Page 52 of Whispered Promises

She steps back, and her touch drops from my arm. I instantly shudder from the loss.

“Let me grab Jerry and take him back to his field, then we can eat.”

Rosy clips a length of rope to the contraption on the pony’s head, then picks up a bag of tools. I open the gate for her, close it once she’s through, then follow her back down the path. When she points out the wooden seating, I head over and sit on the bench overlooking one of the fields, watching with far too much interest as she keeps walking to the next field, chubby pony in tow.

With the sun flickering through a fluffy cloud, it creates a moment of warmth and calm in me. This feels like the perfect place to spend my free time: watching Rosy in the place she loves the most, bringing her food that I’ve cooked, and getting to know each other.

The gate clangs shut, and she walks back up the path towards me, her face alight with a contentment I want to share in. With her knee-high green Wellington boots, scuffed-up jeans tucked into them, and an oversized forest-green fleece hanging off her, she looks perfect.

Dropping heavily onto the seat next to me, she lets out a long huff. “I’ve never had anyone bring me food before,” she admits.

Insecurity creeps in, and I grit my teeth as I glance down at the overloaded bag. I’ve put too much effort into this. I should’ve just ordered her a delivery or something. That’s what men usually do, right?

She leans into me, dropping her head on my shoulder, and my thoughts freeze.

“It’s really thoughtful. I love it. But if you stare at that bag any longer, I might perish in front of you,” she quips, pulling back to grin at me.

I laugh as I tug the bag onto my lap and unzip it. Pulling out a container, I pass it over to her, then locate cutlery and a container for me too.

She opens the lid, dropping her face to inhale the steam rising from it.

Then she moans.

She made a sex moan over my food.

Adjusting myself on the bench, I spread my legs wider and ensure my jumper’s long enough to cover my crotch.

“You brought me leftover curry? This is amazing. Thank you so much,” she mutters, focused on shoving a spoonful into her mouth already.

Clearing my throat, I lean back into the insulated bag and tug out another item. Carefully unwrapping it from the foil, I offer one to her. “I made some naan bread this morning too, if you want some?”

Her eyes latch on, and she nods enthusiastically, swallowing the mouthful quickly and taking a piece of the bread. “Yes. Definitely yes.”

We sit in an easy silence whilst we both eat, and an ease fills me. I can see why she likes it here. It’s peaceful. Or perhaps it’s just her company that makes me feel like that.

“Do you do all this work up here alone?” I ask.

“I get the odd volunteer, but it’s hard to find people who want to be here consistently. It’s a lot to commit to, and I get that. We have someone who comes a few times a month to help with general maintenance and repairs. During the week, Anita, the owner, is here, and she has a few volunteers.” She shrugs, unfazed by the amount of work she’s just admitted to doing.

“I know Max loved being up here and helping you last week,” I add, recalling how enthusiastic he was.

She laughs, and the sunlight catches her face as it breaks through another cloud. I fight the urge to tug her face to mine, to lean in to watch the way her face moves and changes with each breath of laughter.

“He certainly brings the energy, and I can’t deny it made some of the heavy lifting easier. Apparently, he’s coming again tomorrow, but we’ll see if the novelty wears off and he decides a lie-in is more fun.” Her grin is infectious as she nibbles lightly on her lip.

Dropping her focus back to the container on her lap, she scoops up the last of the curry with her bread and pops it into her mouth.

“So what got you into cooking and baking?”

It’s an expected question, but it tugs me out of the cosy place we’d been in. Exhaling a long, deep breath, I lean back on the bench and turn to look at her.

“Short or long version?”

Her brows furrow slightly, and she purses her lips for a moment. “Everything you’re comfortable telling me, Bry.”

Acting instinctively, I reach out and twist a stray strand of her hair around my finger, giving myself a breath to decide how to start. Is there an easy way to be vulnerable with someone?

It doesn’t feel it.