving a certain amount of satisfaction from restoring order.
She couldn’t stop Justine’s words from echoing in her head, however. Her sister thought Flynn was crazy about her—besotted had been the word she’d used. She’d even made a crack about him proposing, of all things.
Both notions made Mel feel a little ill. She didn’t want Flynn to be besotted with her. She wanted him to like her and to enjoy spending time with her, and she wanted him to desire her—but she didn’t want any of those wants or likes or desires to become too messy or demanding. The same as she didn’t want her own wants, likes or desires in regard to him to take on a life of their own. She wanted to feel in control, and she wanted a sense of separation between her and him, a clear demarcation line that allowed her to maintain her life and him his while allowing them both to meet somewhere in the middle.
She certainly didn’t want him to propose. Even the thought of getting married again made her dizzy with anxiety.
Calm down, Miss Melodrama. You’ve barely been seeing the man a week. You are getting way, way, way too far ahead of yourself. Remember what you said to your sister? You’re taking it as it comes. Moment by moment, day by day.
Mel refocused on the pathway, shifting along a few feet and tugging at the weeds, tossing them into a pile. After a few minutes, her heart rate normalized.
Her sister may have had good intentions, but Mel could definitely have done without her probing questions and unsolicited observations this morning. She’d already decided not to obsess over what might happen with Flynn, and she needed to stick to that undertaking if this was going to work for her. For both of them.
Resolute, she pushed her sister’s and her own doubts away and concentrated on her garden.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FLYNN CALLED MEL the following evening when he got home from work. They talked for nearly an hour while he made himself stir-fry chicken and vegetables, discussing her latest bookings and their various ongoing garden projects. As always, her voice sounded sultry over the phone and he found himself remembering key moments from their last encounter as they talked.
Mel stealing one of his curry puffs at the Thai restaurant where they’d had dinner then laughing throatily at his mock-outrage.
Mel on his sofa, a knowing look in her eyes as he popped open the stud on her jeans.
Mel sleeping beside him, her body curled loosely, her hair spread across the pillow and his shoulder and chest.
“Pick somewhere nice and I’ll take you out tomorrow night,” he said impulsively.
They’d been discussing the soil quality at Summerlea and there was a small pause on the other end of the phone.
“You don’t have to take me out.”
“I want to.”
“You’re afraid of my cooking, aren’t you?”
“No. I want to show you off.”
“To whom, exactly?” She sounded amused.
“Anyone and everyone. What about that French place in the village?”
“Too posh.”
He remembered her discomfort when he’d taken her out for lunch at that Spanish place. “Fine. Then we’ll go to the local pub. How does that sound?”
“More my speed.”
They talked for another five minutes before winding up their call. The thought of the weekend ahead kept his head above water the following day when various loads of manure hit assorted fans. He was wading through the most recent disaster when he glanced at his computer and saw that it was nearly six. He’d planned to leave at six-thirty, but he was savvy enough to know he wasn’t even close to being done for the day.
He reached for the phone and called Mel, explaining the issue and telling her that he was going to be late.
“I have no idea what time I’ll get down there,” he said apologetically. “Do you still want me to come over?”
“Why don’t we do this? Give me a call when you’re twenty minutes away and I’ll meet you at Summerlea. I’ll bring something to eat and