Page 20 of Line Change

“No, I won’t be.” I hope I sound convincing.

She sighs. “Is this why you called? To have this argument again?”

“No.”

“Have they offered you a new contract?”

I groan, staring up at the ceiling. They did a few weeks ago. I haven’t signed it because something in my gut said to wait, so I’ve stalled, and now I know why. But I can’t tell her that, she’ll definitely tell me not to come home. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me—you need me to come home. I can’t sign one.”

“Sebastian.” She tuts. “How’s your girlfriend? When will I get to meet her? Another reason you can’t move back here. She’d be devastated.”

Shit.

Over the summer, I lied and told her I was seeing someone so she’d stop worrying about me being lonely. Apparently that was a mistake. I start to tell her that we broke up but think better of it. Maybe Sutton will agree to be my fake girlfriend to my mum. Not like the two of them will ever meet in person.

“Mum …”

“I want you to be happy, Bash.”

“I know, but …” I blow out a breath. “You deserve to be happy too, and you can’t do that if you’re working yourself to the bone tending to the farm.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’m the mother. So, your girlfriend, can I meet her? That’d make me happy.”

She has me there.

“Soon. Maybe we can plan a time to video chat.”

“That sounds lovely. Let me know when and where.”

“Will do.”

“Now, tell me how things are with you this week. Where are you?”

I answer her questions, allowing the subject to change for now, but we’re most definitely going to be revisiting this, and I’m going to call my sisters and get them in on it too. Maybe if the three of us, four if we’re counting Harriet’s husband, all present a united front, Mum will finally stop fighting me on coming home and taking over.

Chapter eight

Sutton

“That’s the last of it,” Becca says as she shuts the top of the box sitting in front of her, which contains my plates and bowls, and reaches for the packing tape.

I finish wrapping the last of my coffee mugs, an eclectic mix of different sizes and colors, and set it into the box in front of me on the counter.

“What now?” Becca asks, glancing around the kitchen that we’ve spent the morning packing up.

“We should probably see how Hadley’s doing.”

We put our boxes with the others we’ve piled on the kitchen table and head into the living room. My eyes widen. Hadley works fast, evidenced by the five boxes stacked along the wall. She turns to us from where she’s standing in front of my entertainment stand holding a few DVDs and Blu-rays.

“I’m almost done in here,” she says.

“I can see that.” I survey the room.

Before she can say anything, my phone rings. My heart races when I see it’s my sister. She never calls me on a Saturday afternoon. Usually we talk around seven or eight, when we’re both winding down for the night.

“I need to take this,” I tell them before going back into the kitchen.

“Hey you,” I greet my sister.