Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Not speaking to him was tough, given the current situation and the fact he owned the land I technically managed as the committee chair, and never seeing him again was simply out of the question.
Unless he went back to his business and life in London. Then I’d probably see him once a year, maybe, if I was unlucky.
But why did the thought of that make my stomach tighten almost uncomfortably?
Did I… want to see him?
No. That was absurd. There was no way. I couldn’t possibly want to see this man.
Then, why…
Ugh.
Thank God I’d never voice these thoughts to anyone, because I was pissing myself off with all the flip-flopping I had going on. It felt as though I was in a pantomime with my emotions with the whole, “Oh, yes, it is,” “Oh, no, it isn’t,” bullshit that was parading through my head right now.
Perhaps my life would be easier if I just admitted that I didn’t truly hate Oliver. I hated what he was doing, but I didn’t hate him. Despite how many times I tried to tell myself that he was a horrible, uncaring, awful person, I knew the truth was that he wasn’t that kind of man at all.
In fact, he was the opposite.
He was only selling the allotments because he cared about his family’s historic estate.
His care wasn’t directed in the place I wished it was, but wasn’t that just life? Things didn’t always go your way, and it was a really sucky thing when that happened, but there was nothing you could do about it. I couldn’t do any more than I was already doing right now.
I was close to exhausting all my options to fight the closure. For the first time in my life, I was out of ideas to make someone’s life hell. Between the media exposure we’d gained through the protest and what we would get locally with the upcoming craft fair, I suspected we’d maxed that out.
There was even only so many times I could bring it up on our social media. Everyone fancied themselves a philanthropist, but the truth was, nobody cared. Not enough to do anything about it, and the reason why was simple.
When our allotments closed and our page became obsolete, someone else would simply come along and take my place. Another account would appear with content similar enough that it would scratch the itch, and Hanbury Allotments would be forgotten.
Did it suck that all the work I’d put into that stupid, amazing account and its community was going to amount to nothing?
Yes.
It sucked.
Updating the page was a part of my daily routine, and it showcased us all. Young, old, furry, feathered… It was a collection of our memories, a real-time photo album, and no longer having that left an emptiness in my heart that I couldn’t quite fill.
Nothing would fill it.
Nothing would replace the allotments.
For the first time since this all began a few weeks ago, the reality of the situation was almost too much for me to bear.
Oliver wasn’t going to change his mind.
I wouldn’t stop fighting, no matter how futile it was.
But in the end, he would win. He had the legal standing and the money to do something about it.
All we had was hope.
Unfortunately, hope wasn’t a currency, and it wouldn’t buy us the land our precious plots sat on.
But moping like this didn’t do me any good, either. I wasn’t exactly a patient person—my grandmother used to say I was a real go-getter, but I wasn’t sure that was a compliment from a woman who strung along two men and married the one who was better in bed.
Then again, she might have been onto something.
Not that I had plans to string anyone along. Nor was I in need of sex. I’d had far too much of that with the wrong person lately, and I had the mark under a plaster on my neck to prove it. I certainly wasn’t going to marry Oliver just because he was a MENSA-level genius between the sheets.
I’d just have to make do with a lifetime of wet dreams.
“Rose?”
I jolted at the sharp tap on the van’s window and turned to see Eleanor’s face practically pressed against it.
Talk about a jump scare.
At least this was the de Havilland I didn’t mind seeing right now.
I lowered the window and greeted her with a smile. “Morning, Eleanor.”
“Morning, love. I didn’t scare you, did I?”
Yes, actually. You scared what little sanity I have left right out of me.
Not that I was going to say that out loud.
“Startled me a bit,” I settled on, somewhat truthfully. “I was in my own little world. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing. I just finished ordering a regular bouquet delivery to spruce up my bedroom and saw you here. How about a cup of tea?”
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I have some time before my next client. Make it a coffee, and I’m all yours for a little bit.”