Brea

Everyone heads to Zander's pub after the challenge to celebrate their win—or their loss. Nathan's bad mood doesn't seem to be lifting any time soon, so even though I tell people I'll meet them there, I head back to my house to shower, and flop onto my bed.

Nathan is pissed, and I feel like losing the challenge was partly my fault, even though I was the only one with no experience, whereas everyone else has had years to build on their skill.

It always feels like one step forward, and then two steps back with Zander. Nathan is furious with me, furious at Zander, and losing the challenge made everything even worse. I was so out of my depth today, and I know that everyone thought the same. And now they're going to know me for the girl banging the broody, pub owner/farmer who has been in a public battle with my brother for years. The sad part, I haven't even got to experience the benefits of actually banging him—since we certainly have not, as much as I would love to give in and just do it.

I'm so drained from today. Physically, as well as mentally. I just want to curl up into a ball and binge-eat snacks, watching my favourite comfort shows. But even the thought of getting up to organise that doesn't sound appealing. Rubbing my eyes, I let them flutter closed, enjoying how calm and quiet my surroundings are.

That is one thing I love about Glendale. It is so peaceful.

I must have drifted off to sleep because a knock on my door has me jolting awake. Signing heavily through my nose, I push to my feet and pad toward the door, my eyes stinging with exhaustion. Swinging it open, I stare out at a sheepish-looking Zander. My eyes roam is face for a moment before shifting toward the flower in his hand. A gorgeous, bright pink carnation. My mother used to have vases filled with these, forcing me to learn and memories so much about flowers. It became our thing. Mentally shaking myself, I force the memories and thoughts of her to the back of my mind, focusing on the man in front of me.

"Did you pluck that from my garden?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe, but it's the thought that counts. Right?" He smiles boyishly, peering down at me hopefully.

"I guess."

His face falls. Shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, he leans on the door frame, almost completely filling the space.

"I didn't think before I spoke today," he says, getting straight to the point. A frown line indents his forehead as he gazes at me earnestly. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," I reply, hugging my arms to my chest, shivering slightly, even though it's not cold at all.

Furrowing his brows, he waits a moment for me to say more, but I don't. Hesitantly, he thrusts his hand out, extending the flower toward me, but I stay where I am, blinking down at it. After a moment, his arm falls limply to his side, and a bit of the flower sheds, falling to the floor.

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad."

He offers me a disbelieving look. "I'm pretty sure you're mad."

"Disappointed? Sure. But not mad," I say calmly, not looking away from those gorgeous dark eyes, hoping that my unwavering gaze makes him a little uncomfortable, since that is exactly how he made me feel earlier today.

Closing his eyes, he presses his temple into the door frame, looking as tired as I feel.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I didn't even think."

"That much is obvious," I deadpan.

He winces, and I feel a little guilty for my brash attitude. "I truly didn't mean anything by it."

"Okay."

"Brea..." he trails off, and I clench my jaw when he uses my name, instead of the pet name he usually uses. I hate when he calls me by my name, as stupid as that sounds.

I also hate that he looks so God damn handsome right now. His crisp white t-shirt—unusually clean for him, considering his clothes are always caked in dust—fit tightly around the bulge in his biceps, showcasing the hard muscles of his chest and stomach.

He looks edible, in everything he wears. If I wasn't so highly attracted to this man, walking away from him would be so much easier.

"Yeah?" I say, hugging my arms tighter to my chest.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Well. Okay then," he says, looking a little defeated, realising that I'm not in a very forgiving mood tonight. "Goodnight."

"Night," I reply curtly.

Closing the door, I lean against it, listening to the old wooden porch creek and groan under his steps as he walks away. Groaning, I lightly face-palm myself.

Suddenly, the footstep return, and the bang on the door startles me. Slowly, I open the door, staring up at the man who invades every single thought that goes on inside my mind.

"Look," Zander snaps, glaring down his nose at me. "I'm sorry and you will fucking acknowledge that."

I'm silent for a moment before I burst out laughing. His hardened frown softens into his handsome smile as he grins. He sucks his teeth, shaking his head, looking down at his feet, as if a little embarrassed at his own outburst.

"Wow, good one," I say. "Job well done."

"Well. It worked."

"Did it?" I question mockingly.

"Yeah. Move aside." Lightly pushing me, he strides into the room and kicks off his shoes. I watch in curiosity—and amusement—as he collapses onto my bed, folding his arms behind his head as he leans back. He looks ginormous in the small frame, taking up most of the space with his broad shoulders and lanky legs.

"Sure, make yourself at home," I say sarcastically, flinging my hand lazily at the bed.

"Don't mind if I do," he says, crossing his ankles. "What movie are we watching?"

***

We watch a comedy. We talk, banter, and laugh, our earlier frostiness quickly left behind as the easiness of hanging out together settled between us. He really is easy to talk to when we are both relaxed, and not fighting with each other. That's another problem—knowing that it would be so effortless and easy between us, if he wasn't so damn brash and stubborn, and I weren't sensitive and tense.

"Did you have fun today?" he asks after the credits start rolling, the soft music fading into the background as he swings his focus from the T.V back to me.

"It wasn't exactly my choice of a fun activity," I reply, slipping underneath the covers, simultaneously reaching over to flick the lamp off, blanketing us into a comfortable darkness. "But it was important to Nathan."

"Too bad he lost."

"Zander!" I exhale with a huff. "You just can't help yourself, can you?

He grins, shking his head. "Nope."

Sinking into the mattress, his body disappears underneath the covers.

I stare at him. "Did I miss the part where I invited you to stay the night?"

"I would like to prove to you that I'm not the asshole that I was today," he says, looking like he means it. "I really am sorry."

Smiling softly, I nod, too tired to argue. "Okay."

The heat of his body pours into mine, and I want nothing more than to close the distance between us and give in to the lust that has been climbing ever since we first met, but I push the urge aside. Tonight isn't about giving into our desires. It's about getting to know each other, and him proving to me that this isn't all about sex, and he isn't the cocky asswipe that he pretends to be.

"Do you think you could build a life here?" Zander asks quietly, inching forward.

"Yes," I whisper, feeling warm and safe having him so close. "I'm still not sure what I want, but yes, I could see myself living here."

"Would you be happy here?" he murmurs. He clears his throat. "With me?"

I consider this. "I think so. And my family."

Tracing his fingertips down the side of my cheek, he nods. "That's good to know. I wouldn't be able to leave this town. With my business, and whatnot. I wouldn't generate enough income if I were to sell them."

"I understand," I say. "I left my disaster of a life behind, and I have no care in the word right now to return to it." The honestly feels like a weight off my shoulders. Something I haven't been quite ready to admit to myself. "I don't really know what I want."

"Is it because of me?" he asks reluctantly.

"In a way, yes," I admit, curling my fingers around the blanket, drawing it up underneath my chin. "I don't want to move my whole life here and then things not work out, but I am forced to see you all the time. It's too small of a town for that. I am not one to handle my emotions that well. Not when it comes to how I feel about you."

The words spill out of me, and I hold my breath as he is silent for a few moments.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice deep and a little raspy, making a shiver of desire shoot down my spine at the sound of it. "I feel the same." 

"And you?" I ask, my eyes growing heavy with the need for sleep. "Are you happy?"

Shifting, he half-rolls onto his back as he gazes up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" I question.

"The farm is stressful. So is the pub. I know that I'm not as fit, and friendly, and all round put together as I used to be, but I don't know how to stop myself from getting bitter. I can't help it. The older I get, the more I hate being around others, and listening to their opinions, and what they think is right. I just..." he blows out a breath, the warmness fanning softly over my face. He smells like peppermint toothpaste. "I don't know how to explain it."

"I think you just did," I smile.

"Not very well."

"I get what you mean." I say. "Can you afford to let one go, and just focus on the other?"

"I would like to, eventually," Zander replies. "But no, not at the moment. Neither business is booming. I just make ends meet, and if there is a drought—like there often is—the farm costs more than it earns."

"That would be stressful," I agree. "I wish there is something I could do to help."

"You are helping just by being here, and being you," he murmurs, and a rush of warmth fills me. "I enjoy spending time with you, though. Not only is it a much-needed distraction from everything, but I also genuinely like you, and want to give this a good chance." He pauses. "Us a chance. If you will be patient with me and let me try."

"Okay," I whisper, his words borrowing inside my chest, making me feel warm and cosy inside. "But I think we need to take things slow. I want to trust you."

"You can trust me."

Nodding, I chew my lip. "Good. I hope so."

Leaning forward, he presses his warm lips to my forehead, his five o'clock shadow lightly scratching my skin. He somehow looks even sexier when he has the rugged beard look.

"Goodnight, Angel."

"Goodnight," I whisper.

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