January
For the past three years, Doc had been travelling the world searching for inspiration. Mostly he’d found heartbreak and misunderstandings. And writer’s block. He hadn’t found words.
He’d lost them.
Somewhere in Venice or maybe Rome.
When his old friend Alex had offered a stay at the farm, Doc had gratefully accepted. He’d been ecstatic at a chance to be alone. Remove himself from people. From crowds. And then he’d considered who currently resided there.
Andie.
Andriana.
She’d been the reason for his flight from Scotland in the first place. They’d kissed. Once. Under an apple tree on Christmas Eve. It had surprised both of them.
There hadn’t even been mistletoe involved.
And then he’d fled Scotland to avoid her.
Someone has to have written a song about kissing under an apple tree.
And about a fool in love who is also a cowardly lion.
He’d told himself it wasn’t running away. Instead, he’d made a conscious decision to leave for both their sakes. She deserved better.
Better than a curmudgeon of an author who had fourteen or so years on her.
Then again, the age gap hadn’t really bothered him that much. Her parents were twelve years apart in age. His mother had been ten years older than his father.
Maybe he’d just been too afraid to make the leap. Too afraid of feelings he struggled to understand, not wanting to delve too deeply into himself for fear of disappointing her.
“Knock, knock,” Andie called, disrupting the swirling thoughts in his mind. “No. Rupert! Come back here.”
It was his only warning before the Airedale came barging into the little house. He skittered around the small living area and then plopped down on his belly. His tail wagged when Doc reached down to give him a good scratch.
“He’s not a bother.” Doc waved off her concern when she inched her way into the tiny living room. “How can I help? I’ve barely unpacked.”
“I know you have a word block to destroy, but I thought a warm meal by the fire might encourage the demolition?” Andie had always loved to cook, he remembered. It was almost like watching an artist create when she was in the kitchen, and almost as messy. “Nothing fancy, mind.”
“Your idea of fancy cooking and mine are vastly different.” Doc was a dab hand at only a few things in the kitchen. “You sure I won’t be a bother?”
“Well, unless you’ve a fully stocked larder in your luggage, you’re either going to starve or eat your meals with me.” Andie eyed him up and down; her brown eyes always seemed to stare right into his soul. “I won’t bite. I won’t even kiss you, since the last time I did, you went running for the hills and over the seas.”
“Andie.” Doc winced at the direct blow she’d dealt him. “I’m—”
“I even baked my nonna’s apple cake for you.” Andie cut him off ruthlessly while picking at the threads of her clean cardigan. She’d changed out of her muddy clothes before coming to see him. “You’ll come up for supper, right? In a couple of hours?”
“I will. How are your cats?” Doc blurted. He’d always found small talk uncomfortable, particularly with an underlying sense of guilt and unresolved tension in the air. “The barn cats.”
Andie raised her eyebrows before breaking into a smile. “They’re lovely. I’ve rescued a few more. I’ll have to show you the home I’ve built for them. They’re doing really well. Seem quite content to hang about, and Rups isn’t bothering them. A win-win.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing them.” Doc had thought about talking with Andie almost every day since he’d fled. He’d practised the speech he wanted to give her, yet all the words had vanished. His brain could occasionally be his worst enemy, so he settled for the mundane. “You’ve done wonders here with the farm.”
“Doc.” Andie dragged her fingers through her short hair, tugging at the ends. He thought she might be a little frustrated with him. Or maybe the situation. “I want us both to be comfortable here. We don’t have to talk about what happened that Christmas.”
“Don’t we?”
“No.”
Doc didn’t think she necessarily believed it would be that easy either. “Can you pretend it never happened?”
“We’ve been doing a bloody good job of it up to this point. Why change now?” Andie reached out to pet Rupert when he whined up at her. “Sorry, Rups. I promise I’m not angry.”
“Aren’t you?”
Andie continued to peer down at Rupert. Doc had always appreciated how she never tried to force eye contact on him. “I’m not angry. I wasn’t at the time either. Frustrated, if anything.”
“Frustration feels like anger to me. But I’m sorry for leaving without speaking to you.” Doc had figured Andie would be fine. He hadn’t thought she’d be overly upset with his absence; he’d been wrong. “I’m sorry.”
The silence grew between them. Doc enjoyed quiet most of the time, but he didn’t like tension-filled moments when the calm was more of an anticipation of the coming storm.
Nodding jerkily at him, Andie backed out of the room with Rupert close behind her. Doc sank into the nearest chair with a sigh. He scratched his jaw absently and briefly considered finding somewhere else to stay.
Running the first time hadn’t solved anything. He had to deal with what happened. The consequences of his actions. He’d made the first move; maybe he shouldn’t have.
Unrequited feelings weren’t the worst thing in the world.
It’s just a few months, and I’ll be back travelling in no time at all. My heart will sort itself out.
Hopefully.